Scarlet Sails

This morning it was two days before the longest day of the year, we are right in the middle of the White Nights Festival. This is St. Petersburg's largest yearly festival, and tonight was called Scarlet Sails. It was the last day of classes for every high school in the city yesterday, and tonight was their celebration. But the day did not seem to want to turn out that way for us at first.

I woke up begrudgingly at 9:15. I suffered through a breakfast in the hotel of unknown cheese and unidentifiable meat placed on tasteless bread. I did, however, discover with joy the Russian word for milk which, for those of you who have read (or seen) and love A Clockwork Orange, is Moloko.

We left the hotel at 10:15 and rushed towards the Hermitage, to go inside this time.

We arrived just past half past ten and cut the line with the special tickets we were smart enough to purchase in advance. There are 6 buildings that make up the Hermitage museum. It is the largest museum in the world, comprised of over 3,000,000 individual pieces of art, spanning every time period from classical Roman and Greek sculpture to 5,000 years of Korean art to Samurai swords to French Impressionism to Cubism to Russian Art. They say that one could spend 8 hours a day in the Hermitage, and not finish seeing every piece for 3 months. High vaulted ceilings and ornate chandeliers adorn the walls that are laden with treasures of the past.

Spending most of our time looking at Picasso and French Impressionist artwork (with some dabbling on my own into the samurai world of yesteryear) We tried to rush through the collections but we still managed to spend several hours inside. We left just shy of two, leaving the rest of the Hermitage to tomorrow, when we plan to explore some more.

We decided to go inside the Church of the Spilled Blood on our way home, and stopped en route at The Other Side, a cafe/bar, for lunch. We had a few dishes and had a very philosophical discussion regarding the purpose of museums and whether they meet that goal or not.

Arriving at half past three, the Church of the Spilled Blood is even more impressive up close. Massive onion domes painted with ornate patterns adorn the top, while intricate paintings and mosaics line the sides of the building. But the gorgeous outside is nothing compared to the interior of this masterpiece of architecture.

The Church was built on the site where Czar Alexander was murdered, thus the title. Every picture depicted on the inside is a mosaic, not a painted image. Jesus is prominently displayed in the tops of domes and in the end portions of the large room that is the church. Saints line the pillars and archways. Disciples join Jesus in prayer and teaching. Six Large, impressive, ornate chandeliers hand from the ceiling. Gold encrusts every ornament.

Angels, Aureolas, and Altars surround you. No space above eight feet off the ground is uncovered by tile. The altar boasts candelabras under a Byzantium-style archway. A gorgeous tile floor stands prominent in the middle of the floor. Some images on the walls depict important scenes from the Old Testament, too. Moses and the Burning Bush and Abraham's near-sacrificing of Isaac are two that come to mind.



We walked back to the hotel, got in just before five. My brother and I took a long siesta while my parents went to the opera.

At 9:30 Brian and I left for some Tepemok, our favorite blini place. We spend about 45 minutes failing to find a Tepemok. But just when we had given up hope and decided to join the crowds headed back towards the Hermitage for the Scarlet Sail (and there were hundreds of thousands in the streets, Nevsky Prospect was closed off and had become entirely pedestrian), we saw signs about Tepemok and wound our way towards the Neva River and found a Tepemok in the process.

When we made it to the river, it was only by avoiding police blocks and road blocks that kept unticketed people out of the concert being held in front of the Hermitage. We took a very roundabout route but made it to the river. We stood on the bridge for an hour or so, but gave up just before midnight when we learned the boat came at 2...

We stopped at Barrel (yesterday's semi-strip club) for a shot of vodka before we lay down in the hotel. At 12:45, however, Brian barges back into the room and says, "put your shoes on, we're going to this thing." He'd spent the previous few minutes looking up videos of Scarlet Sails. Tonight's festival was huge - a tradition since 1922 displaying a large ship with red sails in the harbor, who's hull had been partially constructed by Peter the Great himself. Tonight's event was supposed to be one of the biggest in St. Pete all year, if not the biggest.

We ran back to the bridge and shoved our way into the crowd. At 1:30 the lights went out. Fireworks shot to the sky. Several barges were firing them in unison. At two o'clock on the dot a shadow appeared in the distance. A live orchestra nearby was playing Tchaikovsky (I believe). The fireworks began again, and bright spotlights illuminated the ship. The crowd went nuts. This ship is not huge, but it is quite impressive. Bright red sails draped the masts as it came forward in the harbor and turned for all to see, before heading back to it's docking place. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, being at the biggest night of the White Nights Festival. Millions of residents came out to see this. Easily the majority of the city tonight was packed into a few downtown blocks. It was unbelievable.

Brian and I ditched as the event was ending and made our way back with the crowd to our hotel. We were back by 3 and asleep by 4.

Ps. Comedy portion of the day: I've always wondered what the exact art was... now I know?

White Russians and White Russians

As I found myself seated with my family at an impromptu strip club, drinking a White Russian prepared by a White Russian, I questioned my reasons for being in St. Petersburg.

Then I realized that I was drinking a White Russian prepared by a White Russian; what more did I need to know?

Brian and I got up at noon thirty today, despite our late bedtime yesterday. We met our parents at a French Cafe down the street a ways, on one of the canals that winds through this glorious city (where the popularity for Lenin "knows no bounds," according to local propoganda). I had a Kpok Mecep (The Russian spelling of that wonderfully simple ham and cheese sandwich combo) with Apple Juice.

We walked to Nevsky Prospect, St. Petersburg's main drag, and headed north for the first time, towards the Hermitage.

We rounded the corner and the Hermitage came into view; the sight was awe inspiring. A massive building, the Hermitage was the Czar's Winter Palace, and is currently the home of the world's largest museum, making this building the Russian Louvre. Unfortunately we had no time to go inside today, so we walked to the Neva river to catch a hydrofoil to Peterhof.

If the Hermitage is the Russian Louvre, Peterhof is the Russian Versailles. Our forty minute hydrofoil brought us far away from the city, cutting the distance around the bay to a fraction of the time it would take us by car (as we found out later). Set on a piece of land right alongside the water, Peterhof was the gorgeous summer palace of the Czars.

I walked with the other tourists towards the imposing palace, passing 17th century aristocratic impersonators, Grill Dog stands (yes, a hotdog stand), and souvineer stations, following pathways that ran alongside a manmade river that led to the main fountain in front of the main doors. An ominous sole raincloud was hanging over the building, making it all the more imposing.Every fountain in the display before the stairs was encased in gold; the center fountain was a gigantic representation of Sampson holding open the jaws of the lion.

We wandered the grounds for a few hours and exited out the back of the park surrounding Peterhof to catch a bus (we had missed the last boat back, at 4:00).

In typical family fashion, we got broken directions from a woman who hardly spoke english working at a food stand using virtually no Russian, and climbed aboard a bus bound for St. Petersburg around the bay. We stood inside the bus as more and more Russians climbed aboard, stuffing us in like sardines. I had a broken conversation with the ticket collector as I paid, trying to get him to tell me when we should get off to be close to our hotel, or at least a metro stop. He yelled at me for a bit, and I said I no longer understood him, but all worked out in the end and he told me when our stop was coming up.

The Metro station an hour later was a welcome sight and a welcome sight. It was great to get off the bus and even greater to walk into such a beautiful metro station. I got four subway tokens from a machine and we hopped onto the Red Line train to Vladimirskaya. We took a meandering route to the hotel, stopping only for Blinis from Tepomok, the Russian fast-food blini king.

We found the hotel at 8. By 10 we sat to eat at Barrel, a бар and ресторан, (Bar and Restaurant) right below our Hotel.

Shortly after we had ordered food at the bar and had been asked to move over one seat to leave room next to the pole on the bar, the dancers appeared and so did my White Russian. DIR.

When dinner and the show was over, my brother and my mom went back to the hotel. My dad and I stopped at The Office, an English-style pub next to Barrel, for a last beer. We watched the latter half of the Algeria/UK game and I drank some Hoegaarden.

In the hotel by one, asleep by 2:30, still light in the sky.

Dis Is Russia

We had a lazy morning, since our flight is in the late afternoon; I had packed and was downstairs around 11:30.

We decided that with our remaining 5 hours or so in Moscow that we should head at least to the train station that'll take us back to the airport, since we have no sense of comfort with this city in terms of navigation or language, and we cannot miss our flight to St. Petersburg.

There are arches in subway stop between tbepckar and belaruskaya that are metal and ridged all accross. I walked over to it and placed a one rubel coin against it. With a hard upward flick the coin shot up over the arch and landed on the other side. Fun.

It occurred to me at the train station that Russians, being the only world power citizens using their alphabet, would inevitably be taught the Roman alphabet in school, if only for recognization purposes. As such, we are at an inherent disadvantage to those from Russia who don't speak English in the USA, because we're relearning to read.

We had our tickets and were waiting on the platform when my dad had the brilliant idea to get coffee upstairs. Th train arrived and he was nowhere to be seen. Brian ran upstairs to find him after we had loaded the bags on the train. My dad arrived with coffee, walking jauntilee along, spilling some here and there, a big smile on his face like he had conquered the world. And almost missed the train.

On the train to the airport, Brian had a confession to make in relation to my dad's near disastrous decision: "remember when we were in Morocco?" he said, "When we were on the Marrakech Express, I couldn't sleep, and at a stop along the way I stepped of the train to stretch my legs... And I barely made it back on as the train pulled out of the station." that would have been strange, eh? To wake up in Morocco and not have my brother anymore? Good thing he told us this now. I hope he doesn't do this on the trans-Siberian, though, since they don't let you on the train when you get off... DIR (Dis is Russia).

We rushed around the airport when we arrived to find what terminal we were in: D. We rushed around to find the way there: by bus. We argued with cabbys over price of the 5 minute drive while we waited for the 2:20 bus: they wanted 1000 rubels ($32). DIR.

Without a further hitch (sort of), we found our gate and our plane and boarded. We even left the gate only 3 minutes late, 3:33. Aeroflot is a good airline, so I've decided. Plus, it's logo still has a hammer
and sickle on it.

On the plane I did an accounting of my winnings. Brian and I, in true brotherly competition, have been making bets on everything. From how long an escalator to the subway will take (2 min 59 sec), to Napolean's actual height (5'6"), to how long it would take for my dad to be individually targeted for a scam after arrival in Moscow (17 hours, 20 hours, and 21 hours). I am currently $3 up, and fully expect Brian to step up his game. We have a 4-1 bet going still, and if I win then I'll be much farther up... But I don't expect to win that one.

As we descended into St. Petersburg, it wasn't entirely clear that we would be landing on an airstrip. Gliding over pristine farm fields and forests, the airport is less in a city as it is in Blumkinville, Russia... Or at least thats what it felt like flying in. We did land on a runway after all, so that was good, too. 5:16.

We took the 39 bus and got off in downtown St. Petersburg when everyone else got off the bus, at 6.

Finding our way to the metro, we checked the map and headed down the escalator. The tracks are walled off from the public and there are doors inset in the walls that line up with a train and open for the
train.

Picture this scene. Four people, each with heavy bags, two with backpacks (Brian and I), in a crowded subway. If you were a pickpocketer, wouldn't you strike? My parents went onto the car first. I followed. My backpack felt like it was stuck against the top of the door. I bent my knees slightly and pushed forward hard. I felt some hands grab at me but I instinctively kept pushing forward. I turn around inside the train and watch as my brother's bag is being held back by the door. The doors close, we pull Brian out of there, and the thieves jump onto the track. We take account of our things. Fortunately we are good enough travelers that our valuables were out of reach and there was nothing of value in the backpack - just clothes. Brian said he had felt a thumb enter he pocket but he blocked by putting his own hand in there. DIR. I would have done far more than
just put a blocking hand in my pocket. I would not want to be the first person to attempt to pickpocket me; they're losing a few fingers in the process. That'd earn them that iPhone.

We walked about a halfmile out of the subway stop to the Hotel Rachmaninov (the only available hotel in the city when we booked - there's a huge economic conference in town the 17-19 and everyone booked in advance) right next to Nevsky Prospect, and a huge old church that's still functioning today. The hotel is former home to the composer of the same name. When we found it, we took the four flight walkup and checked in. We spent a few hours relaxing in the rooms.

At 9:45 it was as bright as it has ever been at noon. We walked a block from the hotel to Nevsky Prospect, the main street in St. Pete, and began to make our way towards the water and a Georgian restaurant
we wanted to find.

When we found that (10:15) we sat down for dinner. Brian is the only one with experience with Georgian food and I have the best grasp of Russian among us, so he and I ordered the group dishes.

It was the best meal we have had yet. We had traditional Georgian cheese bread, and I had veal ravioli; pretty much giant dumplings. We also had amazing wine and, well, everything was amazing.

We left just shy of midnight to get a 00.20 boat tour of St. Pete. We as a family aren't big on touristy things but it was late, it was still bright out, and we weren't tired yet - at least I wasn't.

Around 12:45 or 1 it started to get dim - mer than it was before - we were on the boat tour and MY GOD! Why did we get stuck on a slow moving boat ride through St. Pete with an incomprehensible English-speaking Russian guide named Dmetrei. Brian and I passed the time with bets. Over-under on how many bridges we'd pass (I guessed over 15.5 - half point for drawbridges - and won), how many exactly (5-1 odds that I couldn't guess exact. Guessed 31. We passed under 30... Although there was one bridge that we hadn't counted because it wasn't for cars or people and was thus an arch; a frustrating decision), and whether my dad would see certain obvious things on our route - he never did.

When we made it out of the canals into the Neva river, the view was amazing. St. Petersburg is beautiful. We watched the early morning drawbridge event, and the fleet of tourist boats raced out to dock so we wouldn't get hit by the incoming barges.

By 2am it was actually dark.

We wandered back to the hotel, stopping only to get Brian a dessert blini.

We were asleep by 4am, the sun beginning to peak over the horizon. And thus ended our first day in St. Petersburg. DIR.

Ps. 100% Cok, anyone?

In Soviet Russia, Moscow Visits You

In Soviet Russia, guide hires you.

We awoke this morning to a knock on the door. It was a man who opened our door (to where the inside latch stopped him) and told us it was our wakeup call.

Wake-up call? He knocked. At 8:20. For our 8am wakeup call... Great start to the day.

Brian and I stumbled through the morning routine, half asleep while we donned shirts and shoes and headed out the door. Brian went for breakfast to the free wi-fi Koфe Xayз (Coffee House) for some koфe, while I met my parents at the Traveler's Coffee place across the street from our hotel. I had a breakfast of burritos of chicken and peppers, while my parents had eggs. I ordered a hot chocolate too, and, well, it was amazing. Hot chocolate here is almost like what would happen if you took the richest chocolate pudding in the world and boiled it.

At 10:05 we met Katherine, our Kremlin guide that Slava had booked for us. Katherine is an old Russian woman with fantastic English language skills, and while she walked slowly, she did not speak that way. She was quite lively and ready to tell us everything (and she did).

We arrived at the Kremlin just before 11 after meandering our way down Tbepckaя, and entered through security and through the walls. Inside we found a city; built on 28 acres, the Kremlin was home to countless Czars, and currently houses the office of the President. Katherine didn't know if Medvedev was in the building at the time, but we walked right past his office. Unlike the White House, however, we could have touched the side of the building if we had wanted... no fence protecting it.

Among the more decorative pieces along the road were a gigantic cannon (at least 10 feet high), and a huge bell which, like our Liberty Bell in Philadelphia, had cracked. This bell had never rung because of the crack... it was also several dozen tons, and about 13 feet high and about 15 feet in diameter; I don't know how they would have hoisted it to the belltower to begin with.

We then found our way into three churches. The first was where Czars used to pray, the second where they were married, and the third where they were baptized. We weren't allowed to take pictures inside the churches, but my iPhone came in handy for some undercover work. We also saw where Ivan the Terrible was buried, where his son was buried (who was later canonized) and several other Czars.

At half past noon we entered the armory, which houses many great Russian artifacts. Highlights include ornate carriages that Czars, their wives, and their children rode in, clothes for Peter the Great, Katherine the Great, and others, weaponry of the past, ornate silverware, horse dressings and, most impressively, 9 of the 14 (i think) remaining faberge eggs in the world, and all of the ones that Russia owns still.



As I walked through the armory, it occurred to me that nothing in this country is translated into English. Even in museums, most signs are solely in Russian. At first I thought critically of this idea, but then I realized that I can remember the last time I walked into any American restaurant and gotten a dual-language menu. It's about time that a country realize it doesn't need to cater to perceived American superiority - and it's not surprise that country is Russia.

As a side-note, Katherine mentioned to us that since the collapse of the CCCP (USSR), life expectancy has gone down, depression of citizens has gone up (an estimated 20L of vodka is consumed by each person each year on average; 740,000,000 gallons), and food and medical supplies have raised in cost. Male life expectancy is now 57, not 62, and women expect to live 62 years, not 65. But there are far more freedoms now, too. A free(er) press, a voice in government, and looser restrictions on travel and trade are just some. I would rather live for shorter and be free than live longer under the CCCP.

We got out of the Kremlin at 2:30. By 3:30 we were still wandering the streets, looking for a restaurant. The Georgian place that Katherine suggested to us was closed, so we were lost for a while. But at 4 we stumbled upon a very local cafeteria, called My-My (pronounced Moo-Moo, as in a cow). We went down the service line like everyone else, getting food dumped on our plates and paying at the end of the line. A full meal for 300pyb (300 Rubels, $10). Not cheap, but certainly not expensive.

We had a brief siesta back at the hotel and at 6pm met downstairs to go to the Bolshoi.

Bolshoi is the best ballet company in the Russian Federation, and one of the best in the entirety of the world. Tonight's show was Sleeping Beauty. We arrived at the ticket office at the Teatp (Theatre) metro stop at 6:40 for a 7pm curtai and picked up the tickets we had bought online.

Attempting to get into the adjacent building, however, we were stopped and rejected, being told we were to go to the Kremlin Theatre (the one we had been told was closed for renovations). It was "one stop" away.

One stop later, we realized we were on the wrong subway line.

One stop after that, we were back where we started, and a stop after that we were, once again, at the entrance to the Kremlin.

Wandering to the front of the Kremlin, we asked the guard where to go. He pointed inside. So we went back into the Kremlin, again (why did we leave, again?).

We got into the theatre at 7:30 and only missed a few numbers. Sleeping Beauty had not yet fallen asleep, so all was well with the world. I, however, did fall asleep, not because the ballet was boring - I could actually follow the story, the music was amazing and the dancing fun to watch - but because I was jetlagged, exhausted, in a dark theatre, with a world-class orchestra playing classical music, and I couldn't help myself. The most expensive - and most wonderful - nap I've ever taken.

During a brief break from the show, I found myself in the bathroom, for obvious reasons. I must say, having frequented broadway theaters that boast maybe a 10 person capacity at a time, I was in awe of the efficiency of these bathrooms. 29 stalls and 18 urinals. Assuming an average bathroom usage time of a minute, if 500 men rushed the bathroom at the same time, the whole ordeal would be sorted out in just over 9.5 minutes...

Though we were 30 min late for curtain, we watched 2.5 hours of ballet, and left the Kremlin at 10:30.

Taking the right set of Subways this time, and finding a stop on the metro closer to our hotel, we went back to spend our last night at the Marriott Grand.

After writing this post, I got to bed around 3am.

Ps. Anyone want a Crapdog?

Pirate Radio

Pirate Radio was a good movie.

Despite my propensity for unrelated tangents, no, that's not a random comment. I watched Pirate Radio for the first time on the flight to Moscow, and found it quite moving. Based on the true story of a radio station broadcasting rock and roll in the 1960's to a UK government that wanted them shut down, the movie catalogues a collection of experiences of men who stood in the way of those clinging to the past and fought for the future of their passion..

Stepping foot off the plane brought new wonder to the world. At first nothing was different. Same generic advertisements lining the walls of the unloading ramp; same slow bureaucratic passport control (they had the lane reserved only for diplomats open to the public, two lanes for a planeload of people); same annoying taxi drivers offering ripoff rates for a ride to town. But after we had shucked away the taxi vultures, and after we stopped gawking at the strange lettering (H is pronounced as an N, a B as a V, P is an R, 3 is a Z - yes a number is a letter), we were on a train bound for Moscow, and the world opened up.

The train ride was uneventful. 35 minutes long and surrounded by Soviet Bloc Housing. But when we stepped off the train we were greeted by an old friend, Slava.

My family hosted Slava twice in Westport, while he was serving as translator to several Russian architects on a culture-sharing mission. We couldn't miss an opportunity to see him in his element. Slava greeted us from the train platform and we began the hike to the hotel.

The first part of our walk consisted of my dad telling me how ugly all the buildings were, how soviet, how communist. But after we had dropped our bags off at the Marriott Grand (26 Tbepckaя Street, pronounced tvierskaya...) we were more central to town and my father insisted "this has the look, energy, and feel of Barcelona."

I agree and disagree with my dad simultaneously. On one hand, the remaining soviet buildings in Russia represent a troubled past, the new buildings, the more modern and well designed, point towards the future. The beauty of this city comes to me in the form of watching a recently communist country struggle between it's past, present, and future. Like the Pirates of Pirate Radio, it seems that progress cannot stop, and that the old soviet buildings will go the way of the cheap soviet cars - sure you'll see one now and again, but no one will occupy them.

We walked down to Red Square (only 15 min away), and Slava gave us a tour. St. Basil's basilica was right there, as was the Kremlin. We didn't go inside the basilica because Slava said there was nothing to see inside - hard to believe based on the outside, but we took his word for it. We are doing the Kremlin tomorrow, when we have a guide reserved.

After red square we explored Goom, (spelled Gamma Y M), a super expensive but beautiful department store.

From there, in the light rain, we walked to the subway. Moscow has probably the best, if not in the top 3, subway systems I've ever seen. Clean, beautiful, and unique, each station is different and painstakingly made to make a travel by train experience most enjoyable. Each track has a train stopping at it every two minutes at most, since almost 10 million people travel by subway per day in this city of 12,000,000 people.

We went next (and last, as it turned out) to the World War Two Memorial, commemorating the 27 million Russians who died during it. We toured the facility for far longer than our jetlagged legs could linger, hearing all Slava had to say. Next stop dinner.

I said goodbye to Slava, sadly for most likely the last time this trip. After a little hiccup with where to eat, we settled on a sushi place called Planet Sushi. It was quite good, but Russian food ain't all that different from other European food, so we ate happily.

At 9 we were dead tired. But it was only 9. And it was still full daylight. This summer light @ dark is weird to me.

In sum, Moscow is one big Pirate Radio. The government, the infrastructure, and the cars are the old ways - and the people are beginning to sing a different tune. This is a constantly changing city and I'm happy we landed in the middle of it.

Ps. I'm quickly learning to read this language. Next I gotta perfect speaking it.