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| Journal - |
| April 15th, 2006 > frustration/corruption/getting naked |
| roll your mouse over any image for a description |
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| I arrived in St.Petersburg, Russia, feeling upbeat and ready to take on the world. Moving swiftly through the throng of touts, as if I know what I am doing, I exit the grand interior of Vitebsk station and onto the street. At that precise point, I am lost already. Undeterred, I make a lucky guess and soon come across a metro station. Having already studied the map in my Lonely Planet (the Rough Guide to Europe has now been burned at the stake), it is obviously one simple journey in a straight line to my destination. How hard can it be?
Quite hard, as it turns out. You have to stare at the Cyrillic alphabet for a good few years before it makes any sense, and even then I’m not sure it ever does. So my overnight swatting left me somewhat unprepared for the task of reading metro signs. Thankfully, the Lonely Planet Trans Siberian guide has a conversion alphabet in the back. My copy now automatically flips open at page 290, so frequent has it been called upon. It may be slow, but letter for letter I scribble down the destination name and convert it to Cyrillic and then set about finding a sign that I can recognise. This method I have perfected over the weeks, and can now navigate the system both here and in Moscow. I just need a pen and lots of paper. |
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| The city grew quickly to become the country’s most important trading port and cultural capital of the Empire. By the eighteen hundred’s, various political tensions were coming to the boil and a short lived revolution took place in December 1825, against the monarchy. The leaders were banished to the far reaches of the empire, and would become known as the Decembrists. Another coup was attempted in 1905 against the Tsar, resulting in the Bloody Sunday killings of over one hundred along with many injuries. The city had been renamed Petrograd when Vladimir Lenin and the Bolsheviks took advantage of WWI events to conduct a third revolution in 1917. In an attempt to break the Tsarist past the seat of government was moved to Moscow and Petrograd was again renamed Leningrad after the first communist leader’s death in 1924.
Laid under siege for nearly nine hundred days during WWII, over one million people perished and the city lay in ruins. Finally as the Soviet Union broke up Leningrad took on its modern day name in 1991. |
| I became friendly with Ronald from Michigan USA, and we spent a few days touring the city together and drinking coffee. I’ve really enjoyed having the company. He is on quite a trip of his own; he specialises in photographing total eclipse’s, the next one being in the middle of nowhere down in Kazakhstan. What’s more, he doesn’t just click away with any old camera - he has developed a unique method to capture the image on a panoramic camera. This huge and ungainly thing he has to carry in addition to his usual pack; I don’t envy him. He showed me an example of his work, and the results are impressive. A sort of 360 degree landscape with the eclipse at the centre. Ronald has travelled to some pretty funky destinations on his quest for the perfect eclipse from Norway to Madagascar and lots of places in between. |
| You need lots of energy to get around all the attractions in this city, and four days at least. I personally only have a marginal interest in museums and art galleries, so my time was more directed towards being outside and appreciating the external architecture that abounds. Probably the most important must see is the Peter & Paul Fortress; the very beginnings of this city. The most famous landmark within the grounds (free to enter) is the cathedral with its needle thin gilded spire. It is quite a spectacular building and has clearly been well looked after. Adjoining is the Romanov family crypt. |
| Walking around the outside of the ramparts, alongside the frozen Niva River, I rounded a corner to be confronted with partially naked bodies stood motionless in the sunshine. Of course! I’d forgotten all about this most Russian of activities. Spending long harsh winters wrapped under heavy clothing encourages the Ruskies to strip off at the first chance of soaking up a few rays, which is widely believed (I agree) to improve general health and well being. So there they stood, in various states of undress, perfectly still and all facing directly the sun like so many solar panels. It seems some had even taken a dip in the hole cut through the river ice. I am pleased I had missed this, because I know deep down I would have been obliged to try it. |
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| It was Peter the Great who first got the ball rolling in 1703, when he built the Peter & Paul fortress on the marshy estuary of the River Neva. The city that grew up around it was largely designed by European architects and thus it is today that St.Petersburg is Russia’s most westernised city in more than just geographical terms. Known to some as the “Venice of the North” (comparable on price, certainly), if it wasn’t for the language or the temperature you could almost forget you were in Russia. |
| Here at last |
| Nevsky prospekt is the 4km long main drag in the city which runs from the Neva River in the west past the winter palace and through the heart of St.Petersburg. To the eastern end I soon found my accommodation, the Hostel International affiliated St.Petersburg hostel. It’s a novelty for me to have pre-booked a bed, and something I should do more often. The city, and Russia in general, has a severe shortage of budget accommodation, and even these are not cheap. Most important for the independent visitor, you need a place that will offer the all important “letter of invitation” when applying for the visa, and who will also register your visa on arrival. The HI hostel here was brilliant in this regard, all paper work was completed with few problems.
It’s an uninspiring building with number keypad on each and every door, making it tiresome moving around but a safe haven from the street outside. The desk staff speak some English and the showers work wonderfully well. Though the facilities are pretty tired looking, the little old ladies (Babushka’s) on each floor keep them spotlessly clean. They also keep a beady eye on the inmates; you are being watched! As has been the case along this trip, increasingly as I head north and east, there are less travellers around. I have met a few, mostly on holiday and heading in the opposite direction, but I am now resigned to the fact that I will undertake this journey totally alone. This in itself is not a bad thing, it forces me to make more effort with the locals. But it can be quite hard work and there is just the odd day or night when I’d love a normal conversation. |
| The black iron structure that covers the platforms of Moskovsky station is much the same as the Victorian style of Waterloo or Paddington. Even though it is nearly midnight, the platforms are alive with departing people. Servicemen kiss their girls and kids help to carry bags. Locating my train, I pick my way to carriage twelve. The scene was straight out of a 1930’s movie, in colour. Each carriage has a coal burner to heat the hot water (Samovar) and in a row as far as I could see on this long train, sooty pipes pump out thick black smoke. The smell of the burning coal wafted around the platform and mingled with the sharp chill air, a homely feeling of warmth that increased my excitement for the journey through the night to the capital. |
| Eastwards to the Capital |
| I had been recommended SweetMoscow as about the most centrally located accommodation you will find in the budget range. It’s not really a hostel as such, more like a private home with just twelve beds. It is run by Tanja, a big girl with inconceivably large glasses and reasonable English. I am immediately sceptical when she quotes her rate in US dollars. Anywhere in the world, in my experience, when they quote in USD’s it means the price is so high it would be absurd to tell you the price in local currency. I normally avoid such places. But I’m tired and suspect I will not find anything cheaper, so reluctantly part with US$25 per night. Ouch!
Now you all know this journal is about what happens to me on this trip, how I feel and what I see. It’s not a travel guide. Thus, I would be lying now if I wrote about all the beautiful buildings, the museums and food. Undoubtedly, I am in the capital of the largest country on earth. A place so full of secrecy and yet so well known for reason’s good and bad. But to appreciate Moscow you need a lot of energy and enthusiasm for the task. I had neither available. My time was spent trying so hard to organise onward travel, baulking at the price of everything, worrying about the intricacies of visa registration and avoiding police, that I couldn’t wait to leave. Of course, I toured some of the more well known areas, particularly the Kremlin. I also met some fantastic people back at the digs, and enjoyed chatting with them every night. |
| The chances of me ever being in Moscow again are slim. For this reason, I feel I should be making the most of it, not to mention the fact it has taken some effort to get here in the first place. But I am no more a city person than I am a fan of art galleries. To kid myself or you guys that I am, would be madness. So I feel not the slightest pang of guilt in admitting that I spent just three days in this city, most of which failed to impress me in any way. |
| So far, Russia is full of extreme contrasts. It is so well known for many of it’s historic events and the arts. Yet it is so cloaked in secrecy; so much so that still to this day entire cities are still off limits to people.
It is a country where peasants still collect litter off the street on a wheeled cart and a loaf of bread can be bought for ten roubles. Yet wherever you go you will see expensive western cars, gleaming outside luxurious restaurants. The government still censors content from the internet. But on the street you can buy pornographic magazines alongside kids comics. Cigarettes and alcohol cost next to nothing while a good feed in a restaurant is comparable with London prices. Many buildings in and around the cities are in a serious state of disrepair. Below ground, the finest metro stations in the world are spotlessly clean with architecture that would rival any stately home in Britain. |
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| My new buddy |
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| He works out the ultimate vantage point on the globe, taking into account local geography and weather, and of course the exact time the event will take place. Obviously at this point I am well and truly lost; but I did grasp enough to establish that I will catch a partial eclipse along my trans Siberian route if I get my act together soon. Bonus!
So my days were spent doing the usual city things; eating, drinking coffee, gorping at historical buildings and getting lost. It has been bitterly cold, which I am most pleased about. At last I can wear all the clothing I have been lugging around with me. And the umbrella? Well, I haven’t counted up the votes yet but I can tell you without reservation that you all overwhelmingly voted to keep the brolly on this trip. Thank you, so much. I have in fact fallen out with the thing and it is now riding around Russia on a train bent in half. I’m not necessarily at my best early in the morning and the brolly got hooked up in a luggage rack at the wrong moment, when I was hurrying to scurry off the train. So there it stayed. Sorry. |
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| The rest of the complex I found in a fairly chaotic state with many buildings closed and much restoration work going on; but clearly this work has to be done some time and summer is surely too busy. Something I am beginning to learn already about the Russian technique for restoration; it is done with a very heavy hand. Almost a case of knock it down and build again. Most of the old buildings are in red brick, a material that was used during those times extensively. It seems to me that much restoration has been completed with brand new bricks and it is hard to appreciate the age of a building. |
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| The Winter Palace is the most spectacular building in the city, if not entire Russia. Built by Rastrelli in 1754 for Empress Elizabeth, the 1057 rooms are now home to the world famous Hermitage. The palace wraps itself around the huge Dvortsovaya square, in the middle of which you will find the 47 metre tall Alexander Column that commemorates the 1812 victory over Napoleon. |
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| It has taken me a few days to adjust to the new country. To get comfortable with the Roubles and pick up some basic language. What is for certain, St.Petersburg is the perfect introduction to Russia. It is slightly Europeanised and with luck you will find locals who speak perhaps some English to help you. It gives you a chance to learn something of Russian ways before diving deeper into the country, as indeed I will do next. |
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| Moscow, 3208km from London, is a big city. It has nine rail stations and a comprehensive metro network comparable with the London Underground. My first impressions are that it is also considerably less friendly and far more hectic, like country capital’s the world over, I guess. |
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| Russia, an enigma |
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| And the people? Part of my frustration with Russia so far is that I feel unable to understand them. Above all else, this is the reason why I travel. But here, I need more time and a better grasp of the language. There has been days when I have been ready to give up on the country. But in addition to all the contrasts I find above, the people themselves are the greatest enigma. It is easy to mistake them for gloomy, unfriendly, arrogant even. I read somewhere recently that Russians think we are slightly crazy when we walk around with a smile on our faces. Perhaps this is why I stand out so much, for a few people lately have told me I have a ‘happy face’. I’ve been working hard to change this. But the fact is, it seems, Ruskies don’t believe in wasting a good smile; they do so only when they find something funny. So this may partly explain where I go wrong. When I approach people, my automatic way of disarming them is a friendly smile, whereas they most likely think I am just a short step away from the loony bin. As the days have passed and I have become more comfortable, dabbling a bit with the language, people have undoubtedly become warmer, even if they still think I am mad. |
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| I have been trying hard to understand why it is so expensive to travel here. There is obviously money in the country but it is not being spent on services and infrastructure. I just wonder where all the money goes. If Russia hopes to continue opening up to tourism, I believe it has a very long way to go. The cost and effort required to get the visa is the first hurdle. Then the archaic rules that require you to register when you stay anywhere more than three days, though nobody seems to really understand the rules on this. But I reserve the thing that rattles me the most for last; the corruption so intrinsically connected with the police. I was brought up to respect the law (and the fine art of bending it slightly when the need arises). Here they are to be avoided at all costs. Despite my best efforts in doing so, I got stopped five times in Moscow. Each time they were looking for my registration stamp, but I was within my three days. If they had found a problem, they could and would have charged me a cash fine of whatever they choose; often going into hundreds of US dollars. They are involved in many of the scams on the street and it is almost totally down to my dislike of this that I chose to leave Moscow so soon. I’ll spend my money in some place where it is appreciated more. It took me most of one day to book my train ticket across Siberia, the staff being utterly unhelpful. I’d gone to much effort to write down my request in Cyrillic. Tanja had confirmed that my writing was clear and there would be few problems. For ages I stood in line while people pushed in ahead. At my turn, the women scribbled down something on paper and sent me to another window, where the queuing process would begin again. This went on back and forth for several hours. I was quoted an outrageous 16,000 Roubles by one person. I became so close to actually giving up, it was the lowest point so far. The frustration at not being able to book a simple train ticket. The temptation to get on a plane was there, niggling away. But of course, riding the Trans Siberian railway was the only, the only reason I had come to Russia. I tried again, even though I knew that price to be way over what I should pay. Failing to get through, I actually lost my temper, which is rare for me and unlikely to get oneself anywhere. As has happened to me a surprising number of times when travelling, at that point two girls descended like guardian angels just when I needed them; they spoke English! They helped me get that ticket, something that took just minutes at a cost of 4,200 Roubles. Relief! I didn’t get their names, but did I think give them this site address - so if you are watching guys, thank you so much for your help! |
| On the morning of departure day, myself, Chris from Germany and Andrew from England ventured into the suburbs to sample that most Russian of traditions, the Banya. It was a chance to get naked with my new friends along with seemingly half the male population of Moscow. For this is a weekly ritual of both men and women, in separate buildings I hasten to add, a sauna followed by dips into icy cold water.
There are a number of places to experience this in Moscow, as you will find in just about any settlement throughout the country. Naturally, we picked the cheapest. Completely unsure of any etiquette that may be required, like three lost sheep we huddled together as we moved through the labyrinth like building. Do as others do is always the rule, so we stripped off and headed for the hot house. This was so much hotter and more humid than any sauna I have yet experienced, to point of being difficult to breath. Many men wore a funny little felt hat to protect their hair. Outside the hothouse, a large extravagantly tiled area was a veritable playground for male grooming. There were showers, benches for massage, and various means of giving oneself a cold sharp shock with icy water. Carefully descending the stairs made slippery with sweat and steam, trying not to inelegantly slip and make a complete fool of myself, my body close to spontaneous combustion, it was time for the cold water dip. The stabbing pain of the icy water quickly fades and your body goes numb, and yes, I did scream like a girl. But it was, really, no really, very refreshing. With no grace whatsoever I high tailed it back into the hothouse before I could slip into a hypothermic coma. And so the process continues, for up to two hours. Most locals bring with them a bunch of dried birch leaves, which they use to enthusiastically beat themselves and each other. This process helps to open the pores and cleanse the body of toxins. Andrew had bought a bunch, and we all thoroughly enjoyed giving each other a thrashing. Meanwhile, Chris had discovered an alternative way to face the cold water. A wooden bucket on a chain, much like you always envisaged setting up to get the headmaster at school, fixed to the wall. You simply stand underneath, grit your teeth and pull! After these cold water punishments, certain appendages on the body seem to disappear altogether, and one becomes thankful that indeed they do have separate rooms for male and female. All in all, a thoroughly civilized way to spend a Sunday morning. Feeling refreshed and cleansed, appendages mostly present and correct, I decide I have had enough of cities for now. It’s time to get away and see what this country is really all about. It’s time to ride the Trans Siberian Railway across the largest country on earth. |
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| Getting naked |
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| My apologies if this journal is a bit tatty - I can't actually get into my website here so I am working completely blind! Hopefully things will improve soon! |