November 3d, St. Petersburg

Catching you up on Russia.

The last few days I have been absent, I know, but internet has been expensive and time has been short. But things have been a lot of fun!

Let me start where I had left off, just after our first day of St. Petersburg.

We started the second day, not on a bus, not with our guide Jon, but instead we were guided into St. Petersburg by my groups own, famous Russian television journalist on a tour of the "other side" of Petrograd. We began by first hopping onto the deepest metro in the world, once again, and riding it into another part of the city. Once there, we walked a few blocks to find ourselves at an indoor market. This was a wonderful place, the kind of place I knew existed in Denmark or even Lawrence. The market itself was a kind of permanent farmer's market with everything you could ever want from chocolate to pickled everythings. Fish was in abundance and cuts of meat I still have yet to figure out. There was even an enormous stand selling nothing but honey straight from the comb! It was very cool. We all bought our own individual things, however the guide bought a number of pickles and told us she was going to teach us how to eat a pickle the Russian way.

We left the market and it wasn't too long before we had rounded the corner into an urban neighborhood. We were not in the places that wind up on postcards, and we were not in the places that tourists are itching to go. This was a bit slummy, but then again, this was the day to see the other side of St. Petersburg so onward we go. We turned corner and I, being towards the back of the pack, see everyone disappearing into a large steel door with no markings and no signage. I would not, in fact, have given it a second look. Upon entering the building (and I say building a bit tongue in cheek since it was merely a room with a high ceiling) and realise that at 10:30 in the morning, our guide has brought us to a bar. Not just any bar, however. This bar, she says, usually caters to those who are somewhere between alcoholic and homeless. I briefly wonder where she is on that spectrum since she has just finished telling me she is hung over. The bar itself is probably no more than 10 feet by 10 feet with a bar running the length and sides. There are no stools and it is very apparent that this is the kind of establishment that would not cater so much to dawdling and long form conversation. Get your booze, drink it, and leave, is what the room says to me. She orders us all ENORMOUS shots of vodka and informs us that the proper way to eat a pickle is as a chaser to a shot of vodka. So, who are we to judge. We all throw down the shots like hearty Russians and prepare to hit the town once more, with new strength burning in our stomachs.

Barbara, our guide, leads us further into Petersburg and into areas that are called Brick Cities. This term refers to what happens when a series of communist era tenements are all built together causing odd angled alleyways and squares to form in between them. There is an almost rectilinear zigging and zagging of alleyways that connect major street to major street in this area that would not be on any maps but merely available in the ingrained memories of the locals. There is no grass on the ground and few windows look out. Most of the rooms are part of a communal apartment and you can judge the relative wealth of the tenant by what kind of window framing they have. Needless to say, even the best frames were of poor quality.

It was through these courtyards and alleys that we found our way to Barbara's friend's apartment. He lives in a typical communist apartment and let me tell you, it was not pretty. Think of the worst dorm room you've ever seen, and then put 6 of those together with a shared kitchen and bath. A life like this I would not wish on a dog. But it is how many of the Russians live here in St. Petersburg. Since the fall of communism, is is possible to buy out the rest of the occupants of your apartment and make it all your own, but for the most part, these are all shared domiciles.

After this we had lunch and exchanged stories with the other group. As it turned out, they had not gone to a bar as we had but instead had gone to a Russian donut shop. I guess their guide was not as hung over as ours!

When lunch ended (and let me tell you it is very easy to get sick of Borscht) we headed to the Winter Palace. Talk about extreme ends of the spectrum! To go from the poverty of this morning to the grandeur of the Winter Palace was a bit like running from a sauna into a snow drift. But it was remarkable. The Winter Palace is a place of paramount beauty. Gilded and painted, festooned with art and, in fact, art itself. It is a wonderful place but the kind of place that I'll let the photographs describe.

That was the end of a long day, and I was ready to turn in.

Tomorrow is the drive to Novgorod and then the train to Moskow!