Rockets over Red Square

New Year's Eve in Moscow's Red Square is heralded with fireworks. Picture / Reuters

It is mid-afternoon on New Year's Eve in Moscow's Red Square and a light snowfall is beginning to cover the ancient cobblestones in a white dust.

To my left the elegant fir trees which line the mighty Kremlin walls, are already fringed with snow. Above me the giant clock tower clangs loudly three times. In nine hours the roar of jubilant Muscovites will all but drown out its most notable peal of the year.

Moscow is an exciting place to be whatever the time of year, but on New Year's Eve there is nowhere like it. I was fortunate to have been there for the millennium celebrations, an occasion given even greater significance by the resignation of President Boris Yeltsin, when the city's people flocked to the Square and fired rockets over the Kremlin walls.

Could there possibly be anything to match that extraordinary night I ponder, while watching two fur-clad children hurl snowballs at each other beneath the astonishing pineapple domes of St Basil's Cathedral.

A loud voice breaks my reverie. "Sir! Do you want to buy a hat?"

Despite the fact that I am wearing what I consider to be a perfectly fine, rabbit fur hat, I realise the question is directed at me. The inquisitor is one of Red Square's many amiable traders.

"Thank you, but as you can see I already have one," I reply.

"But sir, that is a terrible hat. I am sorry but you cannot wear that tonight. It is an insult. It is probably a poor imitation from China."

Amazingly he is spot on. I'd bought it two weeks earlier from a stall at the Great Wall for US$5 ($8). I am well and truly sucked in.

"So what should I wear then?" And quick as a flash he produces a magnificent brown busby from his swag bag. "Pure Russian Steppe fox, beautifully made, only US$30." We settle on $25 but he hasn't finished.

"Sir, I will not sell you this hat unless you give me your old one."

"What for?" I ask.

"Because I must burn it. It is a terrible hat."

So I hand it over, despite being aware that tomorrow he will probably be asking $15 for a "genuine Russian rabbit fur hat". He is a master of his trade but I feel surprisingly satisfied with the deal, while secretly praying the Russian Steppe fox is not an endangered species.

I hurry down to Arbat St, Moscow's famous shopping mall where you can buy anything from McLenin T-shirts to submarine clocks, tastelessly embossed with the name Kursk.

From a young stall-holder I buy $10 worth of fireworks. I tell him I want to make my New Year's mark on Red Square and he selects a variety of rockets and firecrackers.

Armed, and feeling slightly dangerous, I wander back to the enormous Hotel Rossiya to gather my friends for the big party.

We spend the early part of the evening in a bar on the 13th floor of the hotel which offers phenomenal views across the city. To our left the Moskva river snakes down past the Kremlin, in the distance stands the beautifully illuminated Cathedral of the Saviour, recently rebuilt after Stalin destroyed the original to make way for a swimming pool.

To our right is the Square itself, flanked on one side by the Kremlin and Lenin's mausoleum, and on the other by the famous shopping emporium, GUM.

Sipping sweet Russian bubbly we watch the Square steadily fill with revellers. Then at 10pm we make our move.

There are five of us: Jack, a Canadian geologist and his wife Mary-Jo; Norma, a 100km/h New Yorker and Rod, an Australian Supreme Court judge.

As we amble across to St Basil's and the entrance to the Square, word reaches us that security guards are confiscating bottles of booze. We are each carrying a half bottle of vodka and as we contemplate the dreadful prospect of pouring it away, Norma comes to the rescue.

Minutes later we walk unhindered past Checkpoint Boris before quickly retrieving the precious liquor which had been secreted in Norma's ample cleavage.

Even this early on, the atmosphere in the Square is fantastic. Fireworks explode all around us, screaming, fizzing, cracking to the loud cheers of the crowd. The place is awash with vodka and bubbly but there is not the faintest hint of trouble. To their credit the police take a low-key approach.

Young girls dressed as ice maidens skip around the Square while Father Frosts (eccentric Russian versions of Santa Claus) are in abundance with their traditional long red robes, white beards and rosy cheeks.

Small groups of young Russians keep approaching us, offering drinks and shouting "Snovum Godom" (Happy New Year). We give them badges and coins and they reciprocate with whatever is in their pockets: toffees, vodka, even an alarm clock.

The only disappointment, amid this tumultuous outpouring of joy, is my pyrotechnic display. It is quickly apparent $10 does not buy much in the Russian fireworks department. They fizzle and the rockets, (traditionally let off from a gloved hand) barely take to the sky. I make a mental note for next time: spend big on fireworks.

The party reaches a deafening crescendo as the hands of the great clock come together at midnight. The chimes are inaudible above the din of the crowd. Hundreds of fireworks explode and strangers embrace and kiss like passionate lovers.

There are spontaneous outbursts of singing and dancing. We link arms with a group and belt out the old Mary Hopkin classic, Those Were the Days.

This mad partying continues for another two hours until, presumably all the vodka has been drunk and the last firework extinguished.

We are embraced by four Kazakhstani men, compared to whom we feel relatively sober. One grabs me in a ferocious bear hug while informing me that I am his brother and he loves me. I am in no position to argue.

Later, much later, there are reports of a middle-aged Westerner, wearing a splendid fox fur hat, frolicking in the snow in front of St Basil's Cathedral with an Australian Supreme Court judge. These rumours have yet to be confirmed.

Checklist

New Year's Eve in Red Square and Christmas Day in Siberia are among the highlights of the Travel Directors' 29-day Christmas trans-Siberian tour, departing Auckland, Wellington and Christchurch on December 11. The tour is almost fully inclusive and costs A$10,847 ($13,297).

Further Information

Email info@traveldirectors.com.au or see link below.

Alternatively contact Travel Directors' New Zealand representatives Go Holidays on 0800 464646.

* Jim Gill is associated with the Travel Directors.