Welcome to Babushkastan

Not all Muscovites love the Metro as much as I do. It can get a little crowded. Nine million people use it every day. More than the London and New York systems combined. And it’s not always the most direct route between Point A and Point B.

That’s where Gipsy Cabs come in. I’m not sure if that’s their official name. It’s just what the people I met in Moscow call them.

Any car on the road can be a Gipsy Cab. You just stick out your hand and wait for a car to stop. Negotiate a rate - usually a couple of hundred rouble - and you’re on your way.

Chances are it’ll be a little boxy Lada. They’re the ‘official’ Gipsy cabs. They are driven by guys who have come in from the provinces to make a living this way. And more likely than not they live in the car. If you’re lucky it’ll be something flash - driven by the driver/bodyguard of a businessmen looking to make a bit of extra cash while his boss is in a meeting.

Or if you’re like me, it’ll be some guy in a beat-up piece of shit with Tourettes syndrome. He picked up me, Jen and Nathan when we wanted to go from the VDNKh Cultural Pavillion to the river boat dock near Kutuzovsky. Each tick affected his driving - making him either accelerate, brake or veer wildly with each attack.

Then he got lost. And on discovering the way he had planned to go was one way, started slapping the side of his head.

It was an adventure, if nothing else.