sybarites

A short (interminable), overnight (sleepless) bus-ride from St.Petersburg and, voila, we are in the EU. Tallinn, to be precise. So now, I’d like to see a show of hands: who knew that Tallinn was the capital of Estonia? And can anyone point to it on a map (beyond pointing in the vague direction of countries that were once Soviet states?) I suspect that maybe a few people are as ignorant as I was about this country. (The day before we arrived, I asked Marc what language he thought they spoke in Estonia. Neither of us was certain, but now we know it is Estonian.) Luckily, Dave Guerra recommended we visit and now we owe him a beer because his effusions on the beauty of this city were 100% correct.

I won’t blather on about how much we are loving it here, except to say that we spent today bathing on the beach on the Baltic sea and yesterday, we got lost among the medieval buildings, cobblestone streets and myriad posh, little cafes and restaurants.

The most pleasantly surprising element is how Estonia opened their arms to the internet upon their release from the USSR in 1991, and that now, one can scarcely walk a block without finding a WiFi connection. It’s brilliant for us because now we walk with our computer and whenever we stop for espresso or beer (approx. every 20m.), we whip out the computer and log into whereever to surf to our hearts’ content. No other place we’ve seen – U.S., Canada, China, Korea – has a country been so marvelously replete with internet. Love it.

On an unrelated note, we’ve been amused to see signs posted in bars and pubs that say “Large groups and stag parties NOT WELCOME”. Apparently, the lads from the UK take advantage of the cheap flights and come over for stag weekends and tend to make complete fools of themselves (imagine that). Just 10 minutes ago, we saw some poor lout dressed in a nurse’s uniform, complete with wig, drinking a toast with his mates in a pub down the street. Stupid foreigners.

9% alcohol, so that’s about 3 oz of gin and 13 oz of tonic. I usually like it stronger, but it’s convenient.

When we first crossed the border from Mongolia into Russia, my National Geographic-fed expectations of a post-Soviet country were completely justified: heavy set women in oddly coloured clothing and head scarves waddling down the platform burdened with heavy shopping bags; unsmiling uniformed guards asking for my papers; several labourers at work, sweating under a hot sun, laying cobblestones on the platform; the Lada; and, arguably, the worst bathroom in Christendom. (Honestly, this bathroom would make even those of strong constitution whimper and consider the hedgerows; unflushable squat toilets, no running water, no electric lighting, few stall doors and, I’m told, urinals that drained onto the floor.)

However, after that initiation, which fit every Bond-esque thing I’ve learned about Russia, we’ve been pleasantly surprised at what we’ve visited. Marc already described our very enjoyable stay in Siberia, but that was just the beginning. We arrived in Moscow to some warm weather and an unexpectedly cultured, beautiful and modern city. I don’t know what I was expecting, exactly, but it was decidedly more Soviet, more mafioso, and alot colder. Except for the colder part, I couldn’t have been more wrong (I had to break out the long underwear for the last couple days). We saw some outstanding architecture and visited much glorified sites, like the Kremlin and Red Square, St. Basil’s Cathedral and the Kremlin McDonald’s.

We couldn’t not visit this Americanski institution while in the Motherland. I remember reading about the first McDonald’s that opened in Russia and how people lined up for kilometers to spend a week’s salary on a Big Mac and fries. We, too, lined up for what seemed like kilometers. Actually, it wasn’t so much a queue as it was a crowd of hungry people elbowing their way to the front with the zeal of those who smell the french fries. Marc and I split the tasks of ordering food and snagging a table and, after 30 minutes, were each successful. But we were the diligent ones. While eating, we watched several milquetoast tourists hesitate on the edges of the counter crowd before timidly trying to slide towards the counter and then hovering forever in order to get a table. You have to be ready! Money in hand! Elbow your way to the front and make eye contact with an order taker!  Bark out the order, hand over the cash and prepare yourself for the retreat through the mob whilst balancing a tray of food. You have to be hungry for McDonald’s in Moscow.

The truth is, one of my favourite memories of the city is relaxing in a park in Kitay-Gorod, enjoying a couple of beers and watching the Russians go by. A few times, we were mistaken as Moscovites and I got to use one of my few Russian phrases, “Ya nye gavaryou pa Russky”. I try to mimic the accent of Xenia Onatopp from ‘Goldeneye’ when she says “Once again, Mr. Bond, the pleasure was all yours.” I’m understood better when I do.

Then, we traveled onwards to St. Petersburg. The people we met on our train trip who were traveling in the opposite direction all said the same thing, “Moscow was great, but St. Petersburg was better.” I couldn’t imagine what ‘better’ meant, exactly, because my lack of knowlegde about the city is shameful. Beyond the fact that it was, for a time, called Leningrad, I knew nothing.

Now, I know that it was a city built on marshland by Peter the Great, designed in the 18th century to be a Venice of the North. It is exceedingly beautiful. I can’t stop taking pictures of the buildings and canals and the buildings along the canals. We visited the Hermitage museum, world renowned (I’m so ashamed I didn’t know about it) for its monumental collection of classic and modern art. It is housed in the Winter Palace, former home of Catherine the Great, among others. We viewed the original fortress around which the city was founded, the Decemberist’s Square, where revolution is remembered, the Dostoevsky house, the Pushkin Literature cafe, and Nevsky Prospekt, the cultural heart of the city (which is why there is both a KFC and a Pizza Hut here). There is almost too much to look at, too many exquisite details and shades of history. I almost wish we were here in the winter time so I could see a Russia that more closely resembles what I imagined: a city covered in snow, people rushing through streets in fur coats, darting into steamy cafes for espresso, popping into warm bars for icy shots of vodka. Next time, I guess…

P.S. We ate caviar blinis in St. Petersburg. I don’t need to eat them again.

P.S. Who knew that Moscow has the most beautiful metro stations in the world?

There is little romance in the Trans-Siberian train—an eleven hour border crossing, eating half-melted cheese, warm vodka, surly train attendants, and days without showers. Was five extra nights on a train worthwhile just to stop at a big lake? We could have flown to Moscow, but we would have missed so many pleasant things.

We only stopped at a city and a village near Lake Baikal, the world’s largest. The water can be drunk straight out of the lake. Most would say it’s too cold for swimming, but a couple of crazy Brits were in for a good fifteen minutes. Skipping stones across the calm waters entertained us for hours. Also, we made some new friends here that made our stay near the lake even more enjoyable: Sophie and Fabrice Page from France. We had a great time sharing a bottle of vodka that we bought from a bus parked on the hiking path to the camp.

The highlight of the entire trip was the banya, which is half sauna, half bath house. The first room is for washing and the second is a just hot. Hot and cold water is provided for cleaning or cooling down after the sauna. Usually several trips are made between the sauna and the cooler washing room. At a camp beside Lake Baikal we enjoyed a sheltered banya and a little skinny dipping in the lake. The first plunge was shocking and the third was rather pleasant. After three days without a shower, banya-clean is quite a contrast.

The worst article ingested on the train will henceforth be referred to as “The Worst Cappuccino Ever.” I had high hopes for the instant coffee, having forgone the Nescafe for MacCoffee from Mongolia. Our first mixture was poor, so our brilliant thought was, “Perhaps it needs to be stronger.” More of a bad thing is simply bad. Next we thought to dilute it with room-temperature UHT milk. This was not effective.

Upon arriving at the lake-side village, the memory of our nasty cappuccinos faded as our host refreshed our palates with a wonderful breakfast of crepes with home-made mountain berry jam, toast with butter, oatmeal-like kasha with milk, cheese and salami. We chose tea over the instant coffee.