At the end of July 2013, my husband and I spent a week in St Petersburg. At that time, my husband was Visiting Professor at the University of Oslo, and this visit coincided with a conference he attended with his Norwegian colleagues. While he discussed linguistics, I enjoyed myself playing tourist.
In those days I had the energy (and the knees) to walk for miles. But even so, St Petersburg is a daunting city to explore on foot as it is so huge. And so, I started using buses to get around. I used Google to find out about them, and learned that the tickets were managed by The Babushka (grandmother) and that it was a faux pas to sit in her seat.
And so, one afternoon I got on the bus. I spotted the Babushka immediately (she was wearing a brightly colored scarf) and I gave her one ruble for my ticket, receiving my change in kopeks with the ticket (printed on the thinnest, cheapest paper I had ever met).
I hadn’t realized until then that when I take public transportation I expect it to work. I expect it not only to be reasonably clean, but for the vehicle to actually function. This bus was reasonably clean on the inside, but as we set off from the bus stop it belched an alarming cloud of black smoke. But that was not all. It moved sooo sloooowly, less than walking pace. It is true that I was grateful to give my feet a rest. But it took forever to move through the clogged streets.
The other peculiar thing about St Petersburg was the hotel we stayed in, located near the Smolny Convent. Describing these lodgings as a “hotel” doesn’t begin to convey what they were like. It really felt as it we were staying at a police barracks. There was massive security by the front door, and we were obliged to show our passports every time we came in. I remember long corridors which reminded me of my high school, spartan-like bedrooms, and a shared bathroom down the hall. In those days, sleep didn’t elude me the way it does now, and so I was able to put up with it for a week.
The weather was good and so I spent most of my time outside. I visited the Catherine Palace, The Peterhof, The Hermitage, and even took in the ballet at the Mariinsky Theatre. And then there were those incredible restaurants that looked like the inside of an Eastern Potentate’s tent. And the Vodka Bars, (lots and lots of those.)
I discovered that the Russian people were both entrepreneurial and very friendly. At the Church of The Savior On Spilled Blood (where Alexander II was assassinated), I heard various Russian people—who seemed to be just hanging around—talking loudly about the Romanovs to enthralled tourists. Did I want my photo taken with “Peter The Great?” That would cost six rubles. (I accepted.) On the other hand, when I was negotiating a huge queue outside the Catherine Palace in Tsakoe Selo, a woman gestured me to come forward, and helped me get through the line. In fact, she gave me one of her tickets! Of course, I opened my purse to pay her back, only to be emphatically waved away. I believe I “paid her back,” by allowing her to take a photo of me with her family. It is one of my fondest memories of Russia.
