Six am, dawn breaks in Moscow, the moon still smiles through the rising blue sky and mustard horizon of the coming sun. My first impression of Moscow was not great, it was cold, the wind here cuts like a frozen razor-blade. I had my foolishly big pack and I walked from the other end of the city to get to the hostel and thanks to the Lonely Planet’s inability to accurately plot points on a map, I ended up thinking I was lost and walking all the way round the block the wrong way, not as easy as it sounds when you are carrying over twenty kilogrammes of bags and your hands are like frozen pork chops. It was cold and overcast all day and a disinterest hung over the city. Saint Basil’s and the Kremlin looked unimpressive against the bland grey cloud. In the evening the cloud moved and a golden light came through my hostel window. I put on my coat and walked down to Red Square with a sense of anticipation. I looked up from the big grey cobbles that cover the square and saw Saint Basil’s in all it’s magnificence, the multi-coloured pumpkin domes bulging and glowing in the evening light.