29/05/2026
“The first time I visited Moskova, it was winter, and my glasses fogged up when I entered the tiny bar. Everything was a red haze. As the blur subsided, a scene materialised, so theatrical that for sure this all had to be for me: crouched dark shapes conversing over tables, a mild warm light emanating from a jukebox that may or may not have been broken, hoarse laughter, and, behind the counter, a lady with a woolen shawl draped over her shoulders, cutting up thick slices of sausage.
The outside world was shielded from view by a pale, ruched curtain. There was no excess of memorabilia nor any visible hammer and sickle anywhere. The nostalgia which is at the heart of Moskova is not for that symbolised by material goods: Soviet New Year Tree glass ornaments of satellites or corncobs (an obsession of state leader Nikita Khrushchev’s), red velvet communist flags, or lapel pins. The nostalgia is for an attitude…
Some bars come alive only when filled with people. Many are depressing when empty and best to be avoided early in the evening. Moskova doesn’t change based on the amount of customers. After all, it doesn’t need any customers to fulfill its role as a memorial for the era of stagnation. It is as much of a statement when empty as when packed.”
From the Helsinki issue of FARE, available at the link in our bio.
Words and photography by