Kremlins, Palaces, and Cabbage Pie

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I’ve always wanted an excuse to visit Russia, so when I was invited to give a paper at Saint Petersburg State University, I couldn’t resist. Mark was more than willing to jump on the bandwagon, so we sorted out our visas (an entirely corrupt process which involves paying any random Russian company to “invite” you into their country before dishing out a not-so-small fortune to the Russian embassy), and jetted off to Saint Petersburg.

Any preconceptions I’d had about Russia were instantly revealed to be misconceptions. Firstly, there was the weather. I’d always harboured the naïve notion that the Red Square lies under a perpetual dusting of snow; that the palaces and churches of St Petersburg would be viewed against a backdrop of steely grey sky. When I checked the weather forecast a week before the trip, I didn’t really believe their promises of sunshine and high temperatures; I cynically packed my coat and woolly cardigan alongside summer dresses, certain that ‘Google Weather’ was mistaken. Well, it wasn’t, and (to my happiness and Mark’s disdain) we got what we were promised: blue skies, glorious sunshine, and temperatures that reached the high 20s.

Secondly, the people. As with the weather, I’d always bought the stereotypical image (if not created than certainly fostered by Hollywood) of the blunt, cynical and unwelcoming Russian, endorsed by the fact that we were advised before travelling there to slip a 1000 rouble note into our passports as a bribe in case we were stopped by the Russian police. And while at times this turned out to be not quite so far off the mark (we encountered our fair share of grumpy waitresses, airport staff, shop owners, etc), in general the people were polite and friendly. Very few people spoke English, so every transaction involved a lot of hand gestures and sheepish smiles, but they were always very patient with us – and some were very curious about Britain. One woman working in our hostel informed me that all Russian girls are in love with English men; she warned me to keep my eye on Mark!

The third surprise we got was how pretty St Petersburg was. Strewn with parks; onion-domed churches; opulent, pastel-coloured palaces; and bustling street-side cafes, it was such a pleasant city to explore on foot. Its centre is criss-crossed by small rivers and quaint bridges, making it look almost Venetian, and there was such a laidback atmosphere that it felt more like a village than a city. But a city it is, and there was plenty to see!

Because of the conference, I only had one free day in St Petersburg, so we crammed it full. We passed the Hermitage and Winter Palace, walked alongside the river for a good view of the Peter and Paul Fort, then headed to the Church of the Saviour on Spilled Blood. Now (devout atheists that we are) we’re not usually impressed by churches, but this one was beautiful: a chaotic jumble of blue, green and gold onion domes, its inner walls and arches covered with hundreds of intricate mosaics. We ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ sufficiently, and then – driven by empty stomachs – went in search of lunch. We found a bakery called ‘Stolle’ which specialises in saxon-pies; spotting only one vegetarian option on the menu, we dubiously opted for the ‘cabbage pie’ – and were very pleasantly surprised; enough that we went back there two more times!

Our bellies full (we finished lunch with a lemon ‘stolle’), we made our way back to the river. From here we caught a hydrofoil boat out of the city to Peterhof, which boasts one of the grandest and most opulent palaces in the world. It perches just a little inland from the shores of the river, a small canal criss-crossed by white bridges – known as the ‘Water Avenue’ – connecting the hydrofoil dock to the palace. Fronting the palace is the ‘Grand Cascade’, a tiered set of dazzling gilded statues and fountains, with Samson at the centre tearing open a lion’s jaws (apparently meant to represent Peter the Great’s victory over the Swedes at Poltava). The palace itself was closed on the day we visited, but the acres of leafy gardens, filled with fountains and lavish villas, kept us busy.

The next day I was in the conference, so Mark went adventuring solo. He visited the Peter and Paul Fort and an exhibition on Davinci, and then explored pretty much most of the city, taking in every big church, cathedral and palace on the map. When I met him that evening, he was rather tired and sunburnt, having been walking the streets of St Petersburg non-stop for a good 8 hours! The next day, he joined me at the conference and we spent the day listening to academics from all over Europe discuss ‘Complexity and Regional Aspects of Natural Holy Places’ – a lot more interesting than it probably sounds!

The following day saw us jetting off to Moscow. This proved to be a much larger and noisier city than St Petersburg, and not quite as pretty, straddling a peculiar line between urban and rural. The city is huge, bustling and modern, but there’s almost something agricultural about it: we passed herds of goats on the journey from the airport, and each morning – despite being in the heart of Moscow – we were awoken by the crowing of a cockerel. Surreal.

Moscow certainly isn’t as pleasant as St Petersburg, but nothing compares to the thrill of stepping into the Red Square for the first time and seeing the bright cluster of striped and patterned onion domes of St Basil’s Cathedral, set against the backdrop of Moscow River and the red-brick walls of the Kremlin. On our first evening in Moscow, we sat on a grassy bank beneath one of the Kremlin’s towers for a while, enjoying the sunshine and the view of St Basil’s, trying to make sense of the chaotic cluster of colourful domes.

On our second day in Moscow, we ventured out of the city-centre to Vernisage market. To get there, we used the metro – an experience in itself. Marble arches, intricate frescoes, bronze statues and extravagant chandeliers run throughout the metro system, making the stations feel more like art galleries than subway stops. Some of the art wasn’t really to my taste – the gun motifs on the columns, for example – but it did make taking the tube a much more interesting experience!

We made the mistake of visiting Vernisage market on a week-day, when only a minority of the stalls were open. The market is set beneath the walls of the Izmailovsko kremlin, which is a mock structure, more of a theme park than a real kremlin, set up to attract tourists and as a good photo-op for wedding parties, etc. On the day of our visit, the place was practically deserted except for a couple of school groups, and with its faded, dusty colours and empty buildings, it had an abandoned carnival atmosphere, eerie and melancholy – if you’ve ever seen Studio Ghibli’s ‘Spirited Away’, you’ll know what I mean.

After that, we went to a slightly more cheerful place: Novodevichy Convent, a peaceful and very pretty little cluster of gardens and domed churches hidden behind turreted walls. And then we did the least cultural thing imaginable: we went to an American diner for tea. Surprisingly, Russians have perfected the whole ‘1950s American diner’ ambience, complete with juke-box, red leather booths, chirpy waitresses, and colossal milkshakes. Perhaps even more surprisingly, the place wasn’t filled with tourists but with Russians, who (with their Starbucks and Baskin Robins) are not as anti-American as I’d expected.

Of course, no trip to Moscow would be complete without going inside the Kremlin – a vast, walled area filled with churches, towers and gardens. Opting out of visiting Lenin’s mausoleum (we would have been standing in the queue all day), we just explored the grounds instead, and were lucky enough to catch a military show in the main square, with soldiers marching and throwing their guns in time to the music, as crowds of schoolchildren waved their Russian flags – a very heavy dose of Russian patriotism for our last day.

Wanting a better experience of Vernisage market, we also nipped back to Izmailovsko on our last day (a Saturday) and the atmosphere couldn’t have been more different: there were hundreds of stalls on several levels, winding their way up towards the kremlin, selling all kinds of ware, from the ubiquitous Russian doll (I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many Russian dolls in one place; rows upon rows upon rows of wooden dolls, of every size, shape, colour and design imaginable) to military caps and knock-off DVDs, and the place was heaving with tourists. I spotted some art I liked and Mark, a surprisingly expert haggler for an Englishman, got the prices way down – and now a whimsical painting of a couple flying on the back of a cockerel over the spires and domes of Russian churches will adorn my hallway wall, as a memento of our surprising (and, at times, surreal) trip to Russia.

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