Better Late than Neva

My blog never really took off in France but Russia is interesting enough that I actually think it might here. Almost a week in to the St Petersburg adventure, here's a slightly overly long blog to report back.

It is certainly all as surreal as I could have hoped. I’m sitting in the living room in a flat belonging to an elderly Russian lady while she phones for clues to her codeword and a programme about some kind of Russian national sporting hero plays, presumably to whip up a bit of national pride. And it’s minus 5 degrees and everything is in Russian and it all seems different and unfamiliar. I’m definitely not suggesting that any of it is at all unpleasant but it’s noticeably foreign and strange, for now.

I guess I should recount the events of the last couple of days. Flew over on Wednesday 5th with Nick and Chris and managed to convince the Russians that we should be allowed into the country. Having been told that I would be met by “Svetlana” (who is not my host), I was slightly surprised when a long-haired and rather eccentric looking man enthusiastically greeted Chris and me, while Nick went off with an old lady who had been standing with him. He knew who we were and was significantly friendlier that his friend who drove us (predictably recklessly) in his car towards our new lodgings.

It was a slightly unexpected start but it became odder soon after. I was dropped at my house, said a brief hello to Evgeniya Vasilevnaya and left my bags (and coat – mistake) before getting back into the car to keep Chris company to his place. I was under the impression that the Long-Haired Man would then bring me home but in fact the car was driven off and we were left in the craziest flat I’ve ever seen. The belated appearance of Svetlana (for it is she) was worth waiting for – she was a Professor Trelawny-like figure (I think – the one in Garry Potter with big eyes) who claimed not to eat for months on end. Her house was full of rolls of twine and thread and cloth and strange trinkets piled high on tiny shelves absolutely everywhere. To say it was cluttered would be an understatement. Her peculiar son Ivan (24, a hulking, clumsy giant with a guttural voice and an interesting ponytail / facial hair combination) made brief appearances to angrily demand food and then disappear.
Svetlana, the Long-Haired Man, Chris and I sat around a tiny, low table being served totally random food products. Spiced tea, mayonnaise, a strange kind of cake, sour cream, biscuits, cheese and sausage on brioche and probably other things I’m forgetting all appeared as a sort of starter while some onion, carrots, red pepper and a small amount of chicken were boiled in some water for a main, complemented by more of the obligatory sour cream. This all took ages. We sat, first talking and then mainly listening as we became more tired, for about 4 hours in this overcrowded, hot flat before the Long-Haired Man declared that we should leave.

An extremely chilly 20 minute walk later, I was finally allowed to see my own place. It’s quite nice, as it happens. I’ll put up pictures at some point I guess. Evgeniya Vasilevnaya is a very friendly lady and speaks in a much more understandable way than the Long-Haired Man. She doesn’t cook for us (me and John from Durham, who arrived on Thursday) but has otherwise sorted us out well with very acceptable bedrooms. The Russian small-talk recommenced but by midnight (Petersburg time), I was out for the count.

Thursday things were still unfamiliar but less mysterious. I muddled my way to Nevsky Prospekt (the main road of Petersburg) and met Nick and Chris for goryachii shokolad and a stroll around the vicinity. We saw some things and did some things but generally just tried to get a feel for the new surroundings. I wouldn’t have said we’ve fully succeeded but we made a start.

On Friday and Saturday we set about seeing the most important sites of Petersburg. Playing ancient games with a cup of vintage cream soda in the Museum of Soviet Arcade Games was a highlight. A walk across the iced-over Neva to a submarine was worth the risk involved (NB for parents who may be reading, there was very little risk...) and the Museum of Artillery History was worth a look too. O’Hooligans Irish Pub (not a typo) allowed us to watch some English sport and we’ve eaten and drunk well in the city so far. Also it’s really cheap. So good news there.

Went to a little vecherinka on Saturday night to meet some new people and met some new people, as expected. Made it home on the treacherously icy roads with just the one tumble (extremely minor damage done to my right ring finger – send help) and then had a lazy Sunday out for lunch first and then in an Angliiskii Pab for the Spurs game. And we actually won.
As I’ve tried to show here, it’s all perfectly pleasant but just totally bizarre to begin with. I can’t say I have any complaints about anything really but if I was told this was all a strange dream then I’d believe it. We’ll see where it all goes from here!