Reading
Stalingrad has set me thinking about my trip to St Petersburg in the year 2000. I stayed at the International Youth Hostel, where you paid in US$ and they arranged the visa for you. I was allocated a female dormitory room for 5, upstairs, but the few showers were on the ground floor. The thing I remember most about the place was the
ersatz food served for breakfast. Everything was a poor imitation of what we had in the West. The "strawberry" jam was pink and thin, the "cheese" had no taste and the "cornflakes" were a perfect example of the old joke that the packet contained more nutrition than what was inside. I felt sorry for the Russians who had never tasted the real thing - but perhaps their breakfast of local stuff was probably a lot better than what was served to overseas visitors.
The other thing I remember about St Petersburg was that no-one (absolutely no-one) spoke English. Finding your way around was a challenge, as it was necessary to master some of the
Cyrillic script so that you could read street signs or get off at the right subway station. The youth hostel was close to the Moscow Station, but there was a 5 pointed roundabout from which it was easy and disconcerting to take the wrong exit and get completely lost.
I did encounter one Russian with perfect English on the night train from Tallin. But he was there for a scam. As the train crossed from Estonia into Russia in the middle of the night, he rapped on the compartment doors with a metal spoon, asking everyone to fill in a currency declaration form and to "prepare for an inspection". By great good fortune, I had been warned about this by some British tourists in Tallin, who told me to fill in the form correctly down to the last cent. This I did, and the Russian "official" seemed nonplussed when I handed him the form and showed him my small amount of money without fear and trembling. In the compartment next door, I heard a fierce argument going on when the Canadian man was in big trouble for just giving a round figure. In effect he was being asked for a bribe to be able to continue on his travels.
St Petersburg was not all bad. I went three days running to the Hermitage (using my International Student Card - as a mature student!) I also enjoyed eating Beef Stroganoff and caviare in a posh restaurant. What we get here is indeed
ersatz caviare!
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| "unflinching portrayal of backbreaking labour" |
I was keen to visit the home of the artist Ilya Repin, whose painting Barge Haulers on the Volga I had once seen in a travelling exhibition. This involved a train journey. The train was so crowded that I found it difficult to see out, in order to read the station signs. Somehow I got there and asked the way to the house from a well-dressed businessman, by showing him the picture in my guide book. He pointed vaguely and mimed "steps". I felt it was quite an achievement on my part! People who go on package tours miss out on a lot.
Back at the youth hostel, the bed opposite me (which had been occupied by a girl whose stuff was still scattered around) remained un-slept in. Should I alert the authorities in case something untoward had happened to her? I agonised for another day, when fortunately she reappeared after partying! The beds were hard and the blanket thin - maybe she had found somewhere better to spend the night.
