Ducking away from the Bronze Horseman as if I was Nikolai Appollonovich Ableukhov. And if more than 2 people get that, I will be "v shokke", as they say here (in shock).
The story starts a week ago, last Monday. Actually, it starts before then, but I'm going to start on last Monday.
It was a typical mid-October day in Moscow, really. Crisp, a little wet, orange leaves, traffic, and winsome eyes. I left practice feeling relatively fresh, being the beginning of the week and all, and headed into town for a meeting with a fellow Dukie (Danielle R., for those of you who know her) at Pushkin's Statue. We wandered around, double-tracked a few times, and finally found the local popular Russian chain (Ёлки Палки). We ate, talked, discussed, shared our love for Duke University, and so on.
After this she had to go to one train station for a trip to the interior of Russia and I had to go to another to meet my Petersburg tripmate and buy tickets. Since my meeting point was earlier, we went together, hardly realizing that the train stations were about 200 meters apart. We met up in the middle of the Lyubanka metro station (notice the two meeting spots), then took off for the Leningradsky Train Station.
Here is where our plans hit the first bump: Alyona, tripmate, had a ticket in mind for Petersburg for Friday night, only to find tickets available for twice as much (mind you, still only about $25-30). So we gave up on our intial plan, went with Danielle over to her Train Station, looked for tickets there, failed, parted with Danielle, and headed back to the first station. There we decided to move our trip up a day to Thursday. And found the cheap tickets again (376 rubles, or about $14). Success!
Or so it seemed. Our plan was to go up, stay with Alyona's cousin, fiend the city and its nightlife, and then I would go back Sunday night, ready for practice today. And that all looked likely until I got a text on my way to practice Wednesday: my tripmate got ill something serious, didn't sleep the night before, might flat out die on the way if she goes. Despite my efforts to convince her it was just a head cold, it was out of luck. Which also meant I would now have to make my own way with rooming.
I thought I was done with hostel world and Let's Go recs, and in truth they didn't tell me much. I had one number from my father of an old friend who might be able to help me out. I cold called him Wednesday night and it sounded like he hardly knew who I was talking about. I hemmed and hawed my way to getting him to agree to meet me when I get there at some point; I am shameless to an extent, and that is not enough to get me to ask a basic stranger to put me up.
Fortunately, Alyona and her cousin were still on board to help me find a place to stay and show me around the city. In fact, they assuaged my doubts, so on Thursday all I had to do was rest, pack, and get to the station. Oh, and buy a new winter coat. While I'm usually shrewd with my money, I don't think anyone would be surprised if I reported that I went to one store, lingered a bit, got approached by the pretty woman working there, and promptly hooked to whatever they gave me. And though she noticed my accent immediately, she said she liked talking to me and that I should come back, and that I was smart for reading Pushkin. So if you want to draw positive responses, Pushkin is your wingman. (Note: the coat I bought was effective and below the price range my "host mom" here told me to expect, so it's not like I was had. But I could have been.)
My trip out was scheduled at 1:04, and the computer here was busy, so I decided to go into the center, put up a blog post and do other things, and then go to the train station. Except I got to the place and their cash register wasn't working, so they couldn't take on business. The only in Russia moment didn't stint me: one computer was on and logged in and empty, and seeing things as such, I made my move to steal about 10 minutes online. Slick, I know. It also led to this conversation:
Worker: English - Did you pay for that?
Me: Russian - What?
W: Oh, you speak Russian? Did you pay for that?
M: No, I couldn't, here's my money, would you like it?
W: Why are you using the computer if you didn't pay?
M: It was working and I needed to use it.
W: You're not allowed to do that, get off the computer. (Turning it off meanwhile).
Ok, I admit, not riveting dialogue. Anyway, the moment was over and I had to go back out to the streets. Earlier in the day I did my first photographing in the Red Square, and mentioned to my companion, a guy who I'm giving English "lessons" too, that it would probably pretty to return at night, though most successfully with a girl. So, eschewing that last part, I went back out and took some pictures, like this one of the Red Square:
Anyway, after that I finally went over to the train station, bundled up in that coat, which was warm enough to make me feel ready for war. I staggered into the station on time, bought some food to keep my internals warm, and then got on to the train.
Now, having traveled through much of Europe by train, I'd like to say I've picked up a breadth of experience. I've seen all types and sizes, and I understand what I'm getting into. And now I understand how a ticket to Petersburg overnight can go for under $15.
The train looked older than even the trains in Poland. Inside it was all metallic and dirty and Soviet looking, with no thoughts to aesthetic appeal. A wagon consisted of a smoking section, a bathroom, a conductor's room, and then about 10 compartments. Unlike most trains I've been on, the compartments here were not closed, so it was like a giant summer camp barracks. Each compartment consisted of 6 beds. As you walked in the hall, on one side would be a little open space with a table, and on either side of that table, perpendicular to the hallway, 2 beds bunked with a 3rd row holding blankets and mattresses. Then on the other side would be two seats and a little table, which together folded into a bed, with another coming out from the wall above it.
The matresses and the bedding were a nice touch as well. You pay 45 rubles for sheets (pushing the total of the ticket towards the $16 range), roll out a stale/old mattress on your bed, attach all the sheets appropriately, put a blanket on, and hope you don't fall out of your bed if you areon the top bunk. Which I was. Both times. No falls.
The bonus to this sort of train ride is that you immediately bond on some level with everybody in your compartment, sort of a sharing of this crude travel. And since most of my compartment mates were female, well...
Anyway, Petersburg itself was lovely; the cousin was a gracious and great host, I found a fine hotel (actually a hostel mentioned in Let's Go - bastards!), I met my father's friend and he proved to be an interesting, nice person. The city is better suited for summer, when they have white nights, the opportunity to see the fountains on in the city and at Peterhof, and you can stay up late to see the drawbridges across the Neva open. I missed those things, but made out ok by and large. I saw the Hermitage, a huge museum usually placed on par with Louvre, Prado, and so forth, and while its collection was a touch short of the Prado's, for instance, it was more versatile, and it was set in this glorious palace. I got out to Tsarskoye Selo, where Pushkin went to school (if I haven't mentioned it or it isn't obvious, Pushkin is just about the most beloved Russian ever, along with maybe Peter the Great and way way way way higher than Stalin) and the Tsars lived off and on. The Petersburg Moscow relationship is analagous to Barcelona Madrid or Florence Rome, but as with the Spanish example, I prefer the capital. Which is to say I'm happy to be digging into Moscow for the next month and a half.
Some Pictures:
It seems I have a tendency to be late for most of my meetings here, and in this case with tragic effect in Tsarskoye Selo (Царское Село)
If you tell someone from Petersburg this Church (of the Saviour of Spilled Blood) looks like the famous one in Moscow, they may get a little angry at you. But you'd probably be right.
I've really grown here. I have to duck out of the way so you can see the St. Isaac's Church in the background, only the largest church in Petersburg. They feed me well here, I guess.
Dan
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