I haven’t been blogging in quite some time. Instead, I’ve spent the last couple of weeks, preparing for my two-week business trip. Since I had to do some last minute shopping for it this past Thursday, “Bob” didn’t pick up the CSA share.
Right now, I’m sitting in a tiny bed in a tiny hotel in St. Petersburg, and at the end of the week, I’ll be on my way to England.
I have to admit it, yesterday was a lot harder than I imagined it would be. I thought with my Russian phrasebook and three St. Petersburg guide books, I’d be good to go. Since I’m stubborn, instead of hailing a cab at the airport, I took public transportation from the airport (“airports” to be exact) to this hole in a wall of hotel
that appears to be in a “gentrifying” street in the Lower Nevsky/Smolny Convent area of St. Petersburg.
After I got off the plane, the passport control area went smoothly. I walked past the baggage claim where dozens of people were gathered holding up white signs with people’s names written on them. None were mine. Apparently my cab never made it. So after cashing in some dollars for rubles, I went to the tourist information kiosk and asked the young, somewhat helpful girl about the bus that goes to the metro (there is no train from the airport). She confirmed that bus #13 would stop at the Metro and that it would be just outside on the street (which I could see from where I was standing). I exited the building and saw lots of people boarding. I hesitated and just as it was nearly filled, I decided to chance it. I’ve been at places before where I didn't get on the first bus that I saw and then had to wait hours for the next one. I squeezed in, and the doors closed behind me. Huge mistake.
As the bus pulled away from the curb, I saw another bus pull up to the curb behind us. It had a large piece of paper taped to the front window with a huge #13 drawn on it. The bus I was on? It was full of German tourists who didn’t understand a word I said in Russian
or in English. And it was not going to the Metro. This bus was going to the other Pulkovo airport; there's Pulkovo 1 and Pulkovo 2. I landed at 2 (the domestic airport) but took a side trip to 1 and waved goodbye to the German tourists who all seemed to know where they were going.
After realizing my mistake I decided to stay on the bus and just ride the bus back to Pulkovo 2. But, the bus driver waved me off the bus. He wouldn’t let me stay on. Reluctantly, I got off and waited at the curb, trying to not look suspicious and hoping another bus would come soon. I didn’t want to go into the building behind me because there was an x-ray machine. The last thing I wanted was my luggage confiscated and boarded on some plane while I was stuck in St. Petersburg without a ticket to wherever my bags were headed. I read through my travel books and learned that bus #39 goes from Pulkovo 1 to the metro. Suddenly a bus appeared around the bend. It was #39. I was saved. People got off, I got on. Then I got off because the bus driver shouted at me (in Russian) to get off the bus. I was confused. After I got off the bus. He kept talking-shouting at me and pointing downwards. I watched as he drove off.
So, I’m there outside the Pulkovo 1 airport trying to find stairs that go “down” to someplace where buses suddenly appear and take you to a metro station. There were no stairs. No escalators, no elevators, nothing. Then the soldier guys came outside. They stood on the curb. And as I continued to search for stairs to somewhere, they kept watching me as if I were up to no good.
Not wanting to get hauled off to a gulag, I finally worked up the nerve to ask a normal looking middle-aged man for help. He didn’t speak English but he did say “down” and made a bit of sense from a lot of hand gestures about how to get to the bus. I’d have to go into the airport building and through the security check point. I didn't want to go through security. Going through security can often lead to trouble. But I had no choice. I got on line anyway. I tried asking one of the guards about the buses, but he quickly said "hold on" and dragged over some younger guard to speak to me. He was really kind and calm (I wasn't) and told me how to get downstairs and then he told me that I'd have to put my bags through the baggage scanner. It was okay. I managed to finally find my way downstairs (remember, this is Pulkovo 1...where the domestic flights are; no one really has to speak any other language but Russian at this airport).
So, then I finally got on bus #39. I tried to spy how much people were digging out of their pockets for the fare. I thought it was 10 rubles. But when the old lady came around to collect the cash from me, she continued to hold out her hand after I handed her the 10 ruble note. So I handed her a second one and she gave me about 4 rubles in change. I soon discerned that she was getting impatient with everyone (not just me) because we were all giving her 20 ruble notes and not exact change. Then behind me, I heard her say to one guy "spasseeba," which is how "thank you" sounds in Russian. I could hear the clink clink clink of the exact change as he handed it to her. She laughed and the bus felt a little less tense. Until, of course, I realized that I still had no idea if I was on the right bus or not. We made about 4 stops before I worked up the nerve to ask the young guy sitting next to me. He didn't speak very much English at all. But he didn't indicate that I was on the wrong bus either. I sat tight and spotted the big M (for Metro) and the name of the stop I was looking for. Finally! I had some idea of where I was.
The St. Petersburg metro is a strange experience. The tracks are very deep underground, so the escalators are steep. I tried to take a picture, but the batteries weren't in the camera then, I’ll have to remember to take a picture next time.
Many of the subway stops look just like a bank of elevators. The solid, recessed doors in the wall slide open and then you climb onto a subway car. You don't even see the tracks and when the train stops most, if not all, of the signs are obscured. To get to my hotel’s neighborhood, I had to transfer three times. So, I counted my stops carefully and listened to the announcements as best as I could, and somehow I figured out the right direction to go each time I transfered.
I made it to my last stop: Ploschad Aleksandra Nevskovo I & II (which looks nothing like that in the Cyrillic alphabet). I took the long elevator ride up and was confronted with bedlam. Streets were torn up, construction equipment was beeping, fumes, exhaust, smoke were choking me, tons of people (both well dressed and hardly at all) were everywhere, and most of the street and sidewalks were missing--nothing but rubble everywhere. I had to lift my bag up over pebbles, and sand, and gravel, walk over 2x4s and, of course, try not to look to touristy with a map in one hand, a suitcase in the other, and a befuddled look on my face.
So, after I saw a famous swanky designer store (whose name escapes me now..some Italian male designer) I realized this must be Nevsky Prospekt, the 5th Avenue and Champs Elysees of St. Petersburg. So, I just kept walking. I couldn't find a single street sign that made sense or matched the names on my map (which had all the names in the Roman alphabet, not the Cyrillic one). But I just guessed and figured my hotel street had to be parallel to this one, so I cut down one of the blocks, walked down a bit, and encountered a very shabby area. I kept walking. Some of the blocks and building looked okay and some didn't. Then I finally spotted a sign on a building: KOHHaR. Earlier I had figured out that this is how my hotel's street name should look using the Russian alphabet (in Roman letters it's Konnaya). So I walked and kept looking for 10 Konnaya. After passing a 28 and a 20, I found a 10 that looked like it was burned out and closed up by the St. Petersburg Board of Health (there was an official looking sign, which I couldn’t read, tacked up next to the door). A guy who thought I was following him, ducked into a very run-down building next to it. So, I kept walking and found a very nice little side street park with benches. I sat down, got my wits about me, pulled out my language books, and figured out what my Hotel's name should look like in Russian. In Roman letters it's Kholstomer. So, I converted the sounds those letters make into Cyrillic. And I got: xoЛC+oMr...turns out I'd passed a place with a name that looked almost like that spelled out in neon. It was next to the semi-burned out building. And, yup, it was the right place.
The room is tiny (I'll take more pictures) but it seems clean. I have my concerns because all these buildings are connected, but I'll keep my clothes in my bag and one eye open at all times.
That was yesterday (Saturday, September 6). Today (Sunday), I had breakfast at the hotel. Then I walked “up” what I thought was Nevsky Prospekt, but which I learned later was Ligovsky Prospekt. I think I walked as far as the Obvodny Kanal.
I also tried to find a 3-prong adapter for my computer, but was unsuccessful at the electronics store (I saw a really cute green toaster though).
This afternoon, I had my meeting at a café that truly was “up” Nevsky Prospekt. Later, I had some caviar, blini, beef stroganoff, and vodka tonight at a very unusual little restaurant on Fontanka Naberezhanay! We had trouble finding it at first because we couldn’t find the “house number” (not an unusual occurrence here) and we couldn’t find a sign for the restaurant either.
The restaurant was named “Propaganda” but now it looks like it’s called something else. It was about $100 for the three of us, which we deemed a good deal. The best part of the evening: being able to talk to some people. The second best: Nevsky Prospekt at night. It looks a lot better with the old building facades lit. I’ll take pictures next time. Since I had to walk all by myself from Ulitsa Mayakovskogo to Telezhny (which intersects Nevsky Prospect and my hotel’s street Konnaya—Telezhny runs perpendicular to both), I decided to keep my camera in my bag and just keep walking. Past the Ploschad Vosstaniya and Mayakovskaya (Moskovsky Station), Nevsky Prospekt really gets dark and less populated. It’s mainly fancy retail shops and very few restaurants.
Here’s some tips if you ever go to St. Petersburg: Bus #13 is very clearly marked. If you plan to use this bus to get to the metro, do not get on a bus that isn’t marked with this number. If you do, it’s almost guaranteed that you’ll be on the wrong bus.
Also, get maps that have the Russian geographical names in both the Cyrillic and Roman alphabets. The signs are not in Roman letters. So if you are lucky enough to find a legible street sign, you won’t be able to find it (or verify it) on your “for-English-speakers-only” map (unless you transcribe it phonetically by sounding out the names and converting those sounds into their Cyrillic symbols).
That’s it for now. It’s about 12:30 am (Monday morning) and about 4:26 pm New York time.
As promised: a picture (Tomato Pasta soup) and a recipe (for Parmesean Peppercorn Dressing).
Yup, one of those young, overdressed, St. Petersburg women actually pushed me into the metro this morning. Apparently I wasn't going fast enough for her. I could feel her hands pushing into my back. My first instinct was to turn around and say something along the lines of "What the F&*^ do you think you're F&#^ing doing, b!$tch?" that or deck her, but then I realized, either action in a very packed St. Petersburg subway would likely get me pummelled by a lot of the other passengers (I don't think speaking English would help me make my case against the pushy chick), either that or I'd be hauled off to some Siberian gulag. Besides, they are pretty aggressive on that subway, so full-contact-subway riding may, in fact, be culturally accepted there. [Pictured to the left on Nevsky Pr. is the Kazan Cathedral, this is probably the worst picture of it taken, ever; to the right is the Singer Building (of sewing machine fame), we have/had one in Newark, N.J., though I don't remember it being this ornate.)]
