by Courtney Miller

Courtney recently returned from a globe-trotting trip as a staff member aboard the MV Explorer, as part a Semester at Sea summer program. Here, she offers her take on St. Petersburg, Russia.

It seemed to be a typical day at a park in St. Petersburg. Picture this: a woman being thrust backwards by her pet bear cub on a leash, a woman in a bridal gown posing in front of a tractor, and two women wearing matching polka dot outfits, taking a stroll. Oh yes, there are a disproportionate amount of twins in St. Petersburg who like to make it positively known that indeed, they do look just alike, down to their lipstick.

Because we witnessed at least 5 weddings a day (I guess in Russia Monday is the only day to NOT get married), we would like to create a fake pamphlet for wedding photography. It’s kinda cool how they’re simultaneously in the public eye, and involve lots of tossing (flowers, coins) and breaking bottles against historic statues (supposedly for good luck) … but like the destination wedding G witnessed in Mexico that had topless German tourists in the background of the altar pix, I am proud to say that there are now an abundance of Russian wedding photos that now have Kristi and myself in them. They should really pay us.

We spent our first afternoon in the city being pulled around at an inoperable pace while hearing a shipmate spill her guts while feverishly looking around for a post office (her agenda, not ours). Anyhow, at the end of the discussion, she decided that we didn’t have time to eat, and she would literally not let us sit down for a meal. Which was irritatingly funny, especially since she kept pointing out such gems as Subway and KFC as a viable option.

We went on our one and only Semester at Sea field trip that afternoon, and as “trip leader,” it was my reminder from God of why I am a traveler and not a tourist. I don’t know about you, but when I think of a tour in Russia, I think of a brash woman with big nails telling me how it is and not caring who has to pee. Unfortunately, many of our students were hoping for a Hilton tour, so they were upset when the bus didn’t have air conditioning and when it broke down. I can’t say I was happy about the fact that our trip to paint our own Matroyska dolls turned into a whirlwind adventure through a random 19th century architecture museum, and that we only ended up with 30 minutes to paint a doll in a room in the projects not at all resembling the “university” we had been set out for. But hey, I got to paint a doll. And there was this fantastic woman with FUTS (fucked up teeth) playing the banjo out in front. So all good.

You can never have too many chandeliers in one room, which is what I think they had in mind when they built the Hermitage. While the sheer magnitude and plethora of art in the museum (which is four buildings) is enough to make anyone who goes to St. Petersburg and does NOT visit the museum rightfully suspect to interrogation (well they should be), I have to say that I found the intricacies of the building more impressive than the art itself. There was definitely some amazing variety, including vast amounts of Renoir, Van Gogh, Matisse, Kandinsky, etc., and Kristi’s fave collection of Greek vases, though surprisingly a lack of gift shoppage. The Russians should really take a lesson on that one.

It is said that to spend 1 minute on each piece of art in the Hermitage would take 7 consecutive years to get through. Which is why I find it ironic that Kristi, Caterina and I seem to have discovered the Bermuda triangle of the Hermitage. We kept ending up in the same rooms, and could not figure out how to get to the rest of the building(s) for the first hour. We spent about four hours in total. And I think we can walk away knowing that we saw absolutely all that there is to see.

Followed by an appropriate Indian meal in the heart of Russia (blasting American techno), we decided to visit the infamous Church of Spilled Blood after the Vodka museum was closed for a private party. This is the vision of Russia I think we all have, so I am happy to report that the sockpuppets made an appearance in front of this one. It took something like 24 years to build, and they went back and renovated it for 17 years, ending in 1998. It is magnificently colorful, and the entire inside is created out of mosaics. Which just equals an insane amount of detail. So much so that they require each visitor to wear plastic booties so as not to scuff the floor.

There was this little bar disguised as a ship that we made our local hangout, and was thankfully far enough away from our ship that it wasn’t busting away at the seams with SAS students … a sight avoided at all costs. Long story short, we ended up meeting these German firefighters who were on an exchange program with a Russian station.

The first night we hung out with them, we did some dancing along with this Russian girl named Olga. But Olga didn’t show up the second night, and we ended up at this amazing underground club on the other side of the river. It reminded me of a few other clubs I’ve been to in Europe, and was basement level, all exposed brick. It was very Russian, and full of scantily clad women, being courted by their men. Of course, our firefighters being German, they were very much into this machismo mindset. And were trying to coax us to not watch the Russian female strippers who occasionally did a number next to the bar. “Those are not for you,” they would say. Repeatedly. They couldn’t understand why we wanted to watch the strippers, just as much as we couldn’t understand why they would think that we wouldn’t.

Much like Venice, St. Petersburg is a patchwork of canals, so getting back and forth is a major operation. Our ship was parked island side, which meant that you had to be very conscious of when the bridges are passable. We were lucky enough to be there during what they call “White Nights.” Which means that the sun never really sets, and they bridges all throughout the city stay up all night so that large ships can pass through. It’s strikingly beautiful, and many people stay out all night along the riverbanks drinking and celebrating. And many people, like us, stay out all night along the riverbanks because you don’t make it back on time. Which is what we did one night until 5am.

Thankfully, however, the Germans got us back on time … hearing of a trick from a fellow Russian firefighter that one of the bridges opens for 15 minutes at 3:00 am. Unfortunately, the following night when Kristi, Caterina, Patrick and I tried to sprint to the bridge for such opening, we sprinted to the wrong one.

Most things in Russia are written in Cyrillic, which can make for some difficulty when you venture outside of the main city centers. For the most part, it was fine, and even with some extra effort you can get around on public transportation. We did run into some problems finding food one night though. When everything in a menu is written in foreign characters, and nobody speaks English, it is nearly impossible to order, especially in a place like Russia that isn’t particularly known for food. We literally spent 3 hours trying to find a place, and out of desperation, finally settled on an Irish pub. Things were in English, thank god, and Kristi ate the largest, most disgusting slab of pork ribs ever created.

It just so happened that the Swatch- FIVB world beach volleyball tour was in town, so Kristi and I spent a wonderful day at the beach (in Russia, who knew?), watching Brazilians play other Brazilians. We were nearly accosted by a blimp, which was almost as much as a highlight as watching the Russian girls do crunch warm-ups. And just to picture it, as a beach in Russia isn’t a common scene, there were these huge beach volleyball pits, beach around a fortress, and huge artillery tanks behind our view of the tournament.

I don’t think any trip to Russia could be complete without a trip to the circus, so we found a really off-kilter, local one to spend our rubles on. Circus Abtobo was the name, and my oh my, was it odd. It was literally under the big tent, using hand-pulled cranks for support on the trapeze wires (yikes). But I think the topper was the clowns. Everyone knows, I hate clowns, but these were of a special kind. Their humor was bizarre at best … a gyrating one in blackface, another that sniffed air freshener whippets out of a paper bag then made a bald audience member do the same, then a full-on clown attack. And the victim was our friend Patrick. He was up there for nearly 10 minutes, thrusting and shouting Russian delicates. Who knew? Kristi was also abducted by a man in white pleather pants, with somewhat of a resemblance to the early Siegfried.

Our much-anticipated trip to a Russian bathhouse (banja) where you swat each other with birch branches was botched by our unintentional visit on a men’s only day (sadly enough, it took us awhile to figure it out). We saw all of these naked men frolicking outside, but it took me awhile to make the determination that it was indeed a men’s only day, and that there were women inside in another section. Oh well, I guess we can break out the branches another time.

However, our trip to the bowling alley was a success, and I am happy to report that we took Caterina (our Italian friend) bowling for the first time!! We were the only ones in there, which was admittedly a bit bizarre, but they turned on the lights for us, gave us some shoes, and let us go. For the most part, there was nothing out of the ordinary, except of course for the décor, which had lots of sexual ads. But Kristi’s new nickname came out of the spelling error they had typed into the machine … “KRISH.”

Overall, I’d have to say I was rather surprised at how European St. Petersburg is. Of course, learning about all of the history and culture surrounding it, it’s not surprising at all. But given the great American education I’ve received, all I really know of Russia involved Red, cold war, communism, Stalinism, and well, ice skaters with short hair and big mouths.

There is a lot of Russian culture around me in West Hollywood, so I was prepared for the long nails and tight hot pants. But really, I had no idea to the extent that the woman is commodity in that culture. Every woman, every age, everywhere is in a skirt and stilettos. No matter the time of day, no matter the occasion. And while I know many of us sometimes suffer to look beautiful, the fact that they walk around on cobblestones all day just makes me appreciate their looming examples of pageant-level femininity even more.

Feature