Moscow, Russia - The greatest city you have never considered

While the greatest athletes on Earth attempted to run faster, jump higher and throw further than each other inside the Luzhniki Stadium, a city existed on the outside, so very weird and wonderful, dark and upbeat, jaw-droppingly beautiful and disturbingly ugly. Going about its daily business in the unique manner that only it knows how, Moscow is a truly remarkable city of extreme contrasts, and one which simply could not be overlooked in the midst of a sporting spectacular.

Red Square

The first port of call for most tourists arriving in the Russian capital is the iconic Red Square, the historical, political and cultural centre of Moscow, and the symbolic core of the nation. This grand vast plaza contains deep historical significance and an array of unique Russian architecture. Stretching along its west side are the walls of the Kremlin, and its overbearing towers. To the east lies the GUM Department Store, built in the late 19th century, an ideal location for a foreigner to divide his financial worth in half. In between is the often overlooked but charming red-bricked State Historical Museum, with the Kazan Cathedral cuddled in cosily beside it.

Directly facing this, on the other end of the square, is the picture of Russia, one of the greatest examples of dramatic architectural beauty to be found anywhere in the world, the splendid multi-coloured, onion-shaped domed church, Saint Basil’s Cathedral. This was constructed between 1555 and 1561 at the orders of the infamous Tsar, Ivan the Terrible, to commemorate Russia’s successful siege of the city of Kazan. During communist rule, this house of worship was confiscated from the Russian Orthodox Church as part of a state atheism programme, and came dangerously close to complete destruction, as long standing dictator, Joseph Stalin, viewed this eccentric marvel as a hindrance to a potentially larger Red Square. Fortunately, the infamous tyrant had a change of heart, and the church survived unscathed.

Red Square is certainly a symbol of a traumatic past for Russia, with Ivan the Terrible conducting public executions on its cobbled stones during his reign of torture, while it was the site of countless military parades during communist rule. The Lenin Mausoleum, situated in front of the Kremlin walls, is a stark and permanent reminder of a more troubled time, as the body of political revolutionary Vladimir Lenin, the first dictator of the Soviet Union, lies preserved, drawing hundreds of visitors each day. But somehow Red Square has withstood the trauma of years gone by, and is now the face of a new Russia, one with growing freedom and opportunity.

The Kremlin

Seated comfortably beside Red Square is the remarkable Kremlin, a fortified complex which overlooks the Moscow River. In existence for over 800 years, the current walls were built in the late 15th century, run in a triangular manner for approximately 2.2 kilometres, are as high as 19 metres, as thick as 6 metres, and contains twenty pompous towers. This setting is the main political centre of Russia, both historically and presently. It was the residence of the Russian Tsar for centuries until Peter the Great moved the capital to Saint Petersburg. After the Russian Revolution, Moscow was reinstated as the nation’s capital, and it was the dwelling for numerous Soviet dictators, and today, the President of Russia, Vladimir Putin, lives inside these much photographed walls.

Within this historic fort lies 68 acres of historic palaces, cathedrals, churches, cannons and the Ivan the Great Bell Tower, which provides an astonishing view of the exceptional architecture which exists here. I have travelled far and wide and have never seen constructions so beautiful in all my life, with Cathedral Square being the climax, with several typical Russian style onion shaped domed churches socialising together. The interior of each is remarkable, with every wall, ceiling, pillar and alter painted with artistic religious imagery, and decorated with gold coloured ornaments. It truly is a sight to behold and it is not surprising that, together with Red Square, the Kremlin was enlisted as a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1990.

Hidden treasures 

However, it’s the lesser known gems which set Moscow apart. Right beside the thronged Red Square is the small district of Kitay Gorod, an area containing a countless number of picturesque Russian churches and other historic constructions, situated on almost every corner. With architecture nearly as magnificent as the aforementioned Saint Basil’s Cathedral, this little inner suburb, curiously devoid of tourists, is the forgotten, but no less noteworthy, part of Moscow’s historic centre. Closer to the Luzhniki Stadium, another UNESCO World Heritage Site stands proudly, the charming Novodevichy Convent, the city’s best known cloister, with several churches and towers within its ancient walls. Further south is the capital’s final UNESCO approved attraction, the remarkable white columned Church of the Ascension, in the former royal estate of Kolomenskoye, constructed in distinctive white stone to commemorate the birth of a boy who would later become known as Ivan the Terrible. If awe-inspiring architecture is not your thing, then there is the bustling Izmailova Market to satisfy your cultural needs, with an overwhelming number of stalls selling all kinds of traditional or communist influenced matryoshka dolls, crafts and other peculiar paraphernalia. Generally I find markets to be dull, repetitive and uninspiring, but every rule has its exception, and I was quite captivated by the vast array of eccentric goods which were on offer.

The marvellous metro 

Nowhere portrays the uniqueness of this city more than the metro. Each day this extensive, efficient and timely rail network transports nine million Muscovites, more than that of London and New York City combined. What makes Moscow’s system stand out, however, is that it doubles up as a sort of art gallery. Many stations contain a stunning range of detailed paintings, sculptors, marble walls, stained glass, chandeliers, high ceilings and mosaics, with each platform a completely different style to the next. It truly is a site which needs to be seen to be fully appreciated and is one of the positive attributes that came out of Joseph Stalin’s totalitarian regime, even if the paintings depict such blatant Soviet propaganda. How much easier would the daily grind to the office be if one had such magnificent artwork to marvel at?!

Variety is the spice of life

What is most endearing about a city so incredibly alternative as Moscow are the little peculiarities one encounters just from roaming the city streets. The following are some of the odd and fascinating things I have come across during my brief stay in this bustling metropolis:

1) Being world renowned for its vodka, I expected each bar to provide an unending list of various options for one looking to dabble in this very harsh spirit. However all that seemed to be available were brands such as Smirnoff, known the world over, or foreign produced product. Searching for craft, or even mainstream, Russian beer proved even more problematic, with most restaurants offering a wide range of Czech, German, and occasionally Irish alcoholic beverages only. You would be forgiven for thinking that the locals are rather ashamed of their home produced equivalent.

2) Being from a western nation, I have become very familiar with tobacco free bars and restaurants. A trip to Moscow is like being warped back into a cloudy and polluted 1980s. Bring your inhaler.

3) On each and every visit to a famous tourist attraction, I encountered multiple newlyweds being dramatically photographed in front of a historical backdrop, a habit which I can only assume is a local tradition. It did not matter what day of the week it was, you did not have to walk far to find the latest happy couple. I have come to the presumptuous conclusions that each Russian must marry at least three times on average throughout a lifetime. How else can so many weddings be explained!

4) While strolling down a narrow footpath, it is not uncommon to encounter a manufactured dead end, with labourers drilling holes into the sidewalk in theatrical fashion, thus subjecting pedestrians to side-step out onto the chaotic and treacherous road to continue their two-legged transport.

5) Outside the sturdy walls of the Kremlin stand expressionless security guards. With a machine gun in hand, each soldier performs a highly commendable impersonation of a statue, until the big hand strokes twelve, and the changing of the guard takes place, an intimidating march marking an epic transformation. Legs locked impossibly straight, reaching angles greater than 90 degrees, these grim officials do their best to cause themselves long term Achilles damage. Protecting the Kremlin seems like more of a historical tradition than a necessity, as the guards completely disappear at night anyway, and the walls are so high and thick, that no lunatic would remotely consider climbing over.

6) Do not attempt to enter a metro station having forgotten to swipe your ticket first. The gates will close in epic fashion, punching you furiously on both hips, accompanied by a loud siren to make yourself the centre of attention. Honestly, do not do this.

7) The Moscow metro may be highly efficient for locals, but a first time tourist is likely to encounter an induction phase incorporating steady laps of the station, leading to a range of emotions including frustration and heartache. At the main entrance of each station, its name is publicised in both the alien Cyrillic and familiar roman form. However, once you enter, it becomes an exclusive Cyrillic affair, and due to many of the inadequate metro maps having solely the roman names listed, you are very much on your own, leading to educated guesses as to what a backwards ‘R’ may represent.

8) While the centre of Moscow contains structures so unimaginably striking, if you venture out into the suburbs you gain a haunting glimpse of a troubled and unforgotten past. The outskirts of the city are littered with mass produced hideous run down 1960s apartment blocks, eyesore’s which would make the thankfully demolished Ballymun flats in Dublin seem like Notre Dame Cathedral in comparison.

9) Talking to a Russian security guard may be the equivalent of drawing banter from a rock, but when on duty, there can be no denying that they are the best in the business, the finest enforcers of strict rules, pedantic or otherwise. Inside the Kremlin, despite the fact there is less traffic there than on the Gibb River Road in remote Western Australia, one is only allowed to cross at zebra crossings, which are quite rare in frequency. Should you feel adventurous and opt to engage in a bit of jay-walking, the attentive official blows his whistle sharply. Do not attempt to enter through open gates into eye-catching palaces either as this leads to the same result. These men are very much on the ball.

10) As a general rule, if there is a choice between a simple way of doing something or a more complex alternative, then rest assured in Russia the more difficult option will generally be considered. Whether it is the excruciating visa process, or something as simple as purchasing a ticket to enter a tourist attraction, everything involves a level of exhausting and unnecessary bureaucracy. Making things more problematic for no other reason but for the pure sake of it is one of Russia’s finest traits.

11) In Moscow Vladimir Lenin is a revered man. Wherever you walk you encounter reminders of how mighty the founder of the Bolshevik revolutionary group was. There is a statue outside the Luzhniki Stadium dedicated to him, metro stations called after his name, countless paintings on the platforms portraying his glory and power. At the markets, his face appears on postcards, playing cards, posters and even traditional matryoshka dolls. Buenos Aires worships Diego Maradona. In Moscow, it is all about Lenin.

12) I had been warned that Moscow can be quite dangerous at night, but thankfully I did not witness anything remotely unsettling, with the exception of one incident. Walking back to my accommodation after several drinks late one night, a crazy local wearing a mask from the movie “Scream” opted to jump in front of me for no other reason but the pure hilarity of it. If that is not creepy then I do not know what is.

Moscow is a city filled with the unusual and unpredictable. It is a place completely misjudged. For those who have yet to visit, I can safely say that most of what you believe about this weird and wonderful city is wrong. The local people DO smile. They ARE friendly, good fun and helpful. The weather is NOT minus thirty degrees all year around. And notwithstanding the curious tale above, this metropolis IS perfectly safe, if one engages in the principle of common sense. I would highly recommend grinding out the torture that is the visa process, because once you set foot in this beautiful and captivating capital you will simply wonder why you had never visited before.

Moscow, Russia - The good, the bad and the ridiculous

In total there were approximately 3,000 media accredited guests in Moscow. Countless hours are spent interviewing athletes, reporting on the success of the victors, while sometimes commenting on the underperformances of others. Members of the media like to give off the idea that they are experts in what they write about, something which I have sadly come to realise is complete fantasy in a lot of cases, but can they follow their own documented advice? Can they practice what they preach? The answer is an emphatic “nyet”.

“He disgraced the Irish singlet” 

In every edition of the World Championships since Rome in 1987, the IAAF have organised an 800m media race, open for any member of the hard-working, coffee swilling press, and Moscow 2013 was to be no different. 118 of the world’s most finely tuned journalists congregated on the Luzhniki Stadium to do battle over two laps of the track during the downtime between morning and evening sessions on Thursday 15th August. The event was split into 13 heats, supposedly graded based on personal bests, with the results merged at the end to determine the prize winners.

If the above sounds even semi-serious, then I can assure you this was not the case. While there were some respectable times recorded, the event was more about having a bit of fun and getting some media members involved in extra-curricular activities, rather than staring into a bright screen from morning to night. There was one woman who took over six minutes to complete the distance, a man who ran with a high-tech sports camera over his shoulder, another in full denim jeans, and my compatriot, Cathal Dennehy, who donned some worn out road running shoes and floppy shorts, hadn’t set foot on a track in years, and didn’t even bother to warm up, yet finished in third place overall in a steady 2:05, for his efforts receiving a watch valued at $400 from none other than double Olympic silver medallist Yohan Blake.

In stark contrast, I actually opted to train specifically for this distance in the weeks leading up to the World Championships. While I am not much of a runner, and 800m is not my favoured event by any means, the thought process was that one does not often get to race on such a perfect track in a large, albeit completely empty, stadium. Sadly, the race itself didn’t go to plan, as a week of sickness knocked any sort of strength out of my body, and I limbered home to a poor 2:21 and 19th place overall. Moments later Cathal and myself, both donning official Irish vests, were cornered by the good folk at Flotrack and requested to give an interview, resulting in my overjoyed team mate declaring that I had disgraced the Irish singlet. It was hard to disagree, and to be fair this level of banter just summed up the whole occasion. It is no exaggeration when I say that this race was one of the most enjoyable parts of the entire week. It was a surreal experience having Yohan Blake as the official starter for each heat, and 800m silver medallist Nick Symmonds watching on intently. While I am sure I will run much quicker in the future, it is difficult to envisage having quite as much fun in the process.

Breaking the Silence 

While I would never describe myself as a cynic, and indeed my belief has long been that athletics is a lot cleaner than the media give it credit for, and that it does infinitely more than higher profile sports to catch drug cheats, the fact still remains that there are some athletes involved willing to take a short cut towards success. With the recent doping scandals in the 100m involving multi-medallists Tyson Gay and Asafa Powell, it seemed appropriate that questions needed to be asked. Most journalists, however, shied away from such sensitive topics. It would be incorrect to say that drug related questions were forbidden, but they certainly were frowned upon, not so much by the organisers, but by certain athletes themselves, with mild groans and eyes reaching for heaven when the words “WADA” and “doping” were uttered.

Instead we were treated to a barrage of thought provoking questions reflecting a new age of sports journalism. “Usain, would you like to be a professional footballer after you retire?” “Usain, what position would you play?” “Who is your favourite player?” “Can you tell us a little more about that chicken dance you perfected this evening?” To say this caused agony to the brain cells would be an understatement. Here we were in the press conference of an event which has had an enormous doping controversy of late, and all people cared about was child’s talk.

Eventually my countryman, Cathal Dennehy, could no longer hack such mind-numbing dialogue and reached for the microphone. “Usain, would you be in favour of lifetime bans for drug cheats?” he uttered, to which he received the most politically correct rote learned answer you could imagine. “That’s not for me to decide, it’s for the people upstairs.” The following evening a similar question was posed to the three medallists in the women’s 100m, Shelly-Ann Fraser-Pryce, Murielle Ahoure and Carmelita Jeter, with the added query on their attitude towards the returning of prize money earned as potential punishment for serious doping offences. Ten seconds of awkward silence, eyes fixed firmly on the ground, before Fraser Pryce at least had the decency to attempt yet another unconvincing answer, mirroring Bolt’s reply the previous evening.

This was in stark contrast to ten minutes earlier when New Zealand shot putter Valerie Adams was quizzed about her thoughts on the possible introduction of lifetime bans for drug cheats. What followed was a passionate rant about how doping has no place in sport, about how she has put several ounces of blood sweat and tears into the sport she truly loves. About how she can never forgive the Belarusian woman, Nadzeya Ostapchuk, for robbing her of a glorious and deserved moment of celebration in London last year. About how if it was up to her, athletes convicted of doping would never be allowed back in the sport. Her hand placed firmly on her heart, her eyes welling up, this was a reply which drew a rare round of applause in the press conference room. It is how you would expect a clean athlete to respond to a question about the most offensive act in the sport of track and field. I have no place to be making any specific public accusations, but the comments from the leading 100m runners, and general attitude and vibe that went with them, do little to convince the onlooker that the right moves are being made to stamp the cancer of doping out of the sport.

A job well done 

Negative moments were a rarity however, and the championships overall were a big success. There had been criticisms early on with regards to low attendances, but once the event gained momentum there were close to 60,000 people in attendance every night, figures which very few other sports can attract to their showpiece event. A personal observation I made was that the Russian audience was actually quite knowledgeable about the sport, something which was completely lacking in Daegu two years ago. They recognised straight away, while in mid-air, if a javelin throw was poor, they knew if a Russian was fading on the last lap and was not going to catch the leading three, and they clearly deciphered that the first evening session had a dreadful line-up of uninspiring heats, and opted to wait for more exciting evenings to attend. They created an atmosphere, particularly the night of Yelena Isinbayeva’s victory in the pole vault, which has topped any other I have experienced in the previous three championships I have attended.

Arguably the most important aspect of events like these is the opportunity to inspire future generations to take up the sport, to encourage kids to get involved, creating healthy habits which they can take with them throughout adulthood. Moscow 2013 came out with the highest grade in this regard. Outside the stadium were all kinds of interactive games and activities. There was a 30m temporary track with electronic timing for those who wanted to sprint, mini hurdles for the more adventurous, a long jump pit, javelins, hammers, you name it. There was a high jump bar set to the ridiculous world record of 2.45m, displaying clearly to the average person on the street just how good the world’s best are. There were coaching sessions teaching the proper technique of various events. Various high profile athletes such as Blanka Vlasic, Allyson Felix and Yohan Blake made regular appearances to sign autographs. It was everything which London 2012 wasn’t. It was far more accessible to the fans, the casual viewers and most importantly to the children of the host city, the future athletes of this great sport.

To the organising committee, the volunteers and the people of Moscow, I think I speak for most media members when I say spasiba.

Moscow, Russia - Pure daycent

Despite all the perks that go with working in the media at one of the world’s great sporting events, what makes a championship truly memorable are the performances of the athletes themselves, and from an Irish point of view there was none more outstanding than that of Cork’s Robert Heffernan. Having suffered a plethora of near misses in major championships, namely fourth places finishes in both the 20km and 50km race walks at the 2010 European Championships in Barcelona and again at the London Olympics last year over the longer distance, the 35 year old finally claimed the medal that had eluded him, winning gold in the men’s 50km walk, becoming only the third world champion from the Emerald Isle, following Eamonn Coghlan in 1983 and the legendary Sonia O’Sullivan in 1995. The result was immense, just reward for almost two decades of hard graft. The experience surrounding the event, however, was on another level.

While the support along the two kilometre loop, which Heffernan had to negotiate on no less than twenty-four occasions, was never going to be near that of London last year, there were nonetheless a decent sprinkling of Irish supporters stretched along the course, slowly damaging their vocal chords over the extended period of time that is required when your athlete is competing in the longest event on the championship programme. At the half way mark, as the early leaders dropped back, I muttered to myself inaudibly that the Togher AC athlete had the victory on the tip of his finger nails. While one never wants to tempt faith, he looked so incredibly comfortable while those around him faded in rising temperatures. With less than two kilometres remaining and a historic victory all but guaranteed, a group of us began a mad dash for the stadium, desperate to make it inside and not to miss the crowning moment. The security guards did their best to slow this transition as much as they could, but fortunately I took my place by the finish line with a few minutes to spare, ready to soak in a moment of glory so rare to supporters from such a small country. 

The immediate aftermath was chaotic for Heffernan as he was inundated with interviews, no doubt being asked the exact same questions by each reporter. Despite all this, the charismatic Corkman spent a solid ten minutes talking to myself and Cathal, providing an unprecedented level of banter, comedy and anecdotes. I struggle to think of a more likeable Irish sporting hero, and with the outspoken personality he possesses together with his extraordinary success, I really believe that he has the potential to become a genuine superstar back home, in a market dominated by GAA, football and rugby players. Shortly afterwards, he was seated in the winners chair at the press conference, looking bemused at such a new experience, being fired dozens of questions from overjoyed Irish journalists, who in no uncertain terms took over the public discussion. One had to feel slightly sorry for Jarrod Tallent of Australia, who despite having achieved yet another major medal, was not queried once. This moment was all about one man.

Well documented at this stage, Ireland’s main broadcaster, RTE opted not to cover the World Championships, leaving the country one of the only in Europe without national television presence inside the Luzhniki Stadium, an embarrassing, yet recurring, and sadly unsurprising theme. Anybody with the smallest knowledge of the sport knew that Robert Heffernan was going to be at the business end of proceedings come the championships and it is astonishing that RTE lacked the foresight to, at the very least, purchase the rights to his particular race, like what the broadcaster did in 2003 when only Sonia O’Sullivan’s 5000m final was aired. In addition, not one of the major Irish broadsheet newspapers bothered to send a journalist to Moscow, opting instead to sit at home, and attempt to nab some quotes off those who bothered to attend the event, and then write articles in a manner which fools the oblivious reader into thinking they were in the Russian capital, by Rob’s side, every step of the way.

The minutes and hours following Heffernan’s victory were comical and pathetic simultaneously. Phone calls and emails came through from RTE, other radio stations, and broadsheet newspapers looking for a piece of the action. There was mass panic back home. A sport, a championship, and an athlete which a week earlier served no financial purpose to any of the above, was now the latest hot story, and they wanted in on the action. The fact the championships were ignored by the Irish media was not lost on members of the foreign press, many of whom were astonished that a national broadcaster would not attend the third largest sporting event on the planet. But I guess the Confederations Cup is more important!

The celebrations later that evening were spectacular. The meeting point was confirmed to be Silvers Irish Bar, a tiny tavern just off Moscow’s iconic Red Square. Word then spread like wildfire. Everybody in Russia’s capital involved in Irish athletics congregated in this cosy pub, much to the very visible dismay of the local bartenders, who had anticipated an easy Wednesday night’s work. There were approximately thirty people in attendance, a small but highly dedicated and passionate group of people, all with grins as wide as Galway Bay. The man himself, together with wife Marian, made a grand entrance at 10pm, a moment which was greeted by a deafening eruption. From that moment on, the pints of Guinness and otherwise were flowing, with Rob himself getting in on the act for a much deserved and long overdue couple of beers. The festivities continued until after 3am with Togher’s finest leading the sing-a-long of some traditional Cork classics.

I never anticipated anything topping the experience of being in the Excel Arena for Katie Taylor’s Olympic boxing gold last year, but Moscow has now provided a serious challenger to this crown.

Moscow, Russia - The best seat in the house

Having already spectated at the European Championships in Barcelona in 2010, the World Championships in Daegu, South Korea the following year, and the London Olympics in 2012, the thought of missing out on the next congregation of the world’s finest athletes, in a city forever on my bucket list of travel destinations, was simply not entertained. Flights and tickets were booked and I was ready to experience it all again. Then, on a balmy March evening in Melbourne, as I sat in a charming Irish pub, listening to a trad session, while sipping on a few adequately poured pints of Guinness, an idea was born. A friend of mine, seated on the other end of the table, planted the seed. “Why don’t you apply for a media pass?” The thought had never crossed my mind and at first the pure notion of it seemed ridiculous. Sure isn’t media accreditation for those lads you see on the TV, working for RTE television, and the major Irish newspapers? Wouldn’t they be requiring this ahead of somebody like myself? The more I thought about my friend’s suggestion the more valid it seemed and it wasn’t long before I was 100% committed to the plan. A couple of months later my application was approved by the IAAF and I was ready to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, a glimpse at one of the world’s greatest sporting events, in the historical city of Moscow, from the best seat in the house.

The life of a Tsar 

From the moment we set foot inside the Luzhniki complex, the site of the 1980 Olympic Games, myself, and a fellow Irish journalist, Cathal Dennehy, were given the full tsar treatment. Following the short and pain free process of signing in and receiving our accreditation badges, which would allow us access to certain areas of the venue throughout the championships, we were provided with a rake of free paraphernalia; a public transport pass, a bag, championship programmes, a statistics book, and an invitation to the media party taking place that evening. Never the type to reject the offer of free grub and booze, we spent a thoroughly enjoyable evening drinking and discussing athletics with journalists from all over the world, with much good natured trash talking about who would claim more medals. It was the eve of the championships and excitement was really starting to build. I arrived as a journalist, but had no intention of forgetting my roots as a fan.

The media setup was top notch. For starters, the accreditation badge allowed one to sit anywhere in the general spectator section of the stadium, which resulted in several nights spent seated in the sixth row, a mere four metres from the finish line, as the world’s fastest, strongest and most durable whizzed past. As we witnessed Jamaica’s Usain Bolt crush his competitors yet again in the men’s 100m, I couldn’t help but cast my mind back to the London Olympics last year, and the fact that there were many people who took out a small mortgage to witness the same race involving a similar line-up. You would need to be stone mad not to take advantage of perks like these.

Getting down to business 

In addition to the above, the organising committee did many things so well to ensure that members of the media could work efficiently, effectively and in a timely manner. Inside the stadium, overlooking the finish line, there were countless media workstations. These contained two screens; one with a touch feature providing start lists, results, summaries, medal tables and every other piece of statistical heaven which sporting anoraks like myself thrive upon, while the other contained several television channels, allowing me to watch whatever event I wished, a sort of red button type feature. This was a godsend as some of the field events were taking place on the other side of the stadium and therefore were out of natural view for even those with twenty twenty vision.

Furthermore, within barely three minutes of a race concluding, the eager volunteers would provide you with a print out of the results. Then there was the mixed zone, where athletes of varying emotions would pass through in the immediate aftermath of the conclusion of their race or event, providing an opportunity to nab some interviews, quotes and anecdotes. Close by was the press conference room, where the medallists in each event would congregate afterwards, allowing an opportunity to fire questions at the interviewees in a public environment. Meanwhile, over in the main media centre, there contained numerous top of the range personal computers, quality printers, high speed internet, along with WiFi. You only had to shuffle from your seat a mere ten metres and you had access to pigeon holes filled with race results, start lists, previews, interview quotes, you name it. Never in my life have all the tools required to do a job been so readily available to me.

By the book

This is not to say there weren't some flaws when it came to the organisation of this event. At the last World Championships, in South Korea, I was won over by the polite manner, friendliness and pure innocence of the people working on security. Granted they weren't the most effective at their appointed roles, and I regularly gained access to the athletes section of the stadium with remarkable ease, but there existed a laid back attitude and atmosphere, which provided a pleasant experience for all parties involved. The men working on security in Moscow on the other hand were more akin to the type you would expect to find on guard outside the Kremlin or any other political institution, a casual throwback to communist times.

My accreditation badge only allowed access to certain areas, and through specific entrances, and by God, were those security guards going to enforce things to the extreme letter of the law, with ruthless, unforgiving and intimidating efficiency. The media area of the stadium was poorly signposted, which meant we spent the first three days of the event consistently lost, unable to find our way to the mixed zone, press conference area, media work stations, and any other location which required our attendance.

“Please sir, I just need to go through that gate to get into my seat” I uttered, trying to reason to a guard with a face as long as Chile. “Nyet, Nyet” he muttered, his cheek muscles physically unable to lift upwards. Nyet, a word we would hear on at least twenty dozen occasions throughout the championships, as the security guards threw logic out the window and enforced a level of red tape, so unnecessary and complex, it would break a man on the brink. “I am supposed to be in that section, please just let me through that gate now and it will all be good” I pleaded while pointing furiously, albeit in great vein, sadly aware of his complete lack of any English vocabulary. He responded by crossing his arms, forming an X sign, and literally pushed me back, throwing around a bunch of hand gestures indicating that I needed to travel the scenic route to gain access to my appointed spot. But of course. This is Russia, a fascinating place where things are made more complex for the pure sake of it. Eventually I found out the problem at hand. I had accidently entered an area I was not supposed to have access to, the photographers section. Rather than let me correct this error swiftly and allow me out the exit gate into the section I was supposed to be in, he sent me on a journey down steps, under tunnels, up more stairs, across hall ways, through press rooms, and up one final flight. It did not matter that this was clinically insane, pointless and a waste of my time, there was apparently only one entrance by which I was entitled to enter through, and he was not budging from these convoluted rules. This is just one example of the astonishing levels of bureaucracy we encountered all week, resulting in a grade of effort unprecedented for such trivial matters.

Hospitality 

It would have been easy to stereotype the Russian people based on these grim and harsh soldier-like creatures, and indeed Usain Bolt made multiple references throughout the week about how he believed the local people were far too serious and didn’t smile enough. However, having interacted with countless Russian people, both inside and outside the confines of the Luzhniki complex, I can gladly say that the world’s fastest human is completely incorrect in his judgments. The Russian people proved to be extremely helpful, pleasant and friendly, were great fun to be around, and yes, they did smile, a lot. Nobody displayed this underrated likeability and charm better than the championship volunteers, who consistently went above and beyond to ensure we had everything we required. One particular moment which will long stick in the memory was when the two of us finished up working quite late, with the clock ticking dangerously towards 1pm, and the closure of the Moscow metro. Not only did two female volunteers call us a taxi, but in addition walked with us for twenty minutes to ensure we reached our pick-up spot safely and painlessly. You simply do not forget kind gestures like that, a bench mark to which all countries and sporting events should aspire to.