As it happened, we breezed through the red tape without incident, or even exchange of word with Russian officialdom. We were greeted as we emerged by a Russian jazz band and the locals clapped and danced in time as they emerged. We, by contrast spent the next 10 minutes haggling with stern faced taxi drivers, who tried to fleece us for a ride to our hotel. We eventually agreed on a 'fare' probably only twice what it should have been and I tried to get our driver back on side by talking about the world's great leveller - football. I think we agreed that Andrey Arshavin had not quite fulfilled his potential, but all conversation was then sucked out of me, as he did an impression of the diminutive Russian winger, weaving through the traffic at break neck speed, before ending up a way off from the intended target! I say that conversation was sucked out of me, because he continued a conversation on his mobile phone throughout, one casual hand on the wheel. Sue, meanwhile, closed her eyes and clung on for dear life in the back.
Eventually, he announced that we had reached our destination. We scanned the scene and saw no sign of a hotel. Then we saw a rusting door and a tiny plaque announcing that this was indeed our hotel. Uneasy first impressions, were worsened as we entered what appeared to be a tenament slum - see pictures below.
After climbing three flights of stairs into growing darkness, we reached a door marked reception. Tentatively we peered through and found a surly receptionist hiding behind a glass screen, who informed us in mono tonal broken English that we could not check in until 2.00 (current time 11.30). We retreated to a local coffee bar and thought 'What the hell are we doing here?' and more importantly 'WHERE the hell are we?' After a few deep breaths, we calmed ourselves and manged to get our bearings (thanks to Yelena Frith, for her notes on Russian language and the Cryllic Alphabet, which allowed us slowly to decipher the street names, so that we finally got them to correspond to our map). At 2.00 I went back and checked out the hotel room, expecting the worst and that we would have to find alternative, habitable, accommodation. Amazingly, once through the grim entrance, the room turned out be clean and spacious and were able to check in and settle ourselves without further incident.
So, as we ready ourselves to leave St Petersburg for Moscow, what are our impressions? Well, certainly the historical centre of the city is architecturally stunning. Ostentatious tsarist bling (or a 'tsarist legoland' as Jonathan Dimbleby put it) or not, it certainly wows the senses. Gold plated domes, granite and marble pillars, elegant Georgian facades, statues and fountains, serene canals all compete for the attention. We walked the streets admiring one building after another; climbed to the top of the magnificent St Isaac's Cathedral to see the city panorama; saw some of the amazing art collection inside the Hermitage and ate picnics in the old gardens of the tsars (seeking refuge from the noisy streets). Bizarrely our lunches were interspersed by a succession of Wedding parties, all following the same formula of bride begowned in fairytale white, suited groom and scruffy photographer taking the same photographs of the happy couple draped over statues and fountains.
In many ways, it is amazing that such a city still exists after all that has been thrown at it by Bolshevik Revolution, German Siege and Sovietisation, but it is clearly going through a renaissance, funded largely by the ill-gotten gains of the oligarchs. It feels generally prosperous: locals are well dressed and drive in modern cars - surprisingly only the odd rusting Trabant appeared amongst a forest of BMWs and Mercedes. But there is an edginess that you can feel just beneath the surface, particularly as you move away from the tourist centres: burly men sit at the entrances to shops eyeing you suspiciously, cars race past with hand on horn, the buildings start to show their age. It will be interesting to see how things change as we head east and away from affluent, west facing St Petersburg.
The people keep surprising us, though our interactions have been too limited to form an educated impression. From the sour-faced bank clerk who scowled at me as she changed our money, to the gentle politeness of many people that we have spoken to and even an occasional warm smile. But the initial impression meets the stereotype of frosty reserve.
And we depart having broken our first rule of the road - never eat in restaurants with pictures of the food on the menu - regrettably essential if we were to have had even the faintest idea of what we were ordering! Onwards to Moscow, where we are sure more stories will unfurl. In the meantime, here are some pictures of the highlights of St Petersburg.
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Very much enjoying the blog. Really making me laugh out loud
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