Moscow, opulence and bureaucracy.

First impression, I feel an unusual nervousness, everything is unfamiliar and strange to me, as he arrives for the first time a city and you feel lost, but now, that person is me and I can hardly believe it yet. After placing and change money at a post near the road in search of the nearest subway station. The number of people entering and exiting the subway at this station Belorusskaya is impressive. I let go of its architecture to the depths of your meter, it seems that everything is oversized with respect to any other city I've known, and the Moscow Metro is the letter for everyone who comes to town. For better or for worse, Russia is now 20 years ago, one of the passengers read a book about the Chernobyl catastrophe, or so shows on its cover. Glad to hear that my Russian lessons have served some purpose. The city seems gray, with its wide avenues and numerous subways, and on the surface, excavators and trucks to remove snow from the streets, while I spend countless high-end vehicles with tinted windows. The mafia is everywhere. In my career, I see a Russian woman more beautiful than the other impossible heels stepping on a land newly cleared of snow and ice. On the other side of this society, begging babuchkas lined their winter coats, waiting for the generosity of our own arbitrary.

The hostel is located about four large fireplaces, painted red and white, and overlooking the beach inland stations Leningradskaya and Yaroslavskaya. Upon arrival at the hostel staff to notice something strange... I haven't a migration card which should have given in on the Russian border, but my train did not stop some, so I could not get the card. I give direction to settle the matter, they can not do anything as it is for the Russian administration. In the hostel reception know Catherine, a young Scottish and independent traveler who has just come to Moscow. I also know Norita, a Japanese who come to visit the legendary city of Samarkand. Particularly sympathetic growls few words in Spanish and feel very curious about all the customs surrounding the Spanish society. Catherine decides to accompany me to the office to formalize my paperwork pending, five blocks from here. When we are closed on Monday do not work, so we decided to visit the city peacefully.

The first objective aims directly at the fascinating Red Square and the Kremlin. Among the red brick walls of the latter, there are numerous churches and cathedrals painted white, contrasting with the golden domes of the guard from the sky. In addition to this strength are never revealed the secrets of all Russian history. All of a halo of mystery and intrigue runs this place is easy to perceive. We leave it to the end the legendary Red Square, access it by the Museum of History, a building with an air of fairy tales. The proportions of the square are huge, and at its southern end stands the beauty that is the Basilica of San Basilio crowned by domes of shapes and colors impossible not to see, is superb. On one side of the square is the mausoleum of Lenin he hopes the visit of a short line of people. Just opposite are the state stores, the GUM, which however are beyond the reach of most pockets of Moscow citizens, neither of mine. In the words of a Russian, now spend more and live better, although it is clear that he has and can spend.

The night comes with the same speed as the day that just passed, and before returning to my accommodation, I move to Komsomolskaya Square or Plaza of the Three Stations. It is here where the station Yaroslavskaya I've seen so often portrayed in photographs and described in stories. From this station take trains bound for Siberia, a name that only serve to awaken in me the desire for adventure of a journey that begins in two days. I have everything so close, I still believe to be climbing the top of my dream.

Early in the morning I decide to go to the office the day before, near the Olympic Stadium in Moscow. There are few people in the office, I hope to get lucky and take advantage of the day. I am in a small waiting room, where a large map of Russia dominates the room. Mentally trace my journey through Siberia, I still look the railway line that crosses the whole of Russia from west to east... all my childhood dreams rest on that map. Time passes and after two hours of waiting I do not know where to look. I have studied around the room and stay with me two people who appear to be Tajikistan. After a few minutes out an official order, inviting me to come to his office. It would seem that I am facing a KGB agent in a very thinly veiled questioning. At first I perceive no malicious intent on his part, although their explanations scribbled on paper are very explicit and direct, with me within 10 days to leave the country through my embassy if not get the migration card, otherwise I can have trouble staying and leaving the country in her absence. I offer any help or direction where to go to solve the problem. Definitely something happens, things are twisting and now the shadow of a premature return home, he contemplates the reality of a dream that has taken me so long to plan. I can always revert back to Russia and perhaps save me more problems, but when? Now is my chance and I refuse to accept the idea of returning to Madrid.

The next day I get-up early, on time at 8 a.m. I go to the gate my consulate willing to expose my little problem and find a quick solution. The consular emergency service works very well, but now depend on the Russian administration who want to quickly arrange a copy of the letter of migration card. I return to the hostel to await a phone call will not ring up to 2 hours before the departure of my train to Novosibirsk I have not canceled. Marat receptionist gives me a reliable taxi, affectionately farewell with a firm handshake wishing me luck on my journey.

Now I am alone with the elements of the Russian bureaucratic corruption. I have to talk to a certain Vladimir in a building located in downtown Moscow, just your name and instil fear in me and the echoes of a possible mafia rumble me everywhere... We have arrived, let's backpack trip in the taxi, took me the little luggage where I keep all the little documentation. This is where the Russian administration takes time, and my matches her resignation. A watchman guards the staircase, which I go to meet with the above Vladimir. First problem, language, and if the guard does not understand anything, do not let me pass. I feel helpless to know what I ask and do not have the means to explain the situation becomes desperate. Fortuitously a middle-aged man passes by, speaks English and translates him up my need to let me pass, a situation that is accessed after a few seconds of deliberation. Language, is added the difficulties of an unexpected situation, hardly understand anything of what Vladimir says to me, but you know the reason for my visit, the Spanish consulate has been in contact with him. After filing a statement and sign several forms, after an hour I hear my name and my nationality pronounced in a harsh Russian accent from a small window. I have finally sealed the white slip through my hands that I keep as gold cloth between the pages of my passport, this is the migration card famous.

Walk out of the administration building so excited yand... - Where's my taxi?, Can not find my taxi!, Damn it! - I do not see it anywhere... all my luggage is there, my winter clothes, everything... Spend a minute with my heart beating again at breakneck speed, my eyes wander in all directions in search of a car which I can not remember the model or color, I go back twenty three paces, and again the damn anxiety about my body... Instantly a horn sounds very close to me, immediately recognize the face of the driver with his cap... had made it simply parked the car. Suddenly my anxiety and paranoia gives way to a long, deep breath, my condition could not be more stressful and I want to enjoy the journey, I have not come to Russia to grief. In the taxi radio sounds a Latin artist, in contrast to the gray concrete of the wide avenues, I see everything vague and confusing, and not because of the opacity of the car window. Arriving at Komsomolskaya Square, I give a generous tip to the driver, perhaps driven by a confidence that I have found difficulties in the last stages of my time in Moscow.

Finally Yaroslavskaya station, one last look at the chaotic streets of Moscow and its administration before passing under the doors of one of the icons of the Trans-Siberian. Crossed the second door... and two police officers asked me passport and ticket. Tested with a clinical eye all the data, stay with it, decide cache... can not... I can not believe it... only 15 minutes from the departure of my train I hold, and this time I wrapped a rage that I hold to what disbelief of the situation. At the end get what is common standard between the police, they resort to extortion. So that the bulk of my money so I distributed without their noticing. His face is drawn a devilish grin, gesturing with her eyes pointed at the clock, the few minutes remaining before the train departs. Until yesterday I had doubts to be here, and now I can say that "escaped" from Moscow and start the journey by the Trans-Siberian line.