Moscow is not particularly renowned for its beautiful architecture or serene locations. You can be impressed by the flamboyant St Basil’s Cathedral or the gothic Stalin skyscrapers but generally speaking, despite its numerous attractions, the city is not a picturesque one.

There are a few specific locations however where this general rule has exceptions to prove it. The best example by some way is the superb Novodevichiy Convent that lies in the south west of the city.

The first time I saw it I was on a whistle-stop coach trip, beloved of tourist companies. The coach stopped at the side of the road for us to gawp at it and some of us persuaded the guide to let us off for a few moments to photograph it. I knew there and then that I’d have to return to see it properly; such is the lure of this fantastic collection of turrets, towers and domes.

Novodevichiy was built in the 16th century as a fortification at a bend in the Moskva river, but gradually increased its significance as a religious site until closed by the Bolsheviks in 1922. Most of the current buildings are from the late 17th century and have survived mainly untouched, despite an attempt by Napoleon to blow up the convent which was thwarted by the nuns. It was re-opened as a church site in 1994.

It was two years later when I returned to Moscow, this time without the aid of a guide and a coach to whiz me through the city traffic. I made my way by metro to Sportivnaya station, and then set off through the streets with the aid of a small map.

This time the domes suddenly appeared most incongruously in the sky between the 1960’s style flats on either side of a small road which then opens out onto a dual carriageway skirting the Convent. By now I could see the perimeter wall and one of the bastion towers and it was hard not to be distracted as I braved the traffic across a faded and rather ineffective pedestrian crossing. I made my way round to the entrance, which is crowned by what is apparently known as a gate-church and walked in through a fifteen foot long archway. What greets you on the other side is astonishing. The view that I saw from across the lake two years ago was beautiful, but this was spectacular. The white Cathedral rose up into what was now a perfect blue sky, it’s central dome gold and gleaming and surrounded by four others, green with gold trim, each topped with tall crosses. To the left and further back is the 236 foot high bell tower, a beautiful baroque structure in red and white that just dazzles the eyes. Then I turned round to look at the building on top of the archway I’d just come through. The gate-church has white, scallop shaped gables which contrast wonderfully with its russet walls and is also topped by five domes. The beauty really does take your breath away – I couldn’t believe what I was seeing and just stood there trying to take it all in.

It’s all set in very pretty grounds with lawns and tall pine and willow trees that set everything off perfectly. And then there are more buildings. Two more churches, the nuns’ refectory and the gently weathered towers that appear intermittently around the wall. I don’t know how long I wandered around just looking at everything again and again from every angle I could find.

I had been fortunate up to this point in that there was only a handful of other people about. Hordes of tourists never particularly enhance the enjoyment of a place, but it was not tourists who suddenly descended on the Convent on this occasion. A wedding party began to invade the grounds and to gather around the entrance to the Cathedral. What a place to get married! I actually wouldn’t mind being a wedding photographer if they all took place here. This was a big wedding and I decided it was time to slip out during this temporary interruption of the tranquillity I’d been enjoying. Outside, cars were now parked all over the place, some large and attended by chauffeurs. The bride had just arrived in one of the latter and was obviously awaiting her cue. I was almost tempted to go back and ask someone if I could watch the ceremony, but I wasn’t sure if I’d be welcome or not, or even if I’d find anyone who spoke English. I’ll never know.

Instead I carried on walking down towards the little lake where I knew I’d re-discover the view from two years ago. The guide book describes it as a pond, which I associate with domestic gardens and ornamental parks, neither of which apply here, so I’ll stick to lake – it’s too big for a pond. I actually walked the whole of the way around the lake, watching the towers and domes of the Convent move around each other as I went. I found the spot I’d stood on so briefly before, very glad that this time there wasn’t a coach waiting to whisk me off somewhere. As I got to the far side of the lake there was a group of soldiers, complete with rifles, lying on the grass bank having a chat and a smoke, which was, I suppose, not extraordinary, but to me seemed completely out of context with the rest of the afternoon. Several of them watched me as I passed by and I got that feeling I was being talked about. Somehow their presence reminded me of the other big spectacle that Novodevichiy has to offer – its cemetery.

I suspect that some people may come to visit the cemetery and not bother with the Convent which would be a great shame. The cemetery is situated at the opposite end of the Convent to the lake and has its own separate entrance, so it wouldn’t be hard to do. In a way it would also be understandable since some of Russia’s most famous are buried here including the writers Chekhov and Gogol, the composers Prokofiev and Shostakovich and the former President Khrushchev. Even Mr Molotov, he of the famous cocktail, can be found if you’re prepared to look long and hard enough, along with numerous other luminaries, some more luminous than others.

I decided to go and have a look for Chekhov at least, since I’d once studied his plays and developed quite a liking for his dry humour. You have to pay a few roubles to get in, and then it’s a case of how accurate your guide book is at showing the locations of the plots. The cemetery is dissected by walls, so it’s bigger than it initially appears and some of the plots are hidden from sight at the entrance. I found Chekhov after about ten minutes and to my surprise also Gogol who is, by coincidence, directly opposite. There’s a horrible story about Gogol which is unhappily true and which gave me the shivers as I stood there and read it. He suffered from severe cataleptic fits which to all intents and purposes made him appear dead to all but a doctor. Unfortunately on the last occasion he also fooled the doctor. When Soviet historians decided to exhume his grave they found claw marks on the inside of the coffin.

For the grand finale I sought out Khrushchev’s grave just so that I could say I’d seen it. It was a lot less grand than I was expecting, but apparently he wasn’t all that popular after being ousted from power in 1964 and died in obscurity seven years later. For the man who came closest to actually waging nuclear war with the West during the Cuban missile crisis this is a rather modest memorial, even Chernenko, who didn’t exactly storm the ramparts of history, has his own spot in the Kremlin wall. Apparently there was only a one line report in Pravda a couple of days after he’d passed on announcing simply the death of ‘pensioner N S Khrushchev ‘.

After the cemetery I made my way back to the Convent for a last look, quite sad that I had to leave and not really knowing when or whether I’d see it again. I photographed it profusely of course, and bought some postcards of views of it in the snow, where it looked even more fantastic. I couldn’t help turning round as I walked back through the street with the 1960s flats to catch one last glimpse of the domes. It occurred to me that whoever lived in the top flat at the end of the block must have a perfect view of the whole site. I doubt whether they even have to pay extra rent! That was the first time in my life I could say I’d been envious of a Moscow flat dweller.