Pose like a Russian

To our absolute delight our morning started once again with a free all you can eat buffet of traditional Russian cuisine - pancakes with jam. We started out much earlier than the previous morning armed with a destination in mind and scribbled instructions on how to get there, courtesy of the receptionist who is obviously trained in English for the exact purpose of directing the cliental to the Environs of Petersburg, if they stick to the script.

We walked confidently to the metro, handed over our roubles and made it all the way to the bus changeover before our morning coffee. We followed the locals as they modelled for us how to pay the driver for the luxury of a minibus as opposed to the hot smelly regular bus service (like Chinese whispers you pass the money to the person beside you and hope they pass it on) and arrived at the gardens after a brief nap on the way. So far so good.

We walked through the gates and up the driveway of Peterhof Palace, passing huge fountains and tree-lined pathways. 'Pretty impressive' we thought. Then we saw the queue at the side of the palace, and realised we hadn't even made it into the grounds yet. We made a mutual decision not to go into the actual palace, and this decision was justified by the sheer expanse of the gardens itself, which has often been compared to Versailles in France. 

As we joined the throngs of tourists armed with cameras we very quickly noticed the strange behaviour of the locals. The more we became frustrated with the length of time it took them to point aim and shoot a photo with modern digital cameras the more delighted the person posing for the photo became. They really threw themselves into ensuring the photo would be a keeper, extending their bodies to look slimmer and shapely, pouting with outstanding confidence and aiming to show the world what true model potential they had. 

Well what can we say? When in Russia right? We didn't have the heels (our connies and sketchers didn’t even come close to being appropriate Russian footwear) or tight mini dresses the local tourists were sporting but we did have the camera and each other to take the photo and we could match these girls pose for pose. Well, maybe we didn't have the natural flair, or maybe it just takes more practice, but the next 3 hours we spent exploring the picturesque gardens were very entertaining.

Almost as impressive as the gold-plated fountains and lush gardens was the local girls' ability to walk all day through the gardens in heels. And make it look easy. After a close encounter with the local wildlife (a fast-moving squirrel) we caught the mini-bus back to the city. Our eyes now accustomed to local fashion, we now thought nothing of the expensive and six-inch stilettos sported by almost every Russian woman between the ages of 13 - 35, which they wore as a part of their  'everyday casual' summer style.

We walked Nevsky Prospekt, inside the Kazan Cathedral and then to the famous Dom Knigi bookstore. As large as it was we didn't manage to find a dessert cookbook but that loss was cancelled out by the wondrous discovery of a free, clean toilet right in the middle of the city. We even had time for some shopping before the stores closed at 10pm and Megan joined the Russian shoe club with a great new pair of heels. Of course that meant stopping and discarding the worn sketchers and strutting past the Bank Bridge with two gold winged griffins then all along the shortest route possible directly back to the hostel.

Does that word say coffee?

We awoke on our first morning in St Petersburg with the smell of pancakes wafting through the air. Our hostel, although strangely bereft of showers, had an abundance of pancakes for their guests. They didn’t have to ask us twice, as we sat down at the kitchen table to eat enough to prepare us for the big day we had planned.

With our money belts on, and holding tightly onto our handbags, we stepped out of the hostel into the great unknown. Only to find that the busy streets of yesterday had turned into a sleepy Saturday morning. Feeling immediately safer we went in search of our first stop. Coffee.

The streets were devoid of any such chains as Starbucks or Gloria Jeans but we found the next best thing. We utilised our Russian alphabet translation to decode the cryptic Cyrillic to mean Coffee House. There we checked our maps, coordinated our watches and began the journey through the streets to the St Peter and St Paul Fortress.

After a long walk we arrived at what we presumed to be our destination, only to be stopped in our tracks by the sounds of gunfire, and what sounded like a cannon. Intrigued we walked around the fortress closer to the action where we discovered men in costume reenacting a Russian battle. That’s what we think was happening anyway. Either way it was much more interesting than the usual changing of the guards.

After the final displayed of Russian coloured fireworks (of course they won this battle) we continued on to line up for tickets to St Petersburg's first Cathedral. Our first experience of the queuing culture of the Russian people. Clearly it doesn't matter how many people appear to be waiting, if there is any personal space between the person currently purchasing tickets and the person directly behind them then of course it means its your turn next, A few elbows needed to be thrown to assert some authority but eventually we came away with 'dva' tickets to the 5 attractions the fortress had to offer.

We started off in the Cathedral, where all the royal Tsars and Tsarinas after Peter the Great had been interred. After being suitably impressed by the high ceilings, ornate gold trim, artifacts and artwork we moved onto the fortress's second main attraction: the prison. It was here that we discovered for the first time that the explanations in Russian museums are invariably in Russian, and that English translations are very few on the ground.

We also learnt that the prison was far more luxurious than any other we had previously visited. With one person in each cell that would usually be split into at least 2 cells, and soundproof walls to prevent communication between prisoners we found it was really a much better place to stay than our current hostel. No noisy neighbours, sounds of the street, or sleeping on a hard plank of wood with your belongings on top of you due to lack of space. The perfect location for an afternoon nanna nap.

After attempting to find the other three attractions of the fortress listed on our tickets (we eventually found one - we think) we walked along the canal on Vasilyevsky Island and back over the bridge in search of a Cossack dancing show, with a few scribbles in Megan's notebook as a guide. After being momentarily distracted by open-air performances of Russian rap and Russian country and western music (a new experience for both of us) and hindered by the lack of street signs in any language we managed to find the palace where the 'Feel yourself Russian' show was being held. That's right, the Nikolasky Palace.

Feeling decidedly grubby in clothes we had been wearing all day, we wandered up the pebbled drive and into the foyer. Patiently we waited outside a door to be invited in to buy tickets. After keeping us standing there very confused as to what was going on for a considerable amount of time we were rushed up the grand stairs with no time to stop for a photo and hurried to the door where the show was about to begin. Apparently we were very close to late.

The show itself delighted us with both the brilliance and tackiness of it all. Amazing strength and flexibility were seen as the men forced their bodies to perform stunts only seen in circus shows, and the females battered their handkerchiefs and swirled there shawls in unprecedented displays of shameless flirtation. After surviving the intermission, when the whole audience descended like a plague of locusts onto a row of tables where the light refreshments were held, it was back inside for some more Cossack dancing. The costumes were incredible, and after taking photos, we left vowing to spend our trans-Mongolian train trip learning the complex dance moves.

 We headed off in the direction of our hostel, but we still had one last stop to make - the supermarket. We had been told that the cheese Cheetos were a blast from the past not to be missed and that Russia has a certain affiliation with cheap vodka. We stocked up on some pineapple juice, savory ring shaped snaky-type food and the best looking carton of mini chupa-chups, along with the aforementioned cheap vodka.

Now it was back to our hostel for a relaxing night in and a long long wait for a shower.

Border Security: Russia

With bribe money safely stored in Kate's secret jacket pocket (1000 roubles and $US 50 just in case) we got up at 5am in order to catch the 6am bus from Tallinn to St Petersburg. Anxiety levels were skyrocketing. We almost smiled when we reached the coach station and found the right platform with a good 10minutes spare. We saved the first sigh of relief however for when our tickets were accepted, our bags safely stored beneath the coach and the driver closed the doors indicating we were on our way. 

The next 4 hours passed quickly as Malackai entertained us with many humorous episodes of 30 Rock. We kept our minds occupied with laughter and our bellies full of snacks to prevent thinking too much about the much dreaded border crossing. Would we be left behind? Separated? Detained for a jar of vegemite that wasn't declared? It was much easier to just focus on Alec Baldwin's bad jokes.

There was a brief moment of hope and relief as we passed through the Estonian departure point in 20 minutes, after a quick passport check. Could it really be that easy? Two minutes later we got our answer as we pulled into the Russian side of border control, where we were made to exit the coach, retrieve our luggage and watch as Russian soldiers swarmed over the coach, checking the engine, both the bottom and top of the coach and all the luggage compartments. We stood nervously in line, remembering all the warnings we had been given - about looking clean and presentable, about not having food, about not getting fake stamps in our passports and most importantly to not expose our camera to daylight at any point on the border.

After doing our best to look like the least of all possible threats to Russian National Security our passports were stamped with a bright orange seal and we were shunted through the line, without even a sidewards glance at any of our possessions. We celebrated the occasion with really bad coffee and were back on the bus in just over an hour. Much more cheerful and talkative this time - we were in Russia!

The mood was one of excitement and anticipation, until the bus started making stops. Where were we meant to get off? What was the bus driver saying? Neither of us knew and so we did the next best thing. We stayed on the bus till the end of the line. Totally armed with clear instructions as to the address of the hostel we were fairly confident that all of our European Travelling experiences combined would be adequate training for what was yet to come.

We stepped off the bus and onto Russian soil. Seeing an Information board in the distance, we headed towards this comforting international symbol for help. We stared at the board, and stared a little more. After checking with each other that yes, the board was in Cyrillic; and no, we couldn't understand it; we quietly started to panic. After some more staring we decided to head in the direction of the 'M' sign, which we assumed was the metro.

10 minutes later after setting off from the Information Board we arrived.... back at the point where the bus had dropped us off (We knew this because the bus was still there). Now at this point we probably should have caught a taxi, however neither of us was ready to admit defeat and so we set off walking. This time in hopefully what was the right direction. 

After a considerable distance we arrived at the station, only be faced with our next Russian obstacle: the metro ticket office. We knew exactly where to get the tickets and that we wanted two. We handed over enough money to cover whatever the cost and we pointed to the name of the station we wanted on our map. That’s when the mumble gumble that is the Russian language began to fly, accompanied by large hand gestures and angry eyes. Turns out we needed to present our luggage, as it was an extra cost. We felt great after receiving our tokens for the turnstile.

The exhilaration quickly faded as we presented ourselves at the extra-large turnstile with our plastic tokens. Did we swipe it? Hand it to the lady at the desk? We stood there looking lost, as the lady in the turnstile booth started to get worked up, speaking louder and slower - as if this would help us understand. Finally, thanks to a demonstration by a random stranger, we discovered that we had to insert the token in the top of the turnstile. Phew.

We counted the stops to the correct station and after negotiating escalators that would rival those as Heathrow airport (apparently the metro stations are the deepest in the world) we navigated ourselves past MacDonald’s, across the road through the bustling crowd of babushkas, flower markets and fruit stands (all looking like fronts for the Russian mafia eying off the vulnerable foreigners), and straight to the left till we spotted our hostel. Bring on the hot showers, laundry machine and restful bunks... we thought.

After carrying our luggage up two flights of stairs and mistakenly trying to let ourselves into someone else's apartment we staggered through the doors of the Crazy Duck hostel, where little sympathy was given and we were ordered to take off our shoes and present our passports. The girl at reception had limited English, however we did manage to learn that the washing machine was broken, and no, she didn't have any maps of the city. But did we really hear correctly that there was only one shower? We asked again, thinking maybe something had been lost in translation, but no. There was only one shower to share between the 30 or so hostellers.

After failing to find any happiness in our tiny hostel room, which was made for 4 but somehow had been rearranged for a 5th person to stay just one more night we decided to lock up our belongings and head back to the streets. Maybe we could buy a map in a bookstore the receptionist had suggested. We held tightly onto our bags and stuck really close together heading for what we could only hope was the main road.

Success! We spent as long as we possibly could on the streets of St Petersburg. We found so many large buildings and ornate churches (all labeled in Cyrillic of course) that we needed to find someway to distinguish one from another. We eventually found the Information Centre and the free maps, as well as a large bookstore on the largest and most central street Nevesky Prospect where we searched in vain for a St Petersburg Lonely Planet, but only managed to find the editions for Afghanistan and Algeria. However, we did manage to arm ourselves with a dubiously translated guide to the city.

Best part of the day - Topemok. This 'restaurant' of Russian Cuisine served us fantastic soup and pancakes. Totally allowed when in St Petersburg. The best part was the pictures on the menu board. These allowed for us to choose from a selection of 6 different items and with simple pointing and indicating that 1 was enough we fed ourselves the most delicious of all meals. We circled this museum of culinary genius on our new map and headed back to the hostel.

So the beds squeak. Alot. The least of our problems as we dozed off once again to the sounds of mosquitoes. We didn't care. We had made it to Russia and survived. Tomorrow we would become pros.

NB: Please note that the lack of photos from early in the day was due to high levels of stress and anxiety over showing anything of value on the streets. It may also have been caused by tiredness from dragging huge weights through previously undiscovered areas.  

Looking for beavers

The morning was ideal. We ate the snacks we had allocated for breakfast down by the bog swamps and cleansed ourselves with a quick dip in the bog water. Nothing we could have ever dreamed of doing. Much better than the imagination would have allowed for.

Imagine being picked up from a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere, driven to a river bed in the middle of nowhere, given a canoe, 2 paddles and a map then a point downstream and a wave. Imagine sitting in a canoe, on a river, with a map that means nothing to you surrounded by wilderness at its most wild, a dog to keep you safe, and the person your whole life in that instant is relying on walking away from you with a great big smile and carefree wave. Yikes!

We started our day in a canoe. The only thing we understood was that if we continued to paddle downstream we would eventually find the bridge that we would recognise, meaning our farmhouse would be on the right. The map showed a wiggly blue line appearing to indicate water and the landmarks we would pass were a farmhouse, a run-down school, a bridge and a walking trail that we should stop to walk. 2 hours later we found that bridge. It was the most fantastic feeling we had ever had.

After pulling over the boat, unloading our stuff and preparing ourselves to walk the trail, an overexcited dog resembling part German Sheppard part husky attacked Megan. It was at this point that we realised that the words 'no' and 'sit' are not the same in Estonian. It was pushed down over and over again and hit repeatedly over the head with an oversized drink bottle but in the end it was easier to just bail and jump back into the canoe. 

Approximately 4 hours after we had started, 20minutes of which was spent negotiating the rapids backwards, we found the farmhouse. This meant we could pull over and stop. We unloaded once again, wished that we could shower, instead wiped down with wet-ones and then found our host. Did we want to go on a beaver safari tonight? Of course we did!

As we waited for dusk (i.e. 9pm) we got chatting to a friendly Estonian, who turned out to be one of the people we had seen furiously using chainsaws the day before. The group of them were staying at the farmhouse in order to do the entrance exam for a carpentry course at the local 'cultural college'. After gaining some tips on what Estonian chocolate we should eat, we said our farewells as we prepared for the safari.

All the signs were good. The beaver safari had so far had a 100% success rate during the summer so far, and our companions were two biologists from the Netherlands, who were carrying some heavy-duty binoculars. We jumped back into the canoe, and took the guide up on his kind suggestion that we let him do most of the paddling. For three hours we traversed the river, keeping our ears pricked for beaver-like sounds and looking keenly into the built-up burrows on the side of the riverbank. Unfortunately it wasn't to be, and no beavers were seen. The most exciting animals turned out to be the Scottish cows seen in a paddock on the riverbank.

The next day we got up early to catch the first bus back to civilisation, but not before being subjected to Jaanus' unique taste in music which ranged from Enya to Metallica. It was sad to say goodbye to all our mosquito room-mates, but our next adventure awaited us - Russia!