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Perceptive travellers have long known that the most famous places are often actually the least known. So it is with Moscow, the sprawling hub of the once great Soviet empire and now clapped-out capital of the cash-strapped Russian Federation.

Long a land of great mystery, where statistics were state secrets and street maps illegal, Russia and its people today suffer from a severe cast of information overload. Scores of new publications have sprung up both in Russian and English, pointing the way to a new future. Where only a few years before, literature-loving Muscovites had only Pravda (‘Truth’) to read, today with far less time on their hands, they are awash in new publications.

Glossy magazines like Cosmopolitan and Penthouse, both published in Russian, compete with the sober English-language newspapers like the Moscow Guardian, the Moscow Times or Russian-language editions of the New York Times. Russian pop tunes have pushed Tchaikovsky off the radio, while TV channels are clogged for the first time with that most revolting capitalist invention - the advertisement.

Virtually everything one’s heard about Moscow is true; yet much of it is not. If you can accept that statement, you’re already half way to understanding life in Moscow today. The most difficult thing about a first-time visit is simply attempting to separate the many myths from the rich reality of the land itself. The trouble is that many Russian anecdotes are true.

In early winter, Moscow can appear as bleak as it is depicted in Martin Cruz-Smith’s novels, but by January it can be dazzlingly beautiful in a brilliant blanket of white snow. Yes, the Russians really are connoisseurs of the cold: I have seen them casually queue up to eat ice cream as snow fell around them.

Moscow’s stunning underground Metro is a gorgeous if outlandish museum of old-time Soviet symbolism - marble statures of pink-faced farmers, dedicated drivers, solemn soldiers and large-breasted Russian milkmaids.

Yes, Russian babushkas are indeed chubby, cheerful, and wise in the ways of the world, the quintessential grandmothers of mankind. Dressed in worn-out but still warm woolen coats, they waddle down the snow-muffled streets, hand-in-hand with pretty red-cheeked granddaughters named Zhenya or Lada.

Moscow is still today, as it has been for over 800 years, the heart of Russia, even if that heart is now broken. To the romantic traveller, the Russian capital is genuinely a crystallized city from the Arabian Nights, dotted with golden domes, minarets, and turrets looming over the dark waters of the Moskva River.

The city’s ancient architectural splendours, built on the cruelty of so many czars over the centuries, still proudly poke through Moscow’s skyline like the 12th century ghosts that they are. The Kremlin, the core of the once formidable Soviet Empire, is safeguarded by an immense tasselled rampart with 10 towers and five gates.

Just outside the Kremlin Wall lies Red Square [the old word in Russian means ‘beautiful’ rather than red]. Old Lenin, the man who brought so much misery to his countrymen, still lies here pickled in his giant red stone shoebox, but the historic troublemaker is scheduled to be evicted this spring. From Red Square, the rest of Moscow radiates outward, like spokes on a huge wheel, crossed here and there by modern ring roads.

In central Moscow, whimsical onion-domed churches and opulent palaces painted in vivid reds and bitter greens still offer enchanting images of czarist Russia, but vast sections of the city’s outskirts look like the far side of the moon. Gray, flat and spooky, with endless avenues of squat and ugly buildings, they are the scarred lunatic legacy of Stalin. It is here that most Muscovites live out their hard-scrabble lives, in tiny, ill-lit, and often crumbling apartment blocks. There is no street-life here, only the odd kiosk selling flowers, fruits or bottles of over sweet Georgian brandy and potent Russian vodka.

That’s all changing now, starting from Moscow’s center where the essence of the city has always been. One of the world’s largest McDonalds restaurants does a roaring trade in Pushkin Square (a second massive outlet does just as well in historic Arbat Street). Pepsi, Coke and Samsung signs have sprung up everywhere, their well-known logos rendered romantic in their new Russian alphabet. There are Jaguar, Rolls-Royce and General Motor dealerships now as well as casinos, new restaurants and nightclubs.

This is a society in furious fast-forward transition. While many younger Russians are thrilled with their country’s feverish rush to democracy and capitalism, others are experiencing severe motion sickness as they attempt to grapple with innovative ideas like demokratizatsiya and privatizatsiya, concepts for which no Russian words even exist.

With one foot, the new Russia is furiously trying to step into the future, but at the same time, it appears to be purposely dragging the other limb, preferring the stability and familiarity of the past, and frightened by the risky possibilities of tomorrow.

The international media have made much of Moscow’s crime rate. While crime has indeed greatly increased since l990, much of the reporting by Western journalists has a distinctly sensationalist edge. Statistically it is ten times safer than New York, and far safer for travellers than Los Angeles, Washington, or Manila.

Despite the temporary social chaos, which instant capitalism has brought it is amazing how well the Russians are coping, considering that their lives have been turned completely upside down. Before l990, Russia had no such things as credit cards or cheque-books and it was only in l987 that the USSR opened its first business school.

Now everything is happening at hyper-speed. According to the new Russian business magazine Commersant, there are more than three million “wealthy Russians” - that is people earning over US$2,000 per month and Moscow’s Porsche dealership sells a dozen cars per month, each at US$100,000.

The free-market system has cruelly sliced Moscow’s economy into two distinct parts, the so-called ‘greens’ and the ‘reds.’ The greens are those lucky few Russians who work for foreign multi-national firms, or who are engaged in international trade and thus earn US dollars. The reds, 90 percent of the population, take home only wads of weak currency roubles.

Centuries of setbacks have made many older Russians paranoid pessimists. For elderly Muscovites financially wiped out by the rouble’s fall, the communist mentality still exists, and will for sometime. It stands like a taxidermist’s stuffed elephant, decaying in the new sunshine. Habits of decades can’t be undone in a matter of months.

The confidence of the younger generation is unshaken. Unlike their parents, they are not suspicious of the new breed of curbside capitalists, trendy young hard-currency hipsters and entrepreneurs who clutter Moscow’s side streets and subway stations, selling everything from pop CDs to caviar.

Freed from communism’s suffocating cocoon, younger Russians think mostly about money. Few people seem interested in politics anymore; they’ve had a belly full of it for 70 years. A get-rich quick mentality has set in and economic self-interest has prevailed over the political passions of the past.

Today’s ‘perestroika generation’ lives in a distant universe from anything their parents could even imagine. There are fears that Russia’s extravagant culture, its fabulous art, its sublime music, its rich literature, will all lose to crass commerce in the new Russia. Few people anywhere have a greater grip on their own cultural worth. Countless parks, plazas, boulevards and avenues in Moscow are named in honor of the country’s beloved writers, poets, and painters and the capital is literally agog in great museums, archives and galleries.

Many of Moscow’s physical sights are marvelous to behold, but the most intriguing aspect of being in Russia today is to meet the Russian people themselves. They are imbued with an impish sense of humor which, honed over the ages by hardship and adversity, is combined with a soulfulness, which makes them difficult to dislike and easy to admire.

Accustomed to quick-fixes and instant Hollywood-style happy endings, the Western media routinely make forlorn forecasts for Russia, depicting images of a despairing people, brooding over their battered nation.

The West has under-estimated the resilience of the Russians. For centuries they have become accustomed to absent amenities. They have endured cruel acts of nature, survived famines, wars, purges and bloody retributions. To Russians, suffering has been a way of life, so they have learned to endure and share hardships that would have withered the will of a weaker nation.

While the shock therapy of near-instant capitalism has made life difficult for many Russians, it has made life much easier for visiting business travellers. Gone are the days when foreigners were forced to stay at horrid Intourist hotels where the service was surly and the food disgusting. They still exist of course - the Ukraina, the Rossiya, the Belgrade, and the Intourist, but they are to be avoided at all costs.

Another advantage of capitalism’s arrival in Russia is an immense improvement in the quality of Moscow’s restaurants. While the Russian capital is still no Paris or Hong Kong, there are now dozens of fine new restaurants.

All of the city’s top hotels boast good continental restaurants, but a word must be said about Russian cuisine. Sadly during its 70 year reign the Soviet régime stamped out Russia’s once rich restaurant culture. This meant that practically the only place to sample good Russian food was in a Russian home, a place few foreigners ever visited.

Happily, that’s no longer the case and Moscow is now awash with scores of new private Russian restaurants. Contrary to popular belief, Russian cuisine offers a wide range of dishes far beyond the standard borsch soup and beef stroganoff. Russian food is not bland: herbs and spices are common, including black and red pepper, salt, basil, thyme, mint, ginger, garlic, dill and a wonderful tangy Russian mustard, callgorchitsa.

To eat without drinking is a sin to the Russian mind, and Russian business counterparts will insist on sharing a bottle of vodka which is served as cold as a Siberian stream. If you dislike vodka, ask instead for a bottle of the country’s dry Moldavian wine or sweet Crimean champagne.

Some of the best Russian restaurants include the famed pre-Revolutionary ‘Praga’ in historic Arbat Street. It’s expensive, and reservations are a must. The tiny ‘Margarita’ (Ulitsa Malaya Bronnaya) serves the excellent Russian pancake known as bliny with caviar and mushrooms, while the ‘Oyarskyzal’ in the Metropol Hotel provides Russian food fit for a czar, along with classical Russian singers who bring tears to the eyes.

While Moscow’s hotels and restaurants are rapidly approaching world class standards, its nightlife is still wretched. Managed mostly by badly dressed Russian mobsters who cater for the tastes of newly rich Russians, a typical night’s outing might include a visit to one of the city’s many ghastly ‘nightclubs’ where floor shows feature strip-tease acts and disco dancing complete with 1970s strobe lights. Moscow is one of those strange cities where it is quite possible to pay a lot of money for a very boring evening.

Standard entrance fees for many clubs can be as high US$40 per person, which must be paid without having the opportunity to peek inside, and does not include a drink. If the ballet or the circus does not appeal, a better way to spend spare time, and money, is to invite your Russian counterpart, and his family, to dinner. They will be absolutely delighted and you will learn more about Russia over that dinner than if you read a hundred books on the topic.

Better yet, wangle a dinner invitation to your Russian counterpart’s home; and make it clear that you will bring the liquid refreshment, and the core dinner items from one of the many international supermarkets now open in Moscow.

Once you are accepted into a Russian’s inner circle, which is known as ‘kitchen friends,’ all things are possible. A business deal that required months to plan can sometimes suddenly be sealed with a simple handshake in a cozy dinning room.

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