5 August
Greetings from St Petersburg, Russia (as opposed to Florida, since that
was the running joke in Austin – not mine, but everyone elses). Things
here are a bit weirder even than I expected, As I sit here, I am in one
of about three places in town that advertise wireless internet, a small
place about 5 minutes from my hotel that has six computers on shelves
with bar stools and three large tables for people with laptops, but as
of now, no wifi. The kid at the front desk says he’s trying to fix it
and it will be back up in about three hours. We’ll see about that. I’ve
also just had my second run in with obnoxious westerners. A guy from
NYC who has thrown three fits in the five minutes he’s been here. One
over the fact that the wifi wasn’t working when there was a sign that
said they had it, one over the fact that they couldn’t make him a
cappucino (I didn’t figure out why – it appears they have the
equipment, and he says he’s had it here before, but the guy behind the
counter (not the kid) inists he can’t make one, assuming they are
talking about the same thing. Finally the guy from NYC ordered a
koka kola, but they are out. So, reason to complain in all three cases
maybe, but I’ve been in Russia for three days and I’ve already learned
what to expect. My new rule of thumb: always have a plan B, and a plan
C, and in your spare time, entertain options of what plan D would be,
if it were to come to it. So, the only wireless coffee shop within easy
walking distance has no wireless, no coffee and no soda. I guess that
puts you on plan D. Mr New York obviously wasn’t thinking that far
ahead.
The city is pretty stunning in a lot of ways, but full of
contradictions. It’s definitely part of Russia – but has an extremely
European feel to it. On the other hand, it’s not at all old. It was
founded only 300 years ago, when Peter built a fort along the Neva
river (that's it above), to protect the inland waterways. The fort is
still there, I walked around, through and on top of it yesterday, and
it has a stunningly modern feel. Like all of the tourist attractions
here, it was being repaired – bricklayers were rebuilding walls with
bright red bricks and the area that was used as a political prison
(Dostoyevsky was a resident) was completely closed in order to shine it
up and put in new drywall. It doesn’t seem to occur to them that we
tourists might want to see things old, I guess. It’s as if San Antonio
was letting people in to visit the Alamo, but as you walked through,
there were men working, putting new mortar in and replacing the blocks
with new ones, and you could tell that if you were to come back and
visit in another five or ten years, there likely wouldn’t be anything
left of the original structure. Below is the Cathedral of Spilled
Blood, which doesn't really fall into the above category at all, since
it was done remarkably well the first time. It's gothic/bright
architecture would fit in better in Spain than St Petersburg, but it's
stunning to see, nevertheless.
Another contradiction is their relationship to the west. I had lunch
today at an outdoor café that was playing the pop music that is
too crass even for american top 40 – of special note was a girl group
singing “Eye of the Tiger” – and everywhere you go, you see American
movies on DVD, American brand names, jeans, beer, and everything else.
At the same time, almost no one speaks any English whatsoever. Alexei,
the travel agent who I booked my hotel with and who met me at the
airport (bless him) was fluent, and one of the women who works at my
hotel (I’ve met 5 so far, all women, all in their 20’s, all attractive
– that seems to be the requirement for emplyment there) speaks enough
that I could ask her where to find internet, but not enough for me to
communicate the idea of wireless with any confidence. A couple
restaurant wait staff have known a few words, but that’s pretty much
it. At the same time, I’ve had a surprising number of Russians get
remarkably annoyed at my lame grasp of their language. Just yesterday I
was berated in a way I haven’t been in a long long time by a grey
haired woman in the currency exchange place next to my hotel. I still
don’t have the faintest idea why. The sign outside clearly said that
they exchanged amex travellers checks. I managed to sort out that you
had to go to a special window to do it, produced my passport when she
told me to, and it all went to hell from there. She was telling me
something, but was speaking too fast for me to sort it out. When I
didn’t get it, I retreated to motioning like I was going to sign the
check, and asking if I should go ahead and do it. She yelled something
at me, which defintely had the body language of “No you idiot… “
and continued yelling at me. Clueless, I told her I didn’t understand,
so she scribbled something on paper. I took the paper but the words
didn’t look familiar either (I am reading russian much better than I
hear it – I can sort out meanings about 30 percent of the time looking
at the words, more if I have time to use the small dictionary in my
bag). She started yelling again when I obviously still didn’t get it,
at which point I stuffed my passport and checks into my pockets and
retreated. I’ll hold onto the checks until I either feel more confident
in financial Russian or find a bank teller with a bit of English
fluency.
The waitress at the café today rolled her eyes at me when she
saw me with my phrasebook/dictionary out, trying to decipher the menu.
She came back a minute later with the English version of the menu, but
then seemed annoyed when I asked her to leave the Russian version as
well so that I could compare. Despite the fact that the two were in a
completely different order and seemed to have some completely different
items, it helped a bit, and gave me some headway into decoding the next
all Russian menu I look at. Even so, the temptation to go with American
places, or at least Russian places with the food out where you can see
it is strong, if only so that I know what I’m getting. I’m resisting
for the most part, but if the result of trying to sort things out is
going to be similar to today (after bringing the English menu, the
waitress never came back. I ended up going inside and ordering) then
I’m going to be even more inclined to avoid that situation.
Moral of the story – If you’re going to Russia, learn the language.
Period. And be prepared to drink only beer or soda.
Today I am sorting out, as soon as I can actually get online, whether
to stick with the plan and head to Moscow next, or to go through Latvia
and Lithuania as an alternate course to Ukraine. Everything I’ve heard
about Moscow makes me think that I’m going not going to care for it.
Most of the people here turn up their nose… the closest comparison I
can make is as if DC had all the government of the US, but was the
cultural and arts equivalent of Lincoln, Nebraska. The two small L
countries both sound gorgeous, and I figure as long as I don’t grasp
the language here, It’s pretty much the same thing either way. I say
that, though I don’t have either a Latvian or Lithuanian phrase book on
me, and buying a Russian – Latvian guide probably isn’t going to do
much good.
That’s all for now. I may add to this before I get to send it, but
those are the initial findings from the edge of the arctic circle. I
realize I forgot to mention now odd it is having the sun set at 11:30pm
and rise at 5:30am, but there are lots of other things I forgot to
mention as well. I’m sure I’ll throw them in eventually. For now, it’s
a sunny afternoon, so I’m going to drop my computer at the hotel and
take a walk and see a new part of the city. Hope you all are well, and
that the Austin summer is as pleasant as the days here. Not swimming
weather, but perfect for walking, at least when it’s not raining.
Stephen
7 August
What a day! I asked someone where the train ticket office was today,
and amazingly enough, it turns out its right around the corner from my
hotel. I walked down the street turned into a solid stone doorway, and
low and behold, there was a huge ticket office with hundreds of people
in line at 50 or 60 windows. Lots of information to grasp, and of
course, all of it in Russian. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t almost
give up several times, and start to walk to a hostel travel agency
about 20 minutes away that I’m pretty sure speaks English, but as long
as I was there, I tried to sort it out for myself. In the end, I stood
in line for about an hour – typical, I think, and managed to sign and
write my way to a ticket to Riga, Latvia for tomorrow night – an
overnight train. I was hoping to leave today, but I get the impression
that you have to book international trains 24 hours in advance. At
least I think that’s what she meant. Happily, the hotel was able to
accommodate me for an extra day, and the hotel in Riga was able to
confirm my reservation for a day later than I originally asked for.
This is a small footbridge about a block from the hotel, and you can
see the sign for the train station, which I didn't notice for three
days, on the right hand side. It says XACCABl roughly, and has a large
picture of a train at the top. The photo shows my neighborhood, and
also the nature of the canals coursing through the city. I can't
imagine trying to drive here, after all, one river in Austin, and
deciding where to cross it when there is traffic is bad enough, there
are canals like this literally every three or four blocks in either
direction, and then the main river channels, of which there are two or
three, depending on where you are going. There are plenty of bridges,
but even so, learning which streets you can follow around the multiple
islands of the city must be very frustrating.
After getting all that done, I was pretty much drained, and went to my
room and flopped down on the bed and took a nap. Now I’ve gone back to
the internet café (they got the wireless up yesterday - two days
after my last message and then I was the guinea pig, with the kid there
typing the numerical address in because he didn’t’ have the real
software working yet.) confirmed a couple more travel arrangements, and
looked into what happens after Latvia, which most likely is Krakow,
Poland. I’m desperately trying to camp next to the Baltic Sea after a
couple days in the hotel at Riga, but I’m not sure it’s going ot work
out. It also depends on Sean’s schedule, so I’m calling him later today
to try to speak voice to voice and figure out A – when I should try to
get there and plan on leaving, and B – How to get there. His village
isn’t on any map I’ve found yet, and while I know what it’s close to,
and generally which directon to head on the trains in Ukraine, the last
40 miles or so are in doubt. I expect to have to walk about 5 – 6 of
it, but that still leaves a fair bit in between.
My hotel is growing on me by the day now, and not just because the
parade of attractive desk clerks has continued. They’ve been very
friendly, and fix breakfast for all the guests (there are only 6 rooms)
and do laundry for us and pretty much try to help out any way they can.
The room itself is nothing special, and in fact is very small
(especially for a double, which it apparently is, despite having
only one bed) and has a window that is broken and leaning in (a brand
new, super efficient three paned window, no less) – not a big deal
since there are bars to keep the people out and a good sheer drape to
keep the bugs out and the weather has been heavenly. It has a private
bath and shower for which the water is hot all day long, which is
unusual, from what I’ve read, has excellent security from the street
(one door for the building that requires getting buzzed in, and one for
the hotel itself.)
The fact that it’s a double, which I found out today by the fact that
when I rebooked it, they had put two sets of towels in the bathroom, is
reassuring. For the last few days, I thought for sure I’d been taken by
alexie, the travel agent. He’d told me they only had a double
available, which of course was slightly more than I was originally
quoted. I was too tired when I checked in, and a bit freaked out by the
way he walked into the room with me and presented receipts and asked
for cash (american dollars) on the spot to realize that the room seemed
very small and had only one bed, especially as I didn’t have enough
cash to pay him. He took it well enough, and made me walk back out to
the car with him (at which point all the stories of Russian Mafia
started to come to mind) so he could give me a map and show me where to
go to pay. The next day I realized the inconsistency, but went to pay
him anyway. The weirdness began to layer upon weirdness. I went to the
address he gave me and followed his directions, which were to ask at
the desk of the hotel for office 160 – not room 160, and not 160 in the
office complex which was the same address as the hotel – I did so, and
was pointed down the quintessential dark paneled, narrow hallway with
endless doors. My spider sense was pinging big time, especially when I
got to door 160 which had nothing on it at all (this is the Palladium
Travel agency???). I knocked, and was let in by a woman but when I
asked for Alexei, she shook her head. Then a skinny guy with a cell
phone (into which he was talking) came in from the back room and said
“She no English, Hold on!”. So I stood there, locked in now with the
two of them and $500 cash in my pocket (plus the $700 in travellers
checks they wanted no part of) until he was done. Then in a very
friendly, but creepy way, he said that Alexei said I would be there
with payment and that he would take it. I had nowhere to go with that,
so I took out the money and counted it out. He rejected one of the $50
dollar bills because it had red ink stamped on it (common I know now,
no one here will touch it, including the banks, despite the fact that
no one in the US would give it a second look) and I substituted one
that looked more fresh and we seemed to be good. I walked out wondering
if I’d just been taken somehow, but the hotel confirmed that my bill
was paid by them. Welcome to the Russian economy.
Anyway, today when I booked the room again for one more night, they
charged me the same as Alexei had, and as I said, there were two sets
of towels, so it seems it really is a double. I guess even the
legitimate businesses here seem sketchy on first glance. Hmmm. That
hallway was straight out of a movie, I’m telling you.
8 August
The last day in Petersberg. To end, here is just a bit of the surreal quality of the city. I was
walking around on the East side, which is not a big tourist area, I
don't think, though what seems to be the major ballet theater is there,
and there was a gorgeous cathedral. Anyway, as I was walking along one
of he streets, I looked up and saw this figure standing on a balcony.
It took a minute to realize that it wasn't moving, and was stuffed, or
a mannequin of some sort. He was probably set up there to be saluting,
or looking over the street, but the pose looks more like he's shooting
himself in the head, and the gas mask and WW1 regalia somehow made that
the image that stuck in my head, as though a protest against war or
something.
I showed it to Alex and asked her if she knew why it was there, or what
it meant, but she didn't recognize it at all, and seemed surprised that
I'd even stumbled on it. She was suitably impressed that I was seeing
more of the city than just the tourist attractions (though she still
gave me a hell of a hard time about not making the trip out to the
suburbs to see the Gardens at the summer palace. I made a small attempt
to do so the last day, but couldn't find the launch for the boat, which
is how I wanted to do it, so I ended up seeing the Hermitage instead,
which was a good thing. Comparing mega-museums like that is a bit like
comparing infinities, as there is only so much art one can see in one
day, or one viewing, but for my money, I think I preferred the
Hermitage to even the Louvre. The art was of a similar quality,
especially the antiquities from Greece and Rome, but the difference is
the setting. The Hermitage, the Winter Palace of the Tzars is
absolutely stunning, and in many, many rooms the detail and design were
even more amazing than the art on display. I think it will have to be a
completely different post to do it justice, as I don't have time to
tell the whole tale now, but I found the ancient greek and roman
sculptures the most amazing. Seeing sculptures of people who lived two
thousand years ago and the work that went into them moved me
powerfully.
Anyway, that's all for now. I'm catching the train this evening, and
we'll see how that goes.
Stephen
-take me home-