Meanwhile... in Russia - August 12, 2011

Without warning they run east on the Admiralteyskaya Embankment and without hesitation I follow. Twenty-three bridges are brought up nightly so tankers from the Gulf of Finland can cruise in and out of port. The Troitsky bridge is scheduled to go up at approximately 1:30 a.m., and we are determined to see it rise. As the five of us throw down the gauntlet - pedestrians, spectators, and a late night rush hour - the soft spoken Ksenia glances back at me over her shoulder. She smiles and laughs. It feels like a movie.

Ken Johnson (Team Leader) watching tankers along with Ksenia, Galina, and Zhenia.

*

St. Petersburg had an unexpected mix of everything. The city presents itself as a Slavic beauty adorned in fine European dress. There are the Italian architectural influences at the Peter and Paul Cathedral, the Venetian  style canals of the Nevsky Prospect, and the presence of potentate monuments being reminiscent of western royalty. The history of this city is large and 5 days was not nearly enough time to learn and see it all, but experiencing more than than just the history, people, and fun of St. Petersburg are the moments I can easily share.

 

St. Peter and Paul
Cathedral

The Smolny
Cathedral

The golden tops of cathedrals peeked out of the skyline like sharp goosebumps as we caught a luminous view from  atop the Water Museum. Edging up to a hidden balcony (with the help of a friendly employee) was stirring, but our confession to the staff in order to retrieve a forgotten hat made the memory that much more comedic. I was told about the laughter and disbelief  as a member of the team scurried back up the narrow staircase to retrieve the forgotten item. The museum staff was forgiving.

The Smolny Cathedral was an impressively large convent, but it was born of a father's coddling. It was commissioned and constructed by Peter the Great as a nunnery for his rebellious daughter, Princess Elizabeth. Initially, after coming out of her adolescence, Elizabeth chose a life devoted to God and boasted her intentions by renouncing a royal life.  Smolny can hypothetically be compared to signing up for Peace Corps, having a rich father purchase an island, and then fill it with under served individuals for the duration of service - a safe package set up to satisfy all parties involved. Ultimately, Elizabeth changed her mind.


Mead is sweet and best on tap. We unintentionally drank the most expensive brand on our first day in St. Petersburg after a long day of sightseeing around the city. This was a lesson as the team quickly learned - how to say expensive and cheap in Russian. (I have yet to learn the word for money.)

Then we applied for and received public library cards. Not bad, for a souvenir.

The most haunting memory came from the sound of a metronome inside The Monument to The Heroic Defenders of Leningrad. During WWII, Nazi Germany had the city under a blockade and for almost 900 day the citizens fought and kept their enemy at bay. "[The Metronome] was the only sound heard by Leningraders on their radios throughout the war." - Lonely Planet, Russia.

Outside The Monument for The Heroic Defenders of Leningrad

While walking down a random street by our hostel, the store Alpini appeared out of my peripheral. This was an unexpected game changer for the team. It is where we bought our guide book, and the reason we headed north to the wilderness and not south to Moscow. We went off for the first rock climbing excursion of our entire trip.

Kooznechneya was a four hour train ride to the middle of nowhere in north west Russia. Upon arrival we were greeted by local Russians who were quick to mock our team and our climbing endeavour. One Russian offered to assist but demanded an exorbitant amount of Euro to drive us to a place that neither they nor we were certain existed. In turn, we agreed that we would go it alone. We took out our guide book with its indistinct directions and walked on to find a trail. With some help from a security guard at the rock quarry, we located a trail. It was a 15km hike through the wild. It was mud, mosquitoes, log bridges, hundreds of fallen trees, rain, and lots of back pain. In the end we arrived at our destination, Lake Yactrabinoe, exhausted and defeated.

Not more than 10 to 20 seconds had passed when an old stoic gentleman came walking up the trail after us. A brief discussion occurred and it was decided that we would be camping neighbors with him and his family. George has been living in exile for over twenty years as part Russia's Azerbaijani Diaspora. Upon arrival at the campsite, he feed us chicken soup, then we had tea, and then a sip of cognac. Finally, as the night linger on, they invited us to join them in their homemade sauna.

Over the course of three days we would often get a wrap on our tent door - "Come... tea," or "Come... barbecue." We could only offer light conversation, smiles, gratitude, and a song or two on guitar. The team was very grateful for their hospitality.

     
When it wasn't tea time, the team hit the rock. It was rough first day. The drawn out  march through the wilderness to the campsite had taken a toll on us. It would have been easier to skip out early everyday, but the lake, the granite, and the forest were too beautiful. I personally wanted to be up there every second that we had sun light - working problems and topping out at 20 to 40 meters. 

The Team on Lake Yactrabinoe

On Sunday night, after our new Azerbaijani friends had left, we discussed entertainment options:

  
Question - "Should we fire up the Sauna?"

    

Answer - "Yes."

  

The challenge had been accepted. Over the course of four hours, 20 to 25 birch trees, and sawing up countless logs, we finally got the embers and coals hot enough to steam the lake water. The flames were good and lasted long enough for four steams. It was a relaxing way to end our time on the lake.

Back on a platform in St. Petersburg, we found wagon 16 and prepared to board our train to Moscow. I was waiting for the conductor to take my ticket, when a man only slightly older than myself inquired about my guitar. I was polite and tried to understand but didn't fully grasp what he was asking. (In retrospect, I believe he was asking to play it for a moment.) We boarded the train and got settled into our third class sleepers when that same man from the platform took his seat beside me. His name was Sergi and he was interested in us as Americas traveling in his country. Not more than a half hour into our train ride he had treated everyone in the cabin to a bottle of vodka and accepted some challenges to a game of chess. We left St. Petersburg in good spirits, knowing that the hospitality and kindness of Russia could only follow us well on into Moscow.  

Cheers with Sergi