While the Prime Minister was shaking hands with President Putin in Sochi, we were greeting his doppelgänger at the other end of the country. Yes, we were in Moscow, getting our photos taken with the troika of Putin, Stalin and Lenin, over caviar and vodka at Grand Café Dr Zhivago, a favourite haunt of Moscow’s elite. It has sweeping windows overlooking the Kremlin, making it the apt place to meet with the nation’s ‘leaders’.
I was back in Russia after 18 years, and a lot has changed. For one, it looks a lot prettier — cleaner and fancier than I last remembered. We were in town for a friend’s birthday and all I can say is that everyone should have such a generous friend. The red carpet was rolled out for us in the most magnificent way, what with lunches and dinners in the best restaurants, and sightseeing tours replete with guides of the highest quality.
On the first day, we walked through the Kremlin, marvelled at the Cathedrals of the Assumption, Annunciation and Archangel, before hotfooting it over to the Bolshoi restaurant, located just behind the famous theatre. Owned by Arkady Anatolievich Novikov, known as the “tsar of the Russian restaurant scene” and whom the British press compare to both Gordon Ramsay and Terence Conran, we were greeted by flutes of Dom Perignon and a bevy of women in traditional central Russian dress singing folk songs. Bolshoi, which is about nine years old, is very popular and didn’t disappoint in either food or atmosphere.
Although I felt bad doing it, I reluctantly said no to the endless Champagne in order to make the most of our time in the city and dragged the tired husband on a meandering walk. Moscow’s boulevards are so vast, and we urban Indians so unused to being on our feet for long periods, that after about an hour and a half, back aches and sore feet compelled us to abandon our efforts.
Collapsing like an old couple into an afternoon nap, we emerged refreshed to do a quick group tour of the Diamond Fund at the Kremlin. As Mrs Impeccably Coiffed leaned in to examine a stupendously ornate tiara, Ms Swanky Socialite remarked, “Meghan Markle’s seems so ordinary compared to it!” She had a point. Russian royalty loved their jewels as much as their Indian counterparts, and sceptres, swords, crowns, tiaras, and robes are abundantly detailed in paintings and photographs. The famous 189-carat Orlov diamond — reportedly stolen from the eye of a deity in South India in the 18th century and later bought by a Russian aristo for Catherine the Great – was amongst the many diamonds we admired.
Anyone who has seen Netflix’s Chef’s Table would be familiar with Vladimir Mukhin, the chef behind White Rabbit, considered one of the top 50 restaurants in the world. This is where we headed to dinner. With its domed glass ceiling and 360-degree views of Moscow, the views were simply to die for. Mukhin is part of a young breed of Russian chefs who have elevated traditional (think 16th and 17th century) local cuisine using innovative, seasonal ingredients. As the caviar and bubbly flowed, someone seated at the next table remarked, “It’s easier to get a glass of Champagne at this party than a Coca Cola!”
The next night, we found ourselves at a nightclub. The Russians party like rock stars and so when Timati, the globally-famous Russian rapper and musician, performed for us, it was the proverbial icing on the cake. On day three, it was on to St Petersburg, one of the world’s most beautiful cities. Filled with canals, grand buildings and umpteen palaces, there’s so much history and beauty there that it makes other grand European cities pale in comparison.
We lingered at the Hermitage, walked around Peterhof Palace, waved to Finland as we stood by the Baltic Sea, did a beautiful sunset boat cruise and had still barely scratched the surface. All in all, it was a birthday fit for a queen and I was glad to be part of her court.
This fortnightly column tracks the indulgent pursuits of the one-percenters.
