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Moscow: The Chinese Pilot


Location: Proyezd Lubyansky 25, Moscow. In English, that's 'Kitay-Gorod metro station'

Cost: Entrance usually around 200 rubblies - a week's pay in Bangladesh

Before we start, let's get one thing out of the way. This is a bar we're talking about. You know, the kind with beer and women. Your experience may vary depending on how many of either you have. Also, assuming that I don't like to leave a job half done, and it's been three years, what I tell here might as well be fiction.

But then that's Moscow for you! You can't quite be sure afterwards - did all that really happen? Especially since most visits to Moscow rarely limit themselves to the legacies of Russian tszars and Soviet paraphernalia. You'll find the place lends itself quite well to a night of debauchery of the most vulgar kind, which the Russians may or may not take personally. The gaudy setting and a modern vibe based solely on a 'rags to perverse riches'-approach kind of settle on your shoulder somewhere after checking into your hotel. One on each shoulder. Well, I don't know about you lot, but all they told me was 'get ready, bitch'. I don't like nothing talking to me like that, so I drowned them in alcohol, that I did.
Where was I? Right, the Chinese Pilot. Infamous bar just near Kitay-Gorod. It's known in Russian as 'Kitaysky Lyotchik Dzhao-Da' but unless you already knew that, this information is utterly worthless to you as you'll never be able to pronounce it right and ask for directions. What I did was shake my fist at the next best Lada passing by the Kremlin, get in, and tell the old, confused man inside to take me to Kitay-Gorod, in whatever language I thought of first. And he did. For free. Hurray for communism?

Found the place easy enough. Settled down with a beer and a white russian (I'm the kind of guy who finds that appropriate), and a pack of smokes. For two reasons: one, I like to smoke, and two, wouldn't you know it, the girl nearby was fresh out of smokes. We chat a bit in broken english, then she gestures me to follow her outside. She scurries off into an alley and just as I get ready to unzip or get mugged, she offers me to smoke some marijuana with me. Highly illegal in mother Russia, so she tells me. Couple years, at least, posession only. I tell her "baby, that's good, but you take it" and she smokes the whole two puffs of it. Then she falls over face first on the road.

Well, I couldn't leave her there like that, so patched her up a bit and soon enough she was ready to go back in. I still don't think I could've gotten a gerbil high off of what she smoked but who am I? Decided to put her in a corner and decided to find out what kind of place this really was.

The Chinese Pilot is a bit of a name in the Moscow scene. If you've got any class, this place is probably not for you, but I've always been class. And I've said it before, there's beer, and there's women, much more I do not need. There's two areas, one for drinking, one for dancing, so just start on the left and move your way down right. The crowd is probably somewhere between 20-30 years old, so there's something legal there for everyone. Good place to start, live music on some evenings, and a bit less sleeze than what you're in for when you get thrown out on the pavement after misbehaving 'round 2 AM. Is that a personal experience? Painfully convenient blank there.

Well, let's get to it. I've met a Chinese pilot before; suffice to say the comparison is justified. Plenty of alcohol in either and when your business with them is done, just one thought remains: "how the fuck did I get out of there alive?"

Case for: Beer (+4)
Women (+3)
Completely random (+2)
Case against: Students (-4)
Amateur junkies (-1)

Final score: +4
The Chinese Pilot just happens sometimes. Like waking up next to an ugly chick, you're sure you had a good night but it leaves you feeling dirty and somewhat used.

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posted by Mab at 22:07, ,