Obligatory shot of the author in front of St Basil's Cathedral, Moscow Photo: Dr K Henderson

There's this really strange part of any expedition when you meet the other participants. What will they be like?

Will you become best friends? Enemies? Do they have good personal hygiene? And most important - do they look like snorers? And the guide, does he look safe? Is he morose and bearded? Does he have your airline tickets?

On our way to Gatwick airport the Doc and I were consumed by these and other questions. A few hours later, on the flight to Moscow we could take stock. Guide - definitely safe, definitely not morose or bearded, and he did have our tickets - yes, Alan was definitely a good thing. As for the other clients, Peter, nearing the end of a year of climbing around the world, looked weathered and competent; Jimmy, less weathered, showed good early signs of having a sense of humour. Phew!

Moscow, Moscow, what can one say. In 1990 I worked with the Soviet Ministry of Defence for a few months as part of Perestroika, based in Moscow. It struck me then as the Los Angeles of Eastern Europe, big, powerful, ugly and impersonal. The money that has flown in from the West since then has simply bounced off the city (probably en route to Monaco). Sure it has a few more malls, most notably one under Revolution Square designed to stop the Russians from driving their tanks across it, but it is still the same: big, powerful, ugly and impersonal.

And bloody cold.

We shivered around the city for a day, seeing the obligatory sights. We were happy the next day to be at Domodedova airport on our way to the Caucasus, taping up our luggage like the locals in a feeble theft-prevention measure.