Not that St. Petersburg, Russia is very different from St. Petersburg, Florida. Our boat trip began with a rousing game of shuffleboard, followed by dinner at 4:00 pm, followed by falling asleep in an easy chair in front of the TV at 6:12 pm.
Seriously, though, we had a comfortable and safe trip from Helsinki to St. Petersburg. The boat docked as scheduled at 9:00 am and we smoothly and effortlessly made our way through the friendly, efficient and welcoming passport control at the harbor. Meaning that we spent an hour and a half inching our way forward in a sea of Russians obeying the first rule of Russian etiquette--the only thing better than pushing yourself in front of someone who is already in a line is to then jump to another line 50 feet away because it seemed to have moved two millimeters forward.
Cory amused himself during our wait by taking pictures of all of the confusion and crowding. I amused myself trying to guess how long it would take Cory to learn the Russian for "keep your hands off of me; I belong to Boris" while serving his time in a Russian prison--it being expressly forbidden to take photos in the passport control area. Luckily for us, that rule was not enforced any better than the rules about which lines were for Russians and which lines were for foreigners.
When I reached the passport control officer, I thought that some courtesy might be wise (in case Cory continued his scofflaw ways and I ended up needing a friend in uniform). I said "Good morning" in both Russian and English. Which got me the fish-eyed stare. Over and over. Finally, she stamped my passport and pushed it at me like a cup of curdled milk. Nonetheless, I said, "Thank you" in Russian and English. And got no response.
In contrast, when we were exiting passport control to get back on the ship that evening, the gal at passport control was quite friendly. Certainly much friendlier than any US passport control officer I have encountered in the past decade.
In retrospect, I think I should have anticipated the treatment I received. If you are a Russian and you encounter a Westerner who is voluntarily going from Western Europe into Russia, you can reasonably assume that either (1) they are involved in some nefarious scheme; or (2) they are insane. In either case, you do not want to make eye contact. On the other hand, if someone is going to Western Europe and you're a Russian, then you're wanting to imply, "Hey, guy, I'm a fun girl! Take me with you!"
Anyway, once we got into St. Petersburg proper, we were able to see some spectacular sights. And by "spectacular", I mean "if you were a peasant when the aristocracy was building these places, you'd be singing 'killed the czar and his ministers' right along with Mick."
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We started at St. Isaac's Cathedral. If you think of Russian Orthodox as gloomy guys in black clothes, long black beards, and funny hats, you might want to add "and more gold than King Midas" to that image. At least if you are ministering to the czar and his buddies from the altar at St. Isaac's.
Of course, this is just a small portion of the cathedral, since it takes a huge amount of gold, malachite, lazurite, paintings of Jesus holding a gerbil wheel, and stained glass to assure that several hundred million serfs and peasants are living in abject poverty. And, of course, because there are those crackpots who think that "religion is the opiate of the people" (or in this case, looking at pictures of the general health and dental hygiene of Russian peasants of that time period, "the methamphetamine of the people"), there were cast bronze doors to keep out the "undesirable element".
As you can see, those doors no longer fulfill their purpose. (However, in the event that I am ever asked to explain the meaning of the word "furtive" to a non-English-speaker, I will just show them this picture. Mission accomplished.)
From St. Isaac's, we walked to the Winter Palace of the Czars, which houses the Hermitage Museum. Although this museum bears the same name as Andrew Jackson's home in Nashville, Tennessee, to the best of my knowledge, Andrew Jackson never held the position of Czar of All the Russias. For one thing, his idea of a settling differences with a political opponent through a duel was not exactly the way the czars preferred to deal with opponents, though gunfire was involved in both methods:
But why would a czar have any critics? Surely their top priority was to live a life of simplicity, poverty and service. As demonstrated by the little shack that they called, tongue-in-cheek, the Winter "Palace."
Though, to be fair to the architect, for a building with such a modest exterior, it is surprisingly roomy on the inside:
As you can see, the Czars were all Ayn Rand Republicans. In fact, a little-known fact about the founder of St. Petersburg is that Catherine I's pet name for Peter the Great was "Aqua Buddha." (google this)
Cory and I spent 20 hours in the Hermitage, based on how sore my feet and back were when we finished, although the clock said we were there for 5 hours. What a liar that clock was! We only saw a small portion of the items on display there; we didn't even succeed in our primary goal of seeing all the pictures and statues of naked women. It's hard being a dedicated supporter of the fine arts.
When too exhausted to continue trying to move through the crowds in the Hermitage (see, above, Passport Control), we walked to the Peter and Paul Fortress. It includes a church in which most of the rulers of Russia from Peter the Great to the Revolution are buried. And for the interior of this church . . . you guessed it . . . more gold than in a Donald Trump bathroom.
If you are interested in Russian history, or if you are a misanthrope and enjoy the thought of other people suffering, (and it is only logical to conclude that you must be the second if you are also the first) then a highlight of the Peter and Paul Fortress is the prison. This was used as a prison for centuries but the historical records primarily focus on the years leading up to the Russian Revolution and the early years after the Revolution. The prison was not nearly as horrible as, for example, the "black sites" where the US has sent suspected enemies for "enhanced interrogation." (As a side note, I understand that the CIA forces prisoners at those black sites to read this blog. It breaks the prisoner's will much more effectively than waterboarding or electrodes to the testicles.)
The prison rooms were relatively large, and the prisoners got beds and sinks. On the negative side of the ledger, prisoners did not get any heat or edible food and were kept in solitary confinement. Back on the positive side, the Russian government was an equal opportunity oppressor, with women as well as men routinely sent to this prison.
I consider myself as much a left-wing nut case as anyone who ever listened to Timothy Leary, but even I found that the trip to the prison furthered my education, because of the following plaque:
I had not know that Lenin had a brother who was hanged by the czarist government. That may help explain why he wasn't big on the idea of working for change from within the system.
Of even greater importance to me, though, was to discover that Alexander Ulyanov had been a member of a Terrorist Fraction. I was aware that many anti-government groups have a terrorist faction but this is the first proof I have discovered of the existence of Terrorist Fractions.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not naïve. I have suspected that terrorist fractions existed ever since the fourth grade, when I was forced to find Least Common Denominators. Now I know that my fears were justified. And so are yours. (I know that you secretly view fractions with fear and loathing.) So if you are ever in line to board a plane and you see 7/8 or, even worse, 11/13 ( a terrorist fraction if I ever saw one) getting on the plane ahead of you, don't take any chances. Just turn around and book a different flight. I know that I will. Because the last thing I want is to end up like this guy: (actual warning sign below the window of my cabin on the ship to St. Petersburg).
I don't know if he is being attacked by flying eels, sea snakes or electrified water, or all of these things at once. But I'm sure Terrorist Fractions are behind this torture.
As you can see, those doors no longer fulfill their purpose. (However, in the event that I am ever asked to explain the meaning of the word "furtive" to a non-English-speaker, I will just show them this picture. Mission accomplished.)
From St. Isaac's, we walked to the Winter Palace of the Czars, which houses the Hermitage Museum. Although this museum bears the same name as Andrew Jackson's home in Nashville, Tennessee, to the best of my knowledge, Andrew Jackson never held the position of Czar of All the Russias. For one thing, his idea of a settling differences with a political opponent through a duel was not exactly the way the czars preferred to deal with opponents, though gunfire was involved in both methods:
But why would a czar have any critics? Surely their top priority was to live a life of simplicity, poverty and service. As demonstrated by the little shack that they called, tongue-in-cheek, the Winter "Palace."
Though, to be fair to the architect, for a building with such a modest exterior, it is surprisingly roomy on the inside:
As you can see, the Czars were all Ayn Rand Republicans. In fact, a little-known fact about the founder of St. Petersburg is that Catherine I's pet name for Peter the Great was "Aqua Buddha." (google this)
Cory and I spent 20 hours in the Hermitage, based on how sore my feet and back were when we finished, although the clock said we were there for 5 hours. What a liar that clock was! We only saw a small portion of the items on display there; we didn't even succeed in our primary goal of seeing all the pictures and statues of naked women. It's hard being a dedicated supporter of the fine arts.
When too exhausted to continue trying to move through the crowds in the Hermitage (see, above, Passport Control), we walked to the Peter and Paul Fortress. It includes a church in which most of the rulers of Russia from Peter the Great to the Revolution are buried. And for the interior of this church . . . you guessed it . . . more gold than in a Donald Trump bathroom.
If you are interested in Russian history, or if you are a misanthrope and enjoy the thought of other people suffering, (and it is only logical to conclude that you must be the second if you are also the first) then a highlight of the Peter and Paul Fortress is the prison. This was used as a prison for centuries but the historical records primarily focus on the years leading up to the Russian Revolution and the early years after the Revolution. The prison was not nearly as horrible as, for example, the "black sites" where the US has sent suspected enemies for "enhanced interrogation." (As a side note, I understand that the CIA forces prisoners at those black sites to read this blog. It breaks the prisoner's will much more effectively than waterboarding or electrodes to the testicles.)
The prison rooms were relatively large, and the prisoners got beds and sinks. On the negative side of the ledger, prisoners did not get any heat or edible food and were kept in solitary confinement. Back on the positive side, the Russian government was an equal opportunity oppressor, with women as well as men routinely sent to this prison.
I consider myself as much a left-wing nut case as anyone who ever listened to Timothy Leary, but even I found that the trip to the prison furthered my education, because of the following plaque:
I had not know that Lenin had a brother who was hanged by the czarist government. That may help explain why he wasn't big on the idea of working for change from within the system.
Of even greater importance to me, though, was to discover that Alexander Ulyanov had been a member of a Terrorist Fraction. I was aware that many anti-government groups have a terrorist faction but this is the first proof I have discovered of the existence of Terrorist Fractions.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not naïve. I have suspected that terrorist fractions existed ever since the fourth grade, when I was forced to find Least Common Denominators. Now I know that my fears were justified. And so are yours. (I know that you secretly view fractions with fear and loathing.) So if you are ever in line to board a plane and you see 7/8 or, even worse, 11/13 ( a terrorist fraction if I ever saw one) getting on the plane ahead of you, don't take any chances. Just turn around and book a different flight. I know that I will. Because the last thing I want is to end up like this guy: (actual warning sign below the window of my cabin on the ship to St. Petersburg).
I don't know if he is being attacked by flying eels, sea snakes or electrified water, or all of these things at once. But I'm sure Terrorist Fractions are behind this torture.
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