St. Petersburg

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St. Petersburg Russia - the end of the line for our Trans Mongolian trip.

A vibrant city dedicated to living the summer fully before the long nights of winter return much too soon.

The sun sets after 11:00 pm during June's 'White Nights'. Followed by the glow that announces the coming sun rise before 3:00 am.

A wide open sky that just does not end.

The sun, so low in the sky by most of the world's standard, giving incredible light and angles and shadows.

Architecture that brings the best of Europe to what was once a fetid swamp.

A city that knows hard times - besieged by the Nazi Germans in World War II for 872 days with nearly a million it its inhabitants perishing.

But a city that celebrates its role in Russia's history most recently as the birthplace of former Russian President Vladimir Putin.

A place where you can book a spot in an all night bicycle tour featuring the many of the historic highlights!

And the place where my minimal knowledge of Russian almost got me in trouble. We'd just finished dinner at a pretty decent Mexican restaurant. The people from the table beside had been celebrating rather vigorously most of the evening - a birthday celebration. Well they were outside for a smoke break as we left - and they decided it was the perfect opportunity to try out their English skills. One man joked loudly and about his friend who was so subservient to his wife. As that same friend stood there listening. The joking man was speaking in English, saying that his friend was like an obedient little dog. Well, dog was a word I had learned in Russian. So I showed off my knowledge, jokingly calling out 'sobakka' as I pointed at the obedient friend. The friend's jaw dropped and his eyes took to fire. I didn't understand! Why? His joking friend was who first called him a dog! Well, the conversation dragged to an awkward close and we went our separate ways.

Talking to my friend Deb as we walked to our home stay apartment, we came to realize that the friend who was called a dog, didn't understand English at all. He didn't even realize that he had already been called a dog in English by his friend. No, the first time he realized he was being called a dog was when I said it in Russian! I did not feel good at all about that misunderstanding! It was not how I wanted three glorious weeks on the road in Russia to end!

But sitting in the communal courtyard of the our homestay late into the night under the not quite ever dark sky with a bag of caviar flavored Lays potato chips and a Baltika beer, the offense faded away. Just as the stars easily faded away in the gentle early morning light . . . .

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