No Place Like Home

Yekaterinburg

The plague of the theme pub has spread into most corners of the world and Yekaterinburg is no exception. I've managed to resist the temptation of various British bars across Europe, but after seeing the first Scottish pub of my trip here of all places I decided to stop by last night. Attached to a posh hotel Gordon's was too pricey to stay for more than one drink, but the surreal experience of sitting at a table in deepest Russia with a picture of Burns in front of me, one of Edinburgh to my left and the Declaration of Arbroath behind was worth doing. The barmen all had kilts on too, I wonder if they had any idea what it was all about.

On Lenin Prospekt I found a Beatles bar called Yellow Submarine. It was tiny inside but nicely done out, the sort of place that would be incredibly trendy in a tacky sort of way back home. As it was there was only me and a few Russians in there to enjoy a couple of locals running through various Beatles hits and other requests. One of the locals closed his eyes and sang along to every word, but then he was completely drunk.

Decided to stop at an off licence on the way home to get some cheap beer for the train tonight. On the way out who's picture should I see on the wall? None other than this city's favourite son Boris Yeltsin, snapped along with some staff members and grinning like the constantly half-cut man he is. Funny that the only sign of Yeltsin in all of Yekaterinburg has nothing to do with his busting of the hardline Communist coup in 1991 or any of his dramatic economic reforms, just him visiting a booze shop. I suppose it's not surprising.