A day in the life of soccer columnist KURTIS LARSON on the ground in Russia
MOSCOW — the less glamorous side of covering a World Cup includes the sweaty five-hour train ride from Saint Petersburg to Moscow, followed by an hour-long subway trek from the city’s centre to a nondescript apartment.
Who knew hauling luggage during rush hour would be so offensive.
a number of fellow Moscow Metro passengers gave me stink eye for taking up too much space with a massive suitcase containing a month’s worth of clothing.
I’d had good luck with accommodations until these final few days in Moscow.
But I inadvertently booked a place on the outskirts of the city.
I felt pretty silly when my airbnb host had to track me down and pick me up in his vehicle.
I couldn’t find his place on my own.
Out for a stroll Friday night, I came across a tiny hut that was no bigger than a master bedroom.
It contained roughly 50 beer taps and an assortment of dried fish I assume complimented the booze.
the bartenders were serving draught brew in two-litre takeaway bottles.
a fellow customer — a massive russian man — laughed when I ordered a pint.
He’d just ordered six litres of beer.
I’ll be going there the next few nights.
an uzbek restaurant server refused to let me order the chicken.
She told me I can order that back in “america.”
the red meat, she gestured, is the only worthwhile thing on the menu.
She basically ordered my meal for me.
upon arrival at my apartment Friday night, my airbnb host forced me to wear cheap white slippers around the home until he left.
I felt like a real estate agent showing a home.
I haven’t worn them since.
larson’s dinner menu: uzbek lepeshka with hummus, lamb kebab, grilled vegetables and a shot of vodka.