There and Back Again

For those of you keeping track of me: like all good hobbits I made it back home.

I thought I wasn't going to make it out of St. Petersburg. After my limited success navigating the public transportation system of St. Petersburg, I decided to give it one last whirl and use it to get to the airport. So, after a disheartening beginning involving some tough going--lugging my baggage down Nevsky Prospekt wasn't easy with all my souveniers--and slow service from a local cafe (I really didn't want the coffee, just the change for my 50 Ruble note--which they didn't even have. I had to buy gum from a convenience store and then rush back to the cafe to pay them with the change), I did successfully manage to take the Metro (from the Maykovskaya to Teckhnologichesky Institut to Moskovskaya stop) where Bus #13 stops for the airport. From there it got a bit dicey. Especially since, yet again, I got shooed off a bus.

Above ground from the Moskovskaya stop, there are a LOT of bus stops. I found one with the magic #13 listed. And I waited. And waited. A few buses stopped and--having learned my lesson from my first attempt at boarding a bus in St. Petersburg--I let them pass on by because none were labeled 13. After 15 minutes or so had passed, victory!, a #13 bus stopped. As I climbed the steps, I asked the bus driver in my best Russian "Pulkovo Dva?" And, as my luck would have it, she said "Nyet" and like all the bus drivers before her, she Nyet-ed and waved me off the steps of the bus.

Crestfallen, again, I summoned up the nerve to ask a young woman also waiting at the stop about the bus #13 stop. We had made eye contact earlier and she saw me get kicked off this bus, so I figured this witness to my despair just might be sympathetic to my plight and help me out. Unfortunately, contrary to what the guidebooks say, and if my experience is any indication, many of the young folks in St. Petersburg cannot speak English. But, after the usual pantomime and struggle for a common vocabulary, I finally understood some valuable information from this young lady. From what I could gather, the bus stop was across the street, where she had pointed, AND near a "Mickdoonills." After I had pointed across the street and reiterated the name a few times, I was certain my passage out of this place was near what probably amounts to the most iconic representation of American capitalism and culture. So bless that girl's heart and--I can't believe I'm writing this on this blog--thank God for McDonald's, otherwise I might be wandering the streets of St. Petersburg at this very moment. That or I'd be 100 bucks in the hole for a cab to the airport. Surely, either of those two things.

It was a long hike to the bus, but I made it. I'm sure the bus driver overcharged me; it should've been no more than 22 Rubles, still less than a dollar, but I probably paid close to 40 Rubles. I really didn't care. Afterwards, I wandered into the arrivals area (instead of departures) but after finding yet another kind person, I made it to the right building and eventually got on the plane. There were more adventures at the ticket counter and my two separate waits on line for passport control, but I won't go into any further details. The plane was delayed, and after I got into Heathrow the metal detector broke down, and I nearly lost my eyeglasses at security. So, making my connecting flight didn't look good. But, at the end of the day, nothing horrible really happened and I landed in Manchester later that evening and successfully boarded a train to Manchester Piccadilly station and walked the 5 or 6 (long) blocks to my hotel on Princess Street.

I spent the week in Manchester, healed my toes and feet, and went to London with "Bob." I truly loved Manchester (especially the ability to get lost and find my way around without panicking too much). With its brick buildings, manufacturing past, and rainy days, it really is my kind of town. A walk along the canal was really a highlight for me (along with coronation chicken and tons of Minstrel chocolate candies). London was gorgeous, I learned that the 99 Flake must be the creamiest and most delicious ice cream cone anywhere, and I had my first pint of Guinness (I'm hooked) at Black Friar pub, following a play (Timon of Athens) at the Globe Theatre and an evening at the Tate Modern.

When we got back on Sunday, September 21, I was grateful to be home. No tomatoes survived the great squirrel raids of the past two weeks, but both the cat and gecko were alive and all the comforts of home cannot be beat.

This week resumes the CSA and cooking reports. Thank goodness for that. I don't think I touched many vegetables in Russia. The water there is highly chlorinated because of loads of bacteria and it also contains heavy metals, so I really didn't feel like having any salad rinsed in that kind of water. In England, I ate my way through fatty comfort foods and chocolate.