By week 2 we're pretty well set up in St. Petersburg. We know where to find a good, cheap lunch in the main parts of town. We have a room of our own in an apartment in the southeast of St. Petersburg - a retired couple whose daughter lives abroad are renting their extra room by the week, and we're lucky enough to find it. It's near a major transit line, and across the street from the grocery store. Breakfast is usually porridge at home, lunch is usually in the city at a restaurant and we share the kitchen with Tatiana and Viktor in the evenings when we have our last meal of the day.
We've been lucky enough to get our hands on a couple of student cards - my comes legitimately with my language course, while Pierre (the non-student) receives his courtesy of someone-who -shall-not-be-named-because-it-could-theoretically-get-them-into-trouble's generosity. It really is a generous gift - museum prices have gone up since the last time I was here. A trip to the Hermitage costs about 12 CAN$ a visit each - with this card, each visit is free. Other museums are anywhere from one-half to one-fifth the regular foreign-tourist price.
St. Petersburg has a staggering number of museums - some are small, like the Museum of Bread (which we don't get a chance to visit). Some are larger, like the Museum of the History of the Political Police and the State Photography Centre. Apartments of famous people have been turned into museums, and we visit Pushkin's last apartment where he died after his duel.
Some of the women working the front cashes ("kassa") and the tour guides are old school Russians, not so much about coddling the tourists, and not afraid to take down a tourist a peg or two if they use a camera flash at the wrong moment or fall behind the pack or try to walk backwards through the exhibit. Others are milder and friendlier, and ply guests with photocopies of English guides to the exhibits which they later collect at the end of the tour.
Many are even gracious when they find themselves hosting us unexpectedly. Pierre and I walk into the Pushkin Children's Library (or, as their website says, "Central Children's library by the name of Pushkin") on a whim, and are greeted by one of the head librarians. I explain that we're just tourists in town and that I really love libraries and was just curious to see the inside of theirs. She takes us on a short tour of their reading halls and multimedia rooms, and arranges us a private visit to the rare books collection.
They are a Pushkin museum - if we hadn't figured that our from the plaque out front then we would have probably guessed it from a) the collection of first-edition Pushkin printings that they have, as well as books owned by Pushkin and b) the outward appearance of the rare book curator. He's a small man, in his late 30s, with porkshop-style sideburns and a slightly frizzy styling to his balding head that is very definitely an homage to Mr. P himself. He gives us a set of white cotton gloves to protect the pages from the natural oils on our fingers and lets us flip through some of the miniature books. The ones that stick out are the the earring books (with tiny tiny pages you can actually turn) and, our favourite, the book that looks to be simply a 1"x1" white notebook with blank pages...until the curator shines a black light on it, illuminating the text and illustrations: The Invisible Man by H.G. Wells.
Outside in the rest of the city, St. Petersburg has changed in some good ways. People seem less desperately poor, though there are clearly some that are still finding it harder than others. Fashion-wise, the streets don't look like something from an early 80s movie, and people come across as healthier and happier. There are more food stores and they shelves are well-stocked. The stray animal problem is under control - there are not many homeless dogs loose in the city and we don't come across any of the packs that were common in the mid-90s. Most importantly, the social safety net seems more firmly in in place for the orphans and homeless kids - no more groups of hungry, neglected tweens eating out of trash cans and trying not to bring too much attention to themselves.
The kids we do meet are extremely polite. A couple of 10 year old boys stop to talk to us while Pierre tries to get a shot of a WWII plaque from an odd angle on the ground. "What is he doing?" I explain to them in broken Russian the type of shot he's trying to get. "Oh - would it be ok if we looked?" Pierre shows them the screen. "It's really beautiful. Thanks for showing us." And they're on their way.
Another day, on a crowded bus, we stand next to a small boy of maybe kindergarten age is sitting on his mother's lap. At one point he leans over to us: "Excuse me," he says in Russian, "could you please let us pass? We need to get off at the next stop. Thank you so much." He bumps us lightly as he's stepping down. "Oh! Excuse me, I'm sorry," he says and continues to the door. Pierre has no idea what the kid is saying, but even he can tell that the kid is incredibly articulate. He says every sound and letter perfectly. His mother doesn't seem like she's coaching him at all - in fact, she barely seems to notice how precocious her kid is. Pierre and I vote him, hands down, the politest, smallest, most self-possessed kid we've ever met.
Class starts on Day 309 and my schooldays tend to all follow a similar pattern. I catch the metro at 8 am, then transfer to the green line after a few stops, walk through Sadovaya market then over and along a canal until I reach the courtyard of my school at 9:15. I set up in my classroom and my teacher and I work together until 1:00 when I eat my sandwich, study in the resource room until around 3 or 5, and either meet Pierre for sightseeing or head home on the metro. Most travelling is saved for days when I have no lessons.
This week, our big tour is to the town of Pushkin (also known as Tsarskoe Selo, or the Tzar's Village) which has the large and lovely Catherine Palace - sky-blue and white on the outside with gilded detailing and extensive grounds. Palaces in Russia are a bit odd to visit because, along with the staggeringly rich rooms and portraits are often photos of the rubble that was all that remained of the palace after World War II. It seems as though the art and furniture was hidden or saved as much as possible, but the building itself has often been rebuilt almost from scratch. It was a matter of pride for the Russians, a kind of a big eff-you to the Nazis - in fact, Stalin destroyed one of the palaces himself just so that the Nazis couldn't crow over being the ones to destroy it.
The Room To See here is the Amber Room - it "disappeared" for years and it's fate wasn't known until decades later - apparently it was moved elsewhere, at which time it was burned in a fire by accident. The people responsible for taking care of the room were terrified of being punished by Stalin for it and so made up a story about it "disappearing," most likely due to theft. (Presumably they lived.) A lot of time and effort has gone into recreating the room - it's definitely impressive but it's not our favourite room. It's a bit gaudy.
When we're not at school or sightseeing, we hang out at our place and work. Pierre plays guitar, I study, and we relax with episodes of the American TV show known in Russia as Shpyonka - we translate this into "Spy Girl" (more commonly known in North America as "Alias"). I consider this a kind of studying - Pierre and I watch the dubbed version and turn on the English subtitles. Jennifer Garner looks very Russian when dubbed in Russian.
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