"Don't give up, you have friends" ..... Moscow, 4th April

The train from St.Petersburg arrived into the Leningradski Station on time and the brunettes from Carriage 12 disembarked.  Iraida and Tatianie had offered to take me to my hotel - Gostinitsa Slavyanka, which was close to the Theatre of the Russian Army, the venue for Bruno's Moscow show. It was snowing when we exited the Dostoevsky Metro Station, the kind of wet snow we are used to in England. We saw the theatre immediately and it didn't take long to identify the hotel. We set off with Tatanie in the lead, then dear Iraida with my small case as well as her own and then me rolling along my monstrous suitcase through the slush and muddy bits. Most if not all of the winter's snow was gone, leaving the muddy debris of a long winter behind it. After dropping me off at the hotel, Iraida and Tatanie were intending to rendezvous with some friends and then go to the hostel where they would be staying overnight. As we entered the hotel, which had a rather grand entrance, Tatanie joked that she thought Bruno and his entourage might well be staying there, and that I might meet up again. Approaching the reception desk I first noticed a notice announcing that check-in was not until 14:00. It was about 10:30, so we hoped that at least I might be able to drop off my baggage. When I approached the desk I announced myself and handed over my passport and booking reference letter. The lady looked at both, whilst tapping on the computer keyboard, and then fired off a comment very quickly. Too quickly for me, so Iraida stepped forward to help. The conversation went something like this, without Iraida's translation into French for me.

Hotel receptionist: Where is your certificate of immigration?
Me: Here is my visa.
HR: No that is your visa. Where is your immigration certificate?
Me: All I have is my passport and visa.
HR: You must have immigration certificate. You would get it at Pukovo (St.Petersburg) airport.
Me: Well they must not have given me one, because this is all I have.
HR: Without certificate you can't stay here.

At which point Iraida and Tatanie start pleading my case. A second lady, someone in authority I think, emerged from an interior office. Although she was much more pleasant in approach, the message remained the same. No certificate, no stay. She gave me (Iraida) a telephone contact for immigration services. The booking was cancelled, hopefully at no cost to me. As we left the hotel, with me feeling rather stunned and dispirited a new plan was swiftly formulated. We would all go to the rendezvous, and then contact the telephone number provided. We walked for quite a while, discussing possibilities, and also trying to find out where the hostel was. Eventually we found the restaurant where the girls were meeting up and went in. It was quite a pleasant place. Lots of wood and trellis work, painted a very spring like pale green with artificial flowers. We greeted Ira Fokina and Olga Gil and explained the situation. Olga explained that the situation was quite serious. Apparently she had at one time worked in immigration services. My heart sank a little lower. I went to the self-service cafeteria, bought something to eat and drink and came back to the table. It was decided that we should go to the hostel, where, the girls told me, the chap on reception spoke very good English. The first option would be to see if I could stay there at the least, and to seek his help with immigration services. I have to say that whilst I consumed my Liptons Iced tea with lemon quite quickly, I couldn't  really eat much. So then when everyone had eaten, we made our way along a main road and then turned up into the side streets. Eventually, having dodged puddles of water and patches of ice, we found ourselves outside a small door. Above the door was a sign: Godzilla Hostel. Hmm. We went in and climbed a steep staircase to the second (first) floor. Olga,Iraida, Ira and Tatanie then engaged the 'cute' (their word not mine) receptionist. Asking him if it was possible for me to stay, he seemed a bit doubtful about whether was space that night, but then said yes. What a relief! Then I handed over my passport. He took it to the computer to key in the information required, leafed through the document, found the visa, and then turned back to us -
 "Do you have your certificate of immigration?"
"No. I don't think they gave me one."
"I'm sorry, without that it is impossible to stay here."
Relief disappeared.
Could he please help by ringing the contact number? Yes, of course. Twenty minutes later he still hadn't got through. Eventually he spoke with someone, I think, because I was getting rather confused, as the poor guy was trying to do three things at once. Then we thought about British Airways. Was it not normal to complete an immigration form on the aircraft, prior to landing, and if so, why had I not been given that opportunity on the flight from Heathrow. I had, thanks to Avios points, been sitting in the Club Europe area of the aircraft, and it did seem to me that everyone else there was Russian. Perhaps they had forgotten? The receptionist then found a number for  and telephoned the BA office at Domodyedovo airport. Someone told him that the office there would open at 14:00, and had seemed quite hopeful that something could be done to resolve the problem. After a swift discussion it was decided that Iraida and I would go to the airport in person. We were allowed to leave our luggage in a secure store, and headed off to find the nearest Metro. The journey was quite complicated. We needed to get to Pavletsky Station, from which an Airport Express train connects the city with Domodyedovo. This meant a couple of line changes to get to the circular line which rings the city, and then a five station ride to Pavletsky. We hardly had time to enjoy the amazing architecture and decoration of the stations, rushing as we were. Iraida did take a couple of photos, but my expression is less than joyful.

 I felt terribly guilty that Iraida was missing out on a day with her friends with whom she can spend so little time because of the immense distances between them. Add to that a medical adhesive problem requiring attention in a cramped cubicle in a station tyalet - things seemed to be conspiring against me. We eventually made it to Pavletsky and on to the Express. It's a 40 minute journey, and I can only assume that it is described as an express by virtue of the fact that it does not stop en route. Once we arrived at the airport we needed to find the British Airways help desk. The airport was very busy, but eventually we spotted the familiar logo and approached the desk, and the two ladies behind it. In a mixture of languages we explained the situation. They were very sympathetic, and once we had removed BA from any guilt in the matter, (it appears that information is collected automatically by the airline and passed on to the authorities) they tried to contact various people within the airport who might be able to help. Eventually they found the contact detail and room number for the Russian immigration office based within the airport itself. The ladies thought that "perhaps" they might be able to issue a new certificate. With a new energy in our step, Iraida and I found our way on to the floor above, and to a corridor off the main waiting area. As we turned into the lengthy corridor my heart sank again. The corridor was full of people, all waiting. If I was to say that some of them looked quite scary, you might get the picture. We made our way through the throng, and found the specified door number. We stood for a few moments and then Iraida opened the door and we walked in, to be greeted by a very official looking lady, to whom Iraida quickly explained the situation again. We were then asked to wait in the corridor, until the lady could consult with a superior, who had just left the office. He would then look into the details of the case and decide what action, if any, could be taken. We watched as various people came and left, and became more disconsolate as some of the guys further down the corridor went in to a room and emerged shortly afterwards shaking their heads in despair. We knew we had a deadline to get back into the city for Bruno's show - I had told Iraida that she should go back, and I would stay, but she refused. We set ourselves a deadline - if this guy didn't return withing 15 minutes we would leave, because we had the feeling that we were wasting our time anyway. He did arrive back. We waited until he had been appraised of the situation and then went back in. Now dressed in military uniform, he consulted the computer, tapped a few keys and shrugged his shoulders. To get a new immigration certificate we would have to go back to Pukovo Airport. That was the only solution.
It was not a solution that we were prepared to act upon. It would have been impossible to get to St.Petersburg and back before our flight to Volgograd the following day. We had been told by the BA ladies that the certificate was not required for flights, and so that we should be able to get to Volgograd. What would happen if and when we got there was another question.

This is turning out to be quite an adventure, isn' it?

You could say that.
Leaving the other folk seeking aid from the immigration department standing, sitting and lying in the corridor, we made our way back to the Express to Moscow. We had decided that we would head straight to the concert venue, rather than returning to the hostel. Iraida said that she would speak to the Brunettes, to see if any of them might know of accommodation in a flat or home. We soon met up with Dasha Z. and then others of the familiar crew again, and then more and more friends of Iraida came to greet her. I met several Facebook friends face to face for the first time, including two Eugenias. The Theatre of the Russian Army is a very impressive building, shaped like a star. It is very grand with sweeping staircases, red carpets, spaces for interval promenades - a very traditional Russian theatre space. The cloakroom was enormous, and staffed by similarly scary ladies of a certain age. 
As Iraida greeted each of her friends she shared my situation, hoping that there might be light at the end of the tunnel. There was no luck. 

The Moscow Brunettes had organised similar strategies as the Peterburg group, with punched hole wallets on each seat in the front rows. The wallets contained a flag, some of those wrist-bands that contain fluorescent materials, and a set of instructions some of which refered to the use of small torches and mobile phones as light sources for the song "Lune". I had seen videos of this effect from previous visits by Bruno, when the theatre is transformed into a dark sky with a myriad of 'stars'.

The stage of the Theatre of the Russian Army is huge, one of the biggest in Europe, and much bigger than that at the Music Hall in St.Petersburg.

The level of expectancy rose just as it had the night before, although on a personal level, my mind kept wandering back to the possibility of having nowhere to stay after the concert finished. If that were to be the case, Iraida and I had decided that we would simply go to the airport and spend the night there.
The concert was excellent, the atmosphere wonderful. The same pattern emerged - song, flowers, song flowers..... Bruno reading in Russian from a crib sheet between most songs. That went down very well, and you could almost feel the desire of the audience for him to pronounce his words correctly. When he didn't there would be sympathetic giggling and correct pronunciations called out. I was under instruction from Iraida that I should try to video a couple of songs - I haven't really had a chance to look at the results properly yet.

Once again Bruno sang the Peter Gabriel song, and as the lyrics struck home, I was drawn specifically to the lines “Don’t give up, you have friends.” I know that this might seem a little trite, but it seemed to me at that moment that my best chance of getting through whatever was to come that night was to hold that line foremost in my mind – Don’t give up, you have friends.

After the concert, everyone went down to the huge entrance hall, where more reunions took place with lots of hugs and kisses. As she moved through her groups of friends I could see that Iraida was not giving up – he was approaching people and asking for help. There was a moment when she turned ad smiled, and put up her thumb. She came back over to me and told me that one young friend was checking on the availability of a flat. Sadly that came to nothing. The cloakroom ladies were becoming impatient, and when one concert-goer, dared to sit up on the counter of the cloakroom, there was almost a fight as a diminutive cloakroom attendant gave her a real- tongue lashing, and proceeded to make her wait longer than necessary and virtually fling her coat at her. Oh dear. I collected coats for myself, Dasha and Iraida, and then we went outside. It was cold. We waited on the steps outside for a while and then the call went up – he’ll be leaving from a rear entrance. We all moved quickly around the star-shaped building to find another group of brunettes already in position. Even as we stood waiting, Iraida was seeking help. Then the doors opened and one by one the band came out, waving bouquets and saying thank you. When Bruno came out, he caught sight of me and called out “Hi Robin” –

Well, that was progress from “Simon”

True. I was engaged in conversation by one of the Brunettes, a very pretty young woman whose name I did not catch when she told me, but she knew me, she said, from Facebook. Then Iraida came rushing over. Someone had offered us accommodation in their home. The lady “Katya”, said that it wasn’t much but she would be happy for us to stay there. She gave Iraida a telephone number and we set off to go back to the Godzilla Hostel to collect our bags. We would then telephone her for instructions upon how to find her. Before Iraida came to tell me, I had just asked the young lady with whom I was conversing if she could guess the name of the song that was still in my head and that I was taking as my theme. Don’t’ give up, you have friends. Indeed.

Tatanie and some of the other girls were going to walk back to the hostel, but Iraida, Olga, Ira and I got the Metro from Dosteovsky. We arrived back at almost the same time. We went up to reception and the young guy had been replaced by a young woman. Olga, Ira and Iraida had one last go – would it be possible for me to stay there for the night. Of course, she replied.

We turned and looked at each other, hiding our smiles badly. I handed over my passport.

“Ah, where is the immigration certificate?”

The girls launched into a plea on my behalf, and this time it worked!

The young receptionist agreed, and having accepted my 1000r for the night’s accommodation, plus a deposit for the bedding and towel, proudly showed us our room, which contained three double bunks, two of which had already been taken. If they had been piles of straw I wouldn’t have minded. “Don’t give up, you have friends.”

She then showed us where the kitchen, toilets, shower-room and free coffee and tea could be found.

Iraida took the top bunk, thank goodness. We made up our beds and then she went to chat with Ira and Olga, with whom she spends New Year Holidays  in Tomsk. I was able to have a good wash, and then went to bed. We told the young couple with whom we were sharing that we would need to be up at six, in order to get to Pavletsky station to catch the Express to Domodyedovo, to be there in sufficient  time to check in for the flight to Volgograd.

Beside the bunk there was an essential item for today’s traveller – a power socket which enabled us to recharge our phone batteries. Mine had died the night before, and so I had no means of contacting people all through that long Friday.

As I lay down I reflected about the happenings of the day, and what might happen the next, if we were to arrive in Volgograd and were to be turned away from the hotel. Iraida had been in touch with Daria there, and asked her to be on the look-out for a flat, or perhaps another hostel. But that was for tomorrow. You can guess which melody was going through my mind as I finally went to sleep.

Unchained melody?

No.