Tag Archives: Europe

St. Petersburg: jeweled eggs and ships of war

October 25, 2017

I had to make some tough decisions on how I would spend my last full day in St. Petersburg. Would I take a hydrofoil over to the Peterhof, Russia’s answer to Versailles? Would I take a suburban train to the Catherine Palace at Tsarskoye Selo? I decided against both since I didn’t want to work the logistics of getting to either, and opulent palaces depress me; imagine if that money had created a network of high schools instead? I opted instead to visit two local museums: the Faberge Museum at Shuvalov Palace and the Central Naval Museum in Truda Square.

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Our Lady of Kazan

Since Faberge opened at 10 and the Navy opened its doors at 11, I started walking east around 9:30 AM. I decided to pause at the Kazan Cathedral since I had a spare moment. The magnificent building has a splendid colonnade arc framing the central cathedral that reminded me of St. Peter’s square in the Vatican (the model of the architect), though obviously on a smaller scale. When I walked in the door (there’s no admission fee), I saw the sign barring photography and sighed a bit. It’s an active church, and I understand the tackiness of disrupting devotions with camera flashes.

In many respects the cathedral’s raison d’être is to house an early copy of the Kazan icon. This icon, discovered in 1579 after a fire razed the city of Kazan (east of Moscow, north of the Caspian), is credited by many faithful as the Holy Protectress of Russia. As I wandered the insides of the cathedral, I saw a consistent queue of parishioners waiting for their chances to pray at the icon and to kiss it. The tourists mostly seemed quiet after being shushed at the entrance. I could hear a priest intoning words in a sonorous bass voice. I decided to buy a small copy of the Kazan icon to accompany the Nevsky icon I bought at the lavra.

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The Shuvalov Palace is the perfect setting for a decorative arts museum.

I continued to the Anichkov Bridge and turned north, and I found the Faberge Museum easily. When I paid the entrance fee, the security folks pointed me to the cloak room to divest myself of the backpack and don baggies over my hiking shoes; everyone must do his or her part to protect the floor! I was really stunned by the beauty of the palace in which it is housed. The restoration is first-rate. I borrowed one of the guide books in English so I would know what I was seeing. The first couple of rooms were something of an appetizer, featuring work in silver that had been produced in service to the court. I loved a little sleigh drawn by to horses.

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Seven of nine eggs at the museum: Rosebud, Imperial Coronation, Cockerel, Fifteenth Anniversary, Bay Tree, Order of St. George, and Chanticleer (not Imperial)

When I entered the “blue room,” it was clear I was in for something special. This collection includes nine of the Imperial Easter Eggs. The “Coronation” egg is probably the best-known, containing a small model of the coach in which the tsar arrived to receive his crown.  Of course, there’s a lot more to see in the museum. I really liked a picture frame cut from rock crystal, and there’s a lovely pendant featuring aquamarines around a massive rose-cut diamond. The enamel work was also outstanding! During my visit, the museum had a temporary exhibit on Russian Orthodox icons, which seemed helpful given my exposure to the Kazan icon that morning.

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Not only the eggs shine at the Faberge Museum.

I wandered in the direction of the Naval museum, but I broke up the long walk to the southwest by stopping twice, once for a bookstore (where I acquired postcards and a book on the Romanov ruling family) and once for lunch. I chose to eat the The Idiot Restaurant. The menu tells a humorous tale to relate the restaurant to the author of The Idiot, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, but I couldn’t really discern whether the story was tongue-in-cheek or not. While ordering, I tried to get a glass of kvass, a traditional drink made from rye, but alas, they only carried it in summer time. When my meal came, I was surprised to discover that they include a shot of vodka with every meal! As I ate my parmigiano and mushroom tagliatelle, I kept eyeing the shot glass with suspicion. Having finished my meal, it was still there, staring back at me. The waitress was there when I decided to gun down the shot. POW! After I downed it and started feeling the burn, the waitress pointed urgently to the slice of lemon. Yes, the lemon helped.

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The view across the water toward Au Pont Rouge shopping area

I continued on to the Yusupov Palace, where Rasputin was murdered. When I got there, the ticket seller was unhelpful, and she only wanted the 700 RUB (!) entrance fee. I handed over my credit card, but she decided without trying it that it wouldn’t work and insisted on cash. I walked away instead. The stories about Rasputin’s assassination seem pretty untethered to fact, and the Palace benefits from heightening that mystery.

From there, I had only a short walk to the Central Naval Museum. The entrance fee was also pretty high, at 600 RUB, but it’s an established museum with a long track record. The museum roughly divides into two areas, a cavernous space featuring naval history from ancient times to Peter the Great’s era, and a series of roughly 20 rooms that consider the navy fielded by Russia over time.

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The botik of Peter the Great shaped his future when it was rediscovered in 1688.

Of course, you know that my chief draw for the museum was to see the boat in which Peter the Great learned to sail! The St. Nicholas was built in the 1640s for Peter the Great’s grandfather and was moldering at the Izmaylovo Estate when a sixteen-year-old Peter discovered it. He asked for help from a Dutch seaman who taught him how to sail against the wind (not possible with Russian ships of that era). His intense love of ships grew from that discovery, and at one point the boat was displayed at the Peter and Paul Fortress with the words “From the amusement of the child came the triumph of the man.” The boat took part in many state events thereafter. Today, Peter the Great’s boat is one of the first things a visitor to the Central Naval Museum sees!

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Torpedo guts!

I’ll be up-front with you. The Central Naval Museum is a tough visit if you don’t read Cyrillic. Perhaps you are the sort of person who likes little wooden models of sailing ships. Perhaps you spent a fair amount of your adolescence building tiny plastic models of military equipment. Perhaps you’re curious what the inside of a torpedo or depth charge looks like. If these describe you, this museum is going to be a winner for you. I was very, very sad that I couldn’t find an English translation or even Latin lettering until I was halfway through the museum. I could sound out a few of the names, and I could get other terms by context. For example, the earliest part of the history hall showed an oar from a twelfth century viking ship. Some of the models were really impressive, such as one showing the Admiralty at a time when it was hosting multiple ship-building crews simultaneously. I also got a kick out of a two-person submarine on the upper level of that big hall. Even if I couldn’t read details there, I was still impressed with what I was seeing. I see from the website that English tours are available for groups of five or more, but I would happily have settled for a little book like the one I toted around the Faberge Museum.

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Память means “in memoriam.”

The History of the Russian Navy was easier to follow because each room had a brass plaque to contextualize what I was seeing, and a few of the rooms had computer terminals that would provide an English summary plus photos of exhibited items (albeit without English captions). The descriptions were a bit weak on detail. For example, what were the circumstances of the battle in the Russian-Japanese War featuring the Varyag? Why did Port Arthur and Vladivostok require defense in that war? The computer describes the Battle of Tsushima as “one of the most tragic and heroic pages in the history of the Russian Fleet,” but one needs to know some external history to realize that two-thirds of the Russian Fleet was sunk in one battle in 1905!

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World War II rocket artillery

My attention really came together when I came to the “Great Patriotic War” (World War II). Suddenly Stalin was everywhere, and hammer and sickle flags were on display. I saw a strange-looking rack in the corner, and then I pulled to an abrupt stop. It was a Katyusha multiple rocket launcher! Those things were the bane of the German Infantry in World War II. By war’s end, 518 batteries were in service.

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It’s so stark that it immediately arrested my attention.

As I moved into the Cold War part of the museum, I entered an altogether different mood. This was the stuff of my nightmares from when I was a child. Sea-launched ballistic missile submarines, the heavy cruiser Kiev, the aircraft carrier Admiral Kuznetsov, rocket powered torpedoes, and supersonic cruise missiles. I left that hall thinking, “the world survived that. It looked like disaster was coming, but the world survived that!” Even a more than two-meter high head of V.I. Lenin couldn’t bring my spirits down!

My walk back to my hotel was in brilliant sunshine as the sun was no longer masked by clouds. I inspected the bronze doors of St. Isaac’s Cathedral (modeled after those of the cathedral in Florence), took another photo of Peter the Great’s monument, and paused to photograph a memorial to the siege of Leningrad during World War II.  I paused in Palace Square as the sun descended toward the horizon.  I spun in a circle with my camera, taking it all in, one last time.

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Palace Square is glorious in sunlight!

Just before dinner, I bough an oil painting by Ivan Kapitonov at a boutique near the Church on Spilled Blood. It will remind me of this city I love.

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I took a little bit of St. Petersburg home with me!

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St. Petersburg: the Communists make their move

October 24, 2017

Americans can be forgiven for thinking that the Communist revolution centered on Moscow, but in fact St. Petersburg was home to some of the most intense conflict surrounding the 1917 revolution. Remember that it was the capital under the tsars, not Moscow! I used my penultimate day in the city to retrace some of the key events leading to the Bolshevik takeover.

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Part of the twelve colleges complex

Since I had a little time before museums opened this morning, I decided to take a walk over to Vasilevskiy Ostrov, the largest of the islands in the mouth of the Neva. My particular target was to see the “Twelve Colleges.” In the States, we think of the executive branch of government being divided into departments, each headed by a secretary in the Cabinet. Peter the Great sought to modernize Russia’s government by replacing the older prikazy system with one where nine colleges would handles areas such as Justice, Revenue, Commerce, etc. These administrative groups would be housed in the set of twelve college buildings he created all in a row on the island, and they would be joined by the Senate, the Synod, and another ministry for trade. The buildings, finished in 1744, are a lovely baroque style.

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Mikhail Lomonosov is the Russian Benjamin Franklin.

I mentioned visiting the grave of Mikhail Lomonosov yesterday, and I was pleased to see his statue relaxing just outside the Twelve Colleges. From there, I wandered to the point of the island facing the rest of the city. I walked past three “fifth-wheel” trailers parked in a row. I look forward to sharing the photo with my aunt and uncle, who remodel antique camping trailers.

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Hi, Aunt Joyce!

I also saw the old stock exchange, which again looks worse from the back than on the side facing tourists. The antique Rostral Columns, which once served as lighthouses, are still impressive. Giant figures at the base symbolize the four major rivers of Russia, the Neva among them. Ships’ prows point out the sides of the columns in a sort of ladder.

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The Artillery Museum

My walk next took me by the artillery museum, on the near-land side of Rabbit Island (dominated by the Peter and Paul Fortress). As I passed the massive artillery pieces, I tried to figure out which kind would have been pointed at my father had fighting re-erupted in Korea while he was stationed there. Soon after that, I had arrived at my destination, the Museum of Russian Political History. As usual, I had arrived early, so I paused for twenty minutes on a convenient bench. As the hour arrived, a group of primary school children in reflective vests arrived, and they happily clattered into the building as the security guard opened up.

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The mansion doesn’t look much like a Communist landmark, does it?

This museum is located in a building that seems far from the Communist ideal. It was a gorgeous mansion! Prima-ballerina Mathilda Kshesinskaya had the home constructed in 1904-1906 in an Art Nouveau style. It included a grand hall where she occasionally rehearsed before a big show along with the normal rooms of an affluent mansion. Her talent in the arts brought her to the attention of Tsar Nicholas II in the three years before he married (starting in 1890), and his favor led to her being advanced in her career. As sentiment in St. Petersburg became increasingly revolutionary in 1917, she decided to move away in February of that year, moving to France in 1920. Her home was occupied by soldiers and soon thereafter by revolutionary organizations, particularly the Bolsheviks (they had formed relationships with many of the enlisted men in the armed services).  Her story is told in the 2017 film, “Matilda.”

The museum bridged the Kshesinskaya mansion with the Brandt mansion behind it during the 1950s, and more recent work has modernized the facility to a great extent. While I found the flow through the museum a little confusing (the wings told separate stories from the core of the building, so one moved upward rather than outward), the material seemed well thought-through, though it occasionally assumed visitors had a bit more information than the average American might know, (Do you know who Sergei Kirov was? Do you know why he was assassinated? I didn’t.)

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The Decembrists, rendered in cut paper

It was helpful that the museum walks visitors through the nature of the discontent with the Tsar. A childlike model visualizes the 1825 Decembrists’ occupation of Senate Square. They exhibited the clothing of a man shot down in the 1905 Bloody Sunday incident (which took place in a plaza next door to the museum).  By the time an empire uses its military against large-scale protests, the end is not far away.  the wall featured a full-scale recreation of a portrait of Nicholas II with bayonet tears gouged through it. The teenage dream of Tsar Alexander I to transform Russia into a constitutional monarchy (start of the 19th century) might have succeeded before all these disasters took place.

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National emblem from the House of Soviets (Moscow)

When revolution came, a strange three-body dynamic formed. The Tsar abdicated in favor of his brother, who also soon abdicated. The Russian Provisional Government claimed control over all the government offices and military forces, but the Communists gained credibility day by day until the military only nominally answered to the Provisional Government. The Bolsheviks suborned all the other Communists until they were powerful enough to launch a successful coup against the Provisional Government. Suddenly their message of “we will create a paradise” had some rather serious teeth!

A real highlight of the museum comes from the fact that V.I. Lenin made real history right in the house. His “April Theses” were announced in the mansion on April 4, 1917 just after he arrived. He wrote around 170 works between April and July of that year, working from a table that has been returned to the place where he used it.

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It’s just a table, but what a history!

That room featured a small balcony, and Lenin frequently made speeches to crowds gathered below from the balcony. The room now features a painting of his oration from that window! Meetings of the Central Committee of the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party took place in the large room downstairs where the dancer had practiced her moves. It felt a little spooky, frankly, to stand in that space. I am glad that the Kshesinskaya Mansion has been restored to be essentially as it was historically rather than being turned into exhibit space. Being in Lenin’s old office is powerful in an almost opposite way to what I experienced in the National Civil Rights Museum in Memphis, which was constructed in the hotel where Martin Luther King, Jr. was assassinated.

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Lenin’s balcony, as seen from below.

I did find some inspiration in this museum. I loved this quote from the first democratically elected mayor of St. Petersberg (1990): “Any enterprise should begin with a human being and not with a government decree, any project should end with a human being. Legal rights are nothing more than a necessary means of maintaining order in society, not an instrument for turning a human into a cog in a machine but for addressing the early concerns of an ordinary person. A legal state begins with understanding this simple truth.” (Anatoly Sobchak, The Road to Power) I popped over the gift shop to buy a folder full of Soviet-era propaganda posters entitled Vice, Get Out!. A fair number of them focus on abstaining from alcohol!

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Solovetsky Stone Memorial

I went to the park next door to acquire some photos of the mansion and its balcony, and then I headed to what was once Revolution Plaza (now called Trinity Park). A large boulder, called the Solovetsky Stone, stands as a monument in the plaza to victims of political repression.

I stopped at a cafe on a side street. At first, I thought I couldn’t eat there since the menu wasn’t in English, but then another customer stepped up to translate. I ended up with soup, salad, a full plate, and tea. Another customer stepped forward to help me with the tea urn. This city shows real warmth to visitors!

[The following section has been borrowed from October 21, 2017.]

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The Aurora

I turned my sights east so that I could visit some sites relating to Russia’s revolutionary history. The Aurora is permanently moored at the site where a river empties into the Neva nearby. The Pallada-class cruiser had seen action in the Russo-Japanese War, but it was returned to Russia at the end of hostilities. The ship was undergoing major repair in 1917 as the population of St. Petersburg grew in revolutionary fervor. The ship’s crew joined the side of the revolt, and the ship’s captain was killed when he tried to halt their actions. This ship fired a blank from its forecastle gun on October 25th, 1917 (old calendar) to signal that the assault on the Winter Palace was to begin. The October Revolution had officially shifted from speeches to action.

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My photographers were a bit shocked that I wanted a picture with the statue.

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This engine pulled Lenin into town on two occasions.

I continued east, walking across the Sampsonlevskiy Most (bridge) along the waterfront beside a major highway (the Pirogovskaya Nab). At last I reached the Finlyandskiy Station, or Finland Train Stration. At first, this might not seem a tourist hotspot, but the site didn’t make it into the Pet Shop Boys’ “West End Girls” for nothing! This is the train station where Lenin arrived in Russia after his exile in Switzerland. The plaza to the south of the Station features a massive (and famous) statue of Lenin giving an impassioned speech before a crowd of workers.

I requested permission to see the Lenin train, and a station worked telephoned for backup. The security person introduced herself and guided me onto the train platform. We walked over to the east side, and there, encased in glass, was engine 293 with its coal tender. It was hard to believe I was looking at a train that twice had shipped the famed revolutionary to Russia (Lenin had been forced to flee to Finland during the “July Days“).

After that satisfactory moment, I retired to a side street to enjoy some California rolls at a sushi restaurant. I was surprised that they recognized that term but not “maki,” another common type of sushi.

[…and now we return to October 24, 2017.]

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Tauride Gardens

For my last act of the day, I decided to find the building that had served as the first seat of government for the Bolsheviks after their coup. I had become confused between the home of the provisional government (before the coup) and the home of the Bolshevik government (after the coup).  I set out for the Tauride Palace, only later realizing I needed the Smolnyy Institute instead.  I took the metro to the Cherneshevskaya to take in the sights. Sadly, the nearest metro stop is quite some distance from both those buildings! I trudged over to the Tauride Gardens, and I am glad I got to see them. The grounds a truly lovely. Heavy clouds had been threatening all day, and a few drips started hitting the ground. When I was standing in front of the Tauride Palace, I got the sense that I was in front of a government institution, and I wasn’t even sure that photographs were allowed!

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Smolnyy Cathedral

I continued heading east, since I had suddenly realized the Smolnyy Institute was just south of Smolnyy Convent, a major religious structure to the east of central St. Petersburg (I had seen it far off in the distance, looking like a wedding cake, since it is quite tall). My reasonable walk to Tauride had become an unreasonable walk. I was happy to photograph the Smolnyy Convent, and when I reached the Institute to its south, I knew I was in the right place!

A quote from Karl Marx spanned both halves of the entrance gate. Halfway down the drive, I encountered a bust of Marx facing a bust of Engels across the road, almost as though they were still locked in conversation. When I arrived at the security gate for the Institute, the security guard allowed me to take photographs inside the gate, so long as I didn’t approach the building. Both Tauride and Smolnyy would be obvious candidates for running a government since they’re both mammoth structures.  I learned, in retrospect, that this is where Sergei Kirov, a rival for power among the Bolsheviks, was gunned down.

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Panorama of Smolnyy Institute facade

I opted to trudge back to the metro by a different route. Suvarovskiy Prospekt took an awfully long time to bring me back to Nevsky Prospekt, though. I was compelled to stop at the halfway point back to eat a chocolate cake at a bakery. It only rained on me a little bit. I hopped on the subway for the last leg back to my hotel.

St. Petersburg: The docs on the Orthodox

October 23, 2017

Today I tested the hypothesis that I would eventually grow weary of looking at churches. My methods subjected the test subject to continued exposure, with sites selected from those available near the historic center of St. Petersburg. My results suggest that David does not weary of church observation, though his feet tire easily. In conclusion, I claim that Dave has an unorthodox interest in ecclesiastic architecture and art.

I awoke before 7AM, a first for this trip. My plan for the day began at the St. Alexander Nevsky Lavra (a lavra is the most important class of monastery in the Orthodox tradition; Russia contains only two lavras). You may have heard the name Alexander Nevsky from the eponymous film made by Sergei Eisenstein in 1938, designed to whip up Soviet antagonism against the rising power of the Germans (and against the Catholic Church). Nevsky himself was a thirteenth-century prince of Novgorod and then grand prince of Vladimir (he won this title by betraying his brother). He paid tribute to the Golden Horde (the northwestern sector of the Mongol Empire) in order to save his military strength for use against the Germans and the Swedes. His fame largely rests on two chief battles: the Neva Battle of 1240 against the Swedes (from which he took his name) and the Battle of the Ice on Lake Peipus against the Livonian crusaders of the Teutonic Knights (both battle sites are within a few miles of present-day St. Petersburg). By keeping Russia’s borders secure, he protected the Russian Orthodox faith. His reputation, unlike that of St. Wenceslaus, stems from military prowess and prudent conciliation.

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Nevsky stands guard at the SE end of his Prospect.

Because my feet were grieving me, I opted to take the subway line to the monastery. The process was reasonably painless. I bought a card for 90 RUB ($1.50) and then I charged it with ten subway trips to be used over the next 7 days (355 RUB). Unlike other subway systems I have used, St. Petersburg drove its metro system very deeply underground. The escalator ride down took almost as long as the subway ride itself! One of the books I found on St. Petersburg commented on the Soviet-era artistry that has largely been left in place down there, and I did glimpse Lenin giving an impassioned speech from one of the stations I visited today. In any case, I rode my two stations to the southeast to reach the far end of Nevsky Prospekt (the lavra originally gave the road its name– interestingly the road ran through deep woods and was scourged with packs of wolves for its initial few years). I came above ground to see a mighty statue of Alexander Nevsky, dressed as a medieval Rus warrior atop his horse.

I walked through the lavra gate and into the grounds. The centerpiece of the monastery is pained bright yellow, with two large square towers and a large, round cupola. The ground was still frozen from last night’s chill, and the sun had just begun to rise. When the bell tower of the church rang the quarter hour, it was a special moment. I snapped a few photos and entered the church.

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The central church of the lavra

Because no photos are allowed in the church, I will need to point you to some online images instead. As may be obvious, my goal was to find the chapel in which Nevsky’s relics are retained. Nevsky’s remains were, for a time, stored in a massive reliquary made from a ton and a half of silver, but the Communists moved the reliquary to the Hermitage, leaving his remains in a more ordinary silver box (yes, I am kicking myself for failing to see the reliquary when I was there the day before). When I found his chapel at the lavra, it was flanked by an Orthodox monk who was intoning from a beautiful book. From time to time (especially for the alleluia) he would break into song, and the pilgrims standing in the audience would join in. I recorded a few moments of it so you could hear it.

I noticed something odd about the Russian Orthodox churches that coincided with what I’d seen at the Peter and Paul Fortress Cathedral. In this and other churches I visited today, there are no pews to be seen. As one might imagine for Orthodox churches, I see an almost continuous line of icons at chest height around the perimeter of the cathedral. I was surprised to see that several of them had what looked like dish towels beside them. I’m guessing that the glass over the icons gets smudged by continual kissing! The long beards and different robes distinguished the images of the saints from what one might see in a Catholic church. I stopped at the gift shop and bought a small icon on Saint Nevsky to remind me of this special place.

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A place of chilly tranquility

The lavra is also known for its cemetery, which was the place to RIP during the eighteenth century. I spent at least half an hour exploring the main cemetery behind the cathedral, hoping to find some of the famous people buried there. It’s a peaceful place, despite the traffic noise on the other side of the wall. A little chapel overlooks a pond surrounded with gravestones. I kept trying to decipher the names of people I knew to be buried at the monastery from the map at the front gate, but my Cyrillic skills were not up to the task. Eventually I asked some folks for help, and the second someone gave me good directions despite our inability to understand each other’s language.

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Tchaikowsky’s final resting place

I was in the wrong cemetery! On the entrance path to the lavra, there are gates to the left and right. These represent the famous people burial plots (in the “necropolis of Art Masters” and “necropolis of the 18th century”). I paid the 400 RUB entrance fee and enjoyed strolling among a truly amazing collection of classical composers; Tchaikowsky, Rimsky-Korsakov, Musorgsky, and Glinka all rest here. I entered a small exhibition hall and found a charming collection of statues managed by the State Museum. They had models of large-scale sculptures across the city, and the exhibit even had an interactive map to show their locations.

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The dapper Domenico Trezzini designed the Peter and Paul Cathedral.

I crossed the lane to visit the 18th century necropolis and spent a moment visiting with Mikhail Lomonosov, who discovered the atmosphere of Venus and the law of mass conservation, and with Leonhard Euler, a mathematician of staggering importance. I hadn’t even realized that the Swiss thinker had visited Russia, but he is buried here (I later learned he spent most of his adult life here and in Prussia). A burial vault in the corner opened at 11AM, and I was able to see some of the well-preserved burial markers in this space. Some of the piecework in marble was really amazing.

It was a morning well spent, and I resolved to waste a bit of my afternoon shopping in a district off the tourist trail. My target was the Sennaya Ploshchad (Plaza), but I wanted to take in a couple of churches to its south and west. Since I was so close to the train station, though, I decided to stop to purchase train tickets for the next to legs of my trip (down to Velikiy Novgorod and then on to Moscow). To power my stroll, I bought a bit of fried bread that turned out to contain onions and dill. It chilled rapidly in the cool breeze, but I felt good about my adventure in street food.

Buying tickets turned into quite a taxing ordeal. I waited twenty minutes in line for the chance to talk to an agent for long-range trains. When I arrived, she didn’t even try to communicate with me about the tickets I needed. Instead she wrote “4” on a piece of paper and gestured pointedly at the corresponding booth. I then waited another twenty minutes in a different line to reach booth four. I spoke with a Spanish journalist in the line about my trip. I reached booth four, and the young woman was able to say a few words. I conveyed that I needed to go to Velikiy Novgorod on October 26th, and she denied that I could buy the ticket at long-range trains because it was classed as a suburban train (it’s a two hour train ride). It didn’t seem to matter that I had been directed to long-range trains to buy the ticket. As for the ticket I needed from Novgorod down to Moscow, no such train appeared on the system. I began to get shirty. The Spanish journalist came to check in and intervened in time. The agent for booth four left to do a consultation. When she returned, she was able to find the train from Novgorod to Moscow, and I acquired it for 819.70 RUB ($14.20 USD). It took me forever to find the suburban train ticket desk because it was surrounded on three sides by construction. When I reached the desk, the clerk didn’t speak any Russian, but she still managed to get all the information she needed by writing bits of information on her sheet of paper and holding it against the window. For 579 RUB ($10.07 USD), I had my ticket to Novgorod. I felt victorious in the face of an uncaring system!

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Love those blue domes!

I didn’t have a firm location for the first church on my list, the Trinity Cathedral. My eye had been caught by the lovely sky-blue of its domes, and they were even sprinkled with stars! I took the subway to Pushkinskaya, and I ended up walking much more than I’d hoped to find the church. Again, I could not take pictures inside, but I enjoyed learning a little about the story of the church. It suffered a serious fire in 2006, during the effort to rebuild it after Communism, and the main dome and a smaller one both collapsed. The building is once again intact, and the inside was pretty, if a bit more barren than other churches I’d seen.

I was glad to find an informal street market right outside the church, and as I exited the church to start looking for bargains, the clouds opened up, dropping tiny hailstones that bounced off the ground and then melted. The shopping tents all started folding up in unison. Instead of shopping, I headed north to my next stop, the St. Nicholas Naval Cathedral.

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Canal intersection near St. Nicholas Naval Cathedral

St. Nicholas has a strong link with the Russian Navy; for years it was called the “sailor church.” As I walked the last few yards toward the church, I was reminded of St. Petersburg’s nickname as the “Venice of the North” when I crossed a canal that intersected another canal at right angles. The city requires quite a few bridges to navigate all the different channels of water that have replaced the marsh that existed here long ago! I only saw St. Nicholas from the edges of the park surrounding it. It’s also a pretty blue color, but it’s not the nice shade that I saw at Trinity!

When I reached Sennaya Ploshchad, I was pretty disappointed. My tourist map had shown the district to be a pedestrian street only, but the plaza has two really heavy car intersections in it. Instead of finding a plaza filled with booths selling this and that, I saw crosswalks where hundreds of people contended with streams of cars. The outside of the plaza was lined with small shops. I decided to pause at one to have a late lunch (it had already come to 3PM)! Natasha reminded me that Russian food is a perfect match for the Dave since it involves a fair amount of frying and dough. I enjoyed some stroganoff with vegetables to dip in humus along with some juice. Then I marched to the northeast to shop!

If I wanted to buy cell phone accessories, the shops I found would have been ideal. I visited a sporting goods store to get some new laces for my hiking shoes, but they, like everyone else, didn’t sell shoelaces. As I continued on my way, the area ahead started looking a bit dodgy, so I headed north on Lomonosov only to discover that I was merging into Nevsky Prospekt right beside the Cathedral of our lady of Kazan (essentially next door to my hotel). I must say that Kazan looks rather unappealing from the backside. The city definitely pays more attention to the side the tourists see on this and other monumental buildings.

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The Irrepressible Ekaterina II

I bypassed it to visit the statue of Catherine the Great. At first, a pigeon had decided that the top of her head was the ideal resting place, but I decided to wait him out on a nearby bench. I had hardly sat down when the bird scuttled off. I jumped off to fire photos of the statue along with the lovely Alexandrinsky Theatre behind it.

Did I have room for one more church? I did! I headed north to see the Church on Spilled Blood. Even though this church has a very striking appearance (almost like Ivan the Terrible’s church in Moscow), I had held off seeing it up close. I saw the heavy maintenance work taking place on its main spire and even questioned whether it would be open for business! As I came close to it, though, I felt excited about it. The detail work on its exterior is just amazing. Maybe I should see the inside, too! Happily, I was there an hour before closing (well, 5:11 PM). I paid my 250 RUB and popped inside.

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Feeling sanguine at the Church on Spilled Blood

Imagine every Sunday School story from the Bible come to life, thrown through a Russian Orthodox imagination, then picked out in fine detail through mosaics ON EVERY AVAILABLE SURFACE? It’s really quite overwhelming. The team that began renovation on this church in 1993 went to incredible effort. I kept discovering new details, even when I sat down on a stool (there weren’t many of them) and stared at the same wall.

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Art in every direction

I liked that when I stared upward in the four small spires at the corners, I could see a mosaic face staring back at me! When I saw Moses with the Ten Commandments picked out in little tiles, I chortled to myself about “Mosaic Law.”

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Peering straight upwards into the spires gives you a little reward!

The Church (of the Savior) on Spilled Blood, of course, has a story, and it’s an unusual one. In 1881, Tsar Alexander II was traveling by carriage along the embankment of the Griboedov Canal when an anarchist tossed a bomb at the carriage. He missed, but the tsar got out of the carriage to yell at him! A second conspirator tossed a second bomb that mortally wounded the tsar and killed the bomber. This church was built not as an ordinary church but rather as a permanent testament to the murder of Alexander II, on the site of this attack. Of course, the Communist Revolution did not feature a lot of people who loved the Tsar, and it wasn’t known for its love of religion, either. Revolutionaries ransacked and looted the structure, and it was closed in 1932. During World War II, the city was under siege by the Nazis, and the building was used as a morgue. Twenty-seven years were required to restore the mosaics and the exterior, and more time was required to build new “Holy Gates” for the relics. I was pleased to see St. Nevsky playing a prominent role on one of these barriers (to the left of the shot below), neatly book-ending my day!

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Holy gates

Having visited the site of five different churches in one day, I was ready for dinner. I sat down with schnitzel and some jasmine tea, and all was well with the world.

 

St. Petersburg: no seclusion to be found at the Hermitage

October 22, 2017

When National Geographic named the top ten museums and galleries in the world, St. Petersburg’s Hermitage was an obvious inclusion, alongside the Smithsonian and the Louvre. Why does the Hermitage rank so highly?

Mammoth collection
With more than three million items, visitors can look for a lifetime!
Historic setting
The museum encompasses nearly all the buildings on palace square, including the Winter Palace that gives it the name.
Charismatic founder
The original museum collection was the personal collection of Catherine the Great.
Intense draw
Almost all of the art comes from outside Russia, so locals can sample the world.
Rare collections
If you want to understand the Golden Horde were more than barbarians, the Hermitage collection is the best!
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St. Isaac’s Cathedral

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Nicholas I, rampant!

St. Petersburg is a late riser on the weekends, so I had a couple of hours to kill before the 10:30 opening hour for the museum. I walked past the Admiralty to St. Isaac’s Cathedral. The building’s columns loomed above me on this gray morning. I certainly hope I will get to see its massive interior on this trip. To the south, I enjoyed a massive equestrian statue of Nicholas I in St. Isaac’s Square. It seems very dynamic since the massive horse and rider are balanced on only two hooves.  It seemed well-framed by the government offices in the Mariinsky Palace behind it.  As I trudged back toward Palace Square, I was happy to find a whimsical monument of Peter the Great building a boat; it celebrates friendship with the Netherlands, whose citizens taught Peter quite a lot about ship-making.

I arrived at Palace Square by 10 AM, and I saw that the great outer gates had been opened. I joined the line, and we marched in toward the entrance, where we waited another half hour. I chatted with some Thai visitors behind me in line. Once 10:30 arrived, the guards began allowing groups of perhaps twenty people in at a time. People who already had their tickets, however, bypassed the line and simply walked in. I should have acquired mine the day before!

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The gates of the Hermitage / Winter Palace

At long last I was allowed into the bedlam of the ticket hall and coat check. I was allowed to pay the 700 RUB entrance fee by credit card because I had my passport on hand. After spending a half hour waiting for the museum to open, a half hour before my group passed through the doors, and fifteen minutes in the coat check line, I was free to wander through the museum!

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Peter the Great’s Preobrazhensky uniform

Climbing the monumental staircase in the Winter Palace entry feels rather epic. The simple scale of the floors, the light pouring through the windows, and the blue and gold trim of the stairway were designed to awe the visitor. The following rooms maintain that scale. The Small Throne Room (Room 194) is lined with red velvet with silver-threaded double eagles. A small nave at the far side features a lovely painting of Peter the Great and a small throne. Room 195 (Armorial Hall), is the second largest in the palace, and I was astonished to see the outfit I most associate with Peter the Great, his officer uniform for the Preobrazhensky Regiment. In my imagination, I had expected it to be fitted for a giant, but then Peter I was just over two meters in height.

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The back wall of the Great Church

The next room to knock my socks off was the Great Church of Room 271. Such light! So much gold! It was sumptuous. I was pleased to have the room almost to myself, but then a massive tour group arrived en masse. I felt a panicky need to get away from the crowds. I burrowed into remote exhibitions that were not yet overwhelmed with people. I was thrilled to find a dark corridor that was nearly free of people, and it seemed every portrait was one I had seen before! Enrico Belli’s portrait of Peter the Great was there, as was Fyodor Rokotov’s portrait of Empress Catherine the Great. The pair appear on essentially any biography of these two figures.

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The library also features a lovely stair to its second floor.

As I wandered, I encountered the personal library of Nicholas II (the last tsar), and I felt immediately at home in the space, which was decorated in an English Gothic style. It felt like something out of a story book.

I tried to find some of the artwork that my Eyewitness Guide to St. Petersburg had mentioned. Frustratingly, the pieces were frequently not in the locations given within the guidebook. I did find a statue and bust of Voltaire, and they were very impressive. I searched in vain for “St. John the Divine in Silence.” Michelangelo’s “Crouching Boy” was as enigmatic as promised. I was frustrated when a pair of girls tried at least ten snaps for the perfect selfie with the statue. Then a tour group mobbed the statue. I never got a good look at Leonardo da Vinci’s “Madonna Litta” because the tour groups queued up, one after the other, to mob the small image. Titian’s “St. Sebastian” was lovely, though the details were a little hard to make out since the image is so dark.

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Houdon’s Voltaire

I wanted to see the distinctive collection of artifacts from ancient peoples of Russia, so I headed downstairs for a look. I saw collections from the nomads of the Altai (a region of Siberia between Mongolia and Kazakhstan), Uzbekistan, Volga Bulgaria, and other regions surrounding the Black Sea. It was important to see people from the end of the first millennium brought back to life. Fragments of their clothes, their weapons, and plenty of horse gear were there to be seen. I was surprised how affected I felt by the funerary masks in the collection. When the collection moved forward in time to the early medieval period, I saw items from the “Golden Horde” that really challenged my naive view of the Mongols as warriors with little culture of their own.

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Reconstructed costumes from Arzhan-2 barrow (mid-7th century)

Even though my feet were grieving me, I didn’t leave the museum. Instead I ventured into a bit of the palace that I hadn’t seen. I was wowed by a half-size recreation of a roman mosaic floor. Oddly, the space seemed to work quite well for a massive mechanical golden peacock clock that has an animated tail and neck (the video of it in operation is quite stunning!).

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Even a cover of a classic can be a lovely song!

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Dave with mighty Jupiter

On my way out, I happened to walk through the antiquities wing, and I was bowled over by the massive statue of Jupiter from the first century AD. I didn’t even come up to his knee when I stood beside the pediment. I also passed through the special collection of Egyptian artifacts from a museum in Turin. I love Egyptian archaeology, but my brain was rejecting further inputs. As is traditional, I paused to rub the toe of one of the 5m statues at the old entrance to the Hermitage, and I made a wish!

I was not feeling athletic or creative in my lunch, in large part because it was three in the afternoon. I stopped at Burger King. I am pleased to report that St. Petersburg knows what it means to produce a large drink (South African chains routinely hand me a cup that looks suspiciously like a medium).

My ticket for the Hermitage was not only good at the main museum but also at the General Staff Building, which houses additional paintings, including their substantial Impressionist and Post-Impressionist collections. I was pleased to discover that the museum was considerably more modern inside, with well-designed flow and support services (it was certainly a more efficient cloak room!).

In the remaining time before they closed (6PM), I mostly visited their fourth floor, which focuses on Impressionism and its aftermath. From the map (which they offered in English, unlike the main museum), I thought the French impressionists I love most were all in room 430. In fact, the very first room I visited was dominated by my favorite artist, Claude Monet. They offered around ten of his paintings, if I recall correctly. I asked for some help getting a photo of myself with his paintings, and my helpers struggled with the fact that stabbing the shutter button down on my Canon EOS M doesn’t take a photograph; the camera’s focus is so slow that it cannot shoot on that time scale.

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Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.

I enjoyed the Picasso and Van Gogh collections. In particular, I enjoyed a Picasso oil titled “Absinthe Drinker” and a related pastel titled “Absinthe.” I don’t remember ever seeing these elsewhere. His self portrait in ceramics was also very clever. Kandinsky has been a bit inaccessible to me in the past, but I spent some time with Composition VI, and I decided I rather like it.

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Kandinsky can-do!

I was passing through the third floor on my way out at closing time when I saw a dress that gave me a serious double-take. I saw a green dress titled “uniform costume of Empress Catherine II.” Could this be the real thing? Catherine the Great became the ruler of Russia essentially through a coup d’état against her husband, Peter III. Part of her appeal to the soldiers who supported her was her expression of unity with them, even having dresses made that looked like their uniforms! The dress I saw dated from 1775, however, and her coup had taken place in 1762. She probably had continued her effective tradition in later years!

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Catherine II “Uniform” and Life Guards Regimental uniform

With that happy discovery in my mind, I tottered back to my hotel room and climbed into bed.

St. Petersburg: the Greatness of Peter Romanov

Over the next several posts, I will be telling my story of two weeks in Russia.  While I will stick with the essential chronology of my trip, I will also do some amount of reorganizing to group related parts of my visit.  A visit to St. Petersburg must start with the story of one of the most visionary leaders to have shaped Europe: Peter the Great.  I hope you’ll enjoy it!

October 19-20, 2017

The big day arrived! I packed my medium 26″ roller bag with my hiking shoes, sneakers, and shiny dress shoes. Do Russians like their conference speakers to be formally dressed? I tossed in a couple of ties, as well, just in case. The taxi arrived for a drive time that would get me to the airport before Cape Town rush hour hit its peak.

The drive to the airport would have been no big deal except for a gang-related shooting at the drop off area on the morning of October 18th. My taxi driver reported that the area had been crowded with police all through that day. My drop-off, on the other hand, was completely uneventful. I saw a couple of police officers, but otherwise nothing seemed out of place.

My flight path to St. Petersburg ran through Dubai, because the tickets purchased for me used Emirates Airline. It’s been a good option in the past, and this time I was able to supply my South African Airways frequent flier ID to get some credit for the trip (the two airlines are both part of the Star Alliance). There’s not a lot to differentiate a flight with Emirates Airline from a flight on British Airways, but there are a few characteristic features. Their flight stewardesses have stylish veils that are part of their headgear. Every movie begins with an advertisement for cultural events and hotels in Dubai, and they advertise very upmarket watches. I was delighted to discover both my seats were on the aisle. That mattered particularly for the first leg, taking off from Cape Town at 8:05 PM and landing at 7:25 AM in Dubai (this is much faster than the flight straight to London). While in Dubai, I traded 500 Rand I had brought with me from Cape Town to Russian Rubles. Google tells me that I should have received 2105.47 RUB with a market exchange rate and no commission. Instead, I received only 1210 Rubles and 3 UAE Dirham in change. I bought a cup of tea with cardamom from the change, easily the most satisfactory aspect of the trade.

The St. Petersburg airport seemed much like any other airport, though the lines for passport control took some time to pass. I was still worried that something wouldn’t be accepted about my visa, but I need not have worried. The officer’s only question for me related to the airport from which I had flown to St. Petersburg! Collecting my luggage and passing through customs was similarly straightforward. I opted to use the taxi desk to pay for my taxi into town. I like using public transportation, but in this case I would have needed a bus followed by the subway to make the trip. I put a 2000 Ruble charge on my credit card and breathed a bit easier ($35).

As the taxi left the airport, I breathed a deep sigh of contentment. The fall colors are on full display in late October! I don’t often think about trees in South Africa unless I’m talking about one of the non-indigenous pines or eucalyptus trees. There’s still plenty of stands of trees near St. Petersburg, though. The airport is south and west of the city proper, and all along the drive east I enjoyed the sights. Then we turned north, and almost immediately we were surrounded by city. As a tourist, I spent almost all my time in the historic center, but the drive in reminded me that the city has more than five million inhabitants, bigger even than Cape Town. It’s not really a city that has turned to skyscrapers, either, so a visitor sees medium-height buildings throughout.

I had decided to stay at the Abajour Nevsky, a small hotel right in the heart of the historic district, since I like to do my tourism on foot. Its street address, in fact, is right on Nevsky Prospect, the road sloping south-southeast from the Admiralty. From the cab, I walked through a gateway into a courtyard off the main road. I found the right door, but it took me a while to figure out that I needed to dial “20” to reach the hotel itself. I trudged up two flights of stairs and was checked in right away. The only thing on my mind at that point was to get a proper shower! There’s nothing like living in a city under extreme drought conditions followed by an overnight flight to make me crave lots and lots of steaming water!

I didn’t want to try any serious exploration as sunset arrived, so I simply walked down Nevsky Prospect a few blocks until I found the “Manneken Pis,” a somewhat Belgium-themed pub. I enjoyed a draft Estonian “black currant” cider with chicken ratatouille. For once I followed Natasha’s adage that you cannot call it dinner unless it has something green in it!

October 21, 2017

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Bronze of Peter the Great’s head, from the Moscow State Historical Museum

I framed today’s journey on Peter the Great, the emperor of Russia who decided that Russia would create a “Window on Europe.” Just over three hundred years ago, St. Petersburg was a frozen marsh. Within Peter’s lifetime, however, the area had become Russia’s imperial capital. At the start of the eighteenth century, the region of “Ingria,” connecting Lake Ladoga to the Gulf of Finland, belonged to the Swedish Empire. The Great Northern War, however, wrested this area to Russian control. Peter the Great began building his city on this site to anchor his control over the area.

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The Eternal Flame

I walked north from Nevsky Prospect to reach the river Neva. I passed by several worthy sites, such as the Cathedral of our Lady of Kazan (next door to my hotel), the Russian Museum with its statue of Pushkin, the Mikhailovskiy Castle, and the “Field of Mars” with its everlasting flame commemorating the victims of violence in St. Petersberg. I reached my first goal site of the day at 9:40, but it didn’t open until ten. I had reached the Summer Garden!

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Small Orangery in Summer Garden

Many visitors to St. Petersburg visit the Winter Palace, now part of the Hermitage Museum, but the Summer Palace gets far less attention. It was a lovely, quiet start to my day. Peter invested considerable effort in the garden, with whimsical fountains, quiet walkways, and statues from his own personal collection. I enjoyed the orangery, imagining Natasha happily planting another box of greens. Soon enough I found the Summer Palace. It’s a tidy little white building with mythological scenes sculpted in brown panels on the sides. It’s hard to imagine the Emperor of Russia holding court in such an intimate space. The insides were in renovation during my visit, but I still enjoyed the visit.

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The Summer Palace hardly looks like the home of an emperor!

The summer palace was built very early in St. Petersburg’s history, but Peter built an even earlier home here! I headed across the Trinity bridge to cross the Neva River. It crosses at quite a wide point, and I received my first view of the Peter and Paul Fortress, to the north, and of Vasilevskiy Island, to the west. On the north side of the river, I walked through a small park where dozens of high-schoolers were raking leaves into piles. I saw the massive and lovely blue Sobornaya Mosque, and I looped back to the edge of the Neva to find the cabin of Peter the Great.

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How else do you preserve a cabin from 1703?

For 200 Rubles (bless the ticket booth attendant for offering me the student price, though), I got to visit the building. It’s a bit confusing, though, because the cabin is encased within a modern structure. The new structure is in pretty rough shape, with peeling paint, but once I was inside I saw that it is doing its primary job of protecting the log cabin Peter lived in during a few weeks of 1703. The furnishings of the cabin are visible through the windows, and tourists are kept from entering or otherwise touching it. I also got to see a boat that Peter had built for himself. I enjoyed imagining Peter strolling up and down the shore of the Neva, imagining what he would create in his newly conquered territory.

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Why settle for a plaque when you could get a bust instead?

[I have excised a tangential hike for later discussion]

Instead of descending to the subway like a sane person, I began trudging west on my tired feet. I didn’t stop moving until I had come back west to the Peter and Paul Fortress.  I wanted to see the cathedral and the city of St. Petersburg history museum, so I bought the all-museum ticket for 600 Rubles. I paused for half an hour at the Museum of Space Exploration and Rocket Technology, where I learned the history of Valentin Glushko, the Russian father of jet engines.

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The Peter and Paul Fortress, as seen from the Trinity Bridge

As I walked to the main square of the fortress, I was presented with a lovely view of the Peter and Paul Cathedral, crowned with a gilded spire that can be seen for miles. I entered the Cathedral and was surprised to see that its nave had been emptied to make room for tourists who visited the many tombs of the royal family. I spent a moment at grave number one, that of Peter the Great himself. His is unique in that it features a bust of the sovereign.

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The Cyrillic letter “Pe” looks like a pi.

When I examined the map of tombs, I was in for a double surprise. Catherine the Great is also buried in the cathedral! I spotted her resting place in the row behind Peter’s. The other surprise I alluded to is that post-Soviet Russia relocated the remains of the last royal family, that of Nicholas II, to the Catherine chapel within the cathedral. I paused for a moment at its entrance.

From there, it was a short walk to the museum of the history of St. Petersburg. I was surprised how much this museum packed into its space. Many of the individual exhibits have only Cyrillic descriptions, but at least each room had a full-page panel in English to help foreign visitors. I enjoyed the maps showing the early development of St. Petersburg, and the eighteenth century anchor in one room just dwarfed everything else.

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The platform where the Decembrists were sentenced is out of shot, to the left.

I was in for a bit of a surprise when I reached room 11. St. Petersburg had a substantial population of military men, and when discontent with autocracy grew during the nineteenth century, secret military societies began plans to overthrow the tsars in favor of a different system. On 14th December of 1825, three thousand soldiers launched a revolt in Senate Square (next to the Admiralty). When the “Decembrists” had been put down by artillery, the leaders were arrested and interrogated in the Peter and Paul Fortress. Room 12 of the commandant’s house (now the history museum) was where judgment was passed on the Decembrists, with several sentenced to execution. The room has been arranged just as it was on that day, with a raised platform where the rebels stood when sentenced.

The remainder of the museum was generally more cheerful, celebrating the development of Nevsky Prospect and describing the improvements to the city over time. The installation of city-wide plumbing and electricity was more problematic than one might imagine. To this day, visitors to the city receive recommendations not to drink the tap water! The last room of the museum is more somber, though, as it shows a diorama of a mansion in the city being attacked by Communist protestors with red banners.

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I will have much more to say about this mansion a couple posts after this one.

[I have borrowed the following from October 22nd.]

Just to the west of the Admiralty, I came to two impressive buildings forming the western edge of Senate Square. The first was the Manege Central Exhibition Hall. The double structure of the next building reflected its dual role as the home of the Senate and the Synod, representing worldly and ecclesiastic authority, respectively. This square continues the story of the failed “Decembrist” uprising. The rebels were hoping to acquire power from the top by staging their revolt here.  Senate Square has changed its look quite a lot since the nineteenth century, though.  The area looks more like a park, with trees enclosing quiet paths on the side closest to St. Isaac’s Cathedral.

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Senate Square is now a quiet park!

Senate Square was on my list so that I could see the massive Bronze Horseman monument that Catherine the Great erected to her “ancestor,” Peter the Great. I was pretty amazed by its appearance; the horse is mounted above a massive plinth of rock called the “Thunder Stone.” Seeing the snake (Sweden?) trampled beneath the horse was a very romantic image.

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This monument also bore witness to the Decembrists!

I stopped by the stand of a painter who was outside in the cold with me, and I acquired a small watercolor of the Bronze Horseman. He named the buildings on the Vasilevskiy Island shore facing us, and I paused to capture images for a panoramic photo.

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South waterfront of Vasilievsky Island

Ultimately, the greatest monument to Peter the Great is not a bronze or stone or wood artifact from another age.  It is the city of St. Petersburg itself, which owes its life to this determined man.  His vision opened the eighteenth century in a startling new direction for Russia.  This city continues to be this nation’s welcome to travelers from the West.

Young David steps out of his comfort zone

Sometimes, a look through the scrapbook can be a very humbling experience.  I resolved this month to finish a project I launched in 1994.  At last I am publishing the journal I recorded during my first trip to Europe!  For the first time, I am bringing together the forty-two journal entries, my photographs, and the video camera footage that I recorded during my clockwise circuit around the continent.  Before you jump right into the journal, though, could I ask you to read a few thoughts?

More time has passed since I wrote that journal (23 years) than I had lived at that point (I was 20 years old).  The experiences of the last two decades have certainly left their mark.  Since that time, I’ve graduated from two degree programs; I’ve filled my passport with stamps; I’ve built my career in academia; I’ve achieved some level of comfort in finance; I’ve married and divorced.  All of these changes make it hard to recognize the person who wrote those entries as the same person writing this blog!

Setting the scene

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I’m sitting by “Le Crayon,” the tower of Credit Lyonnais.

The David who wrote this journal was experiencing profound discomfort.  As a fellow in the University of Arkansas Sturgis Fellows program, I was strongly pushed to spend at least a semester of my junior year abroad.  My undergraduate advisor, Doug Rhoads arranged for me to visit the laboratories of Jean-Jacques Madjar at the University of Lyons, where Thierry Masse mentored my project.  The fact is that I did not enjoy “wet bench” research, and I was becoming concerned that my Biology degree could equip me for a career I did not want!  To complicate the matter further, we never formalized my visa to work in the laboratory for a year-long stretch, and so I needed to leave France well before even a semester had passed.  Scheduling this journey through many countries was my fall-back plan, and my mother was working with the University of Arkansas to get a formal plan in place for the spring of 1995.  In short, I felt that I was failing in this first real test of applying my academic skills.

If you mainly know me as a globe-trotter who uprooted his career and moved to South Africa, you might be surprised to know that as a young man I disliked travel, and I feared change.  Ask the members of Yates Lab how huge a step it seemed to me to move from Seattle, Washington to San Diego, California in the year 2000.  I spent six months poring over maps and dawdling over last details in Seattle.  To go back further in time, I was always the first member of the family to feel it was time for us to return to Kansas City when our family took long road trips in the summer time.  If you read the journal, you will see a David feeling perpetually out of place and coping badly with exhaustion and self-induced malnutrition because I wasn’t willing to spend enough money on food.

The most redundant feature of the journal is that the 20-year-old me was completely agog at the young women I encountered on my travels.  Although a disproportionate number of my friends since elementary school have been female, I must say that I was essentially undateable until my mid-twenties.  I would summarize by saying that I routinely put women on a pedestal and couldn’t see myself as desirable.  This aspect of the journal is high on my list of cringe-inducers.

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I had already given up cursive in college.

What should we call the nexus of judgmental, puritanical, dismissive, and obsessed with money?  I am reminded in this journal that the person I am today was distilled from common mud.  Today I am not immune from these traits, but I do try to improve myself with time.  I have been tagged with the label “stubborn” more times than I would like to admit, but I hope that I can manage open-mindedness and respect for others at least from time to time.  In particular, I struggled to read the passages I wrote about the Turks in Budapest or the drive-by racism I dumped on Latin culture.  At least I realized that smug American chest-thumping was not preferable.  My memories of myself from that time have been substantially white-washed, but my text makes it clear I had a long way to go.  In my memories of that time, I mostly remember that the international relations scholar from Turkey taught me that a bishop or a castle is generally more reliable than a knight in the chess end-game.

From 1994 to now

Travel in Europe today is considerably simpler than it was in 1994.  Moving from country to country is considerably easier because of the Schengen agreement that eliminates customs at borders between countries and the Economic and Monetary Union that makes the Euro the only currency you need for much of the continent.  The traveler’s checks that fueled my travel are not needed in Europe; instead, you feed your bank card into an ATM, and out pops money.  My single telephone call home from Vienna would be likely replaced today by Skype; I could use my phone or computer in the WiFi of any hostel to chat right away with folks at home.

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My account book, in many currencies

I wrote my journal narrative in a spiral-bound notebook, and I kept strict accounts of every franc, Deutschmark, schilling, crown, etc. in a separate small notebook, both of which I acquired while living in Lyon.  I was very fond of Pilot rolling ball pens at the time, and so each page is filled with cramped blue writing.

While my parents used 35mm slide cameras to capture my early years, I carried a 126 film cartridge camera made by Vivitar with me to Europe.  As you will see, many of the images I mention never made it to print when I developed those films, and the term “focus” does not really apply.  In three cases, I used Microsoft’s Image Composite Editor to stitch together multiple photos into a single panorama.

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The two most visible cathedrals of Lyon, France

Computer video has come quite some distance since 1994.  I originally recorded the video on an analog Sharp “Video8” camera.  When I subsequently upgraded to a miniDV camera, I was able to transfer the video from the old camera to a new one via an S-video cable; this process recorded the video in a digital format on the new tape.  I was able to transfer that digital video without loss to a desktop computer with a FireWire card.  To deinterlace and compress the section of video I’ve posted to YouTube, I used the “yadif” filter of FFMPEG:

ffmpeg.exe -ss 00:00:09 -i input.avi -vf yadif -t 00:45:05 -c:v libx264 -preset slow output.mov

With those comments in place, I hope you enjoy reading the journal, a project 23 years in the making!

Prague: off the beaten track in Vyšehrad

An index to the Prague series appears on the first post.

For my final full day in Prague, I opted for a hike to the top of Vyšehrad, a hill castle guarding the south river approach to Prague.  This area is considerably less visited by tourists than is true of the Old Town or the castle (Pražský hrad).  I was unsure what to expect, but I felt sure that my legs would appreciate one last stretch before the train and flight back home to South Africa!

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I loved these bright colors.

My stroll took me through some of the key historical buildings of the New Town.  I have already shared a photo of the New Town Hall, but I am sure I have not mentioned the delightful orange and white building next door to the Saint Stephen (Svatý Štěpán) church (built when New Town was new).  Just to the west, I encountered the large public park in front of New Town Hall.  I headed south to encounter the substantial Church of St. Ignatius (Kostel svatého Ignáce).  As I stepped into the vestibule, I encountered a homeless person, asking for change.  Since I had no Czech currency left other than some minor change, he was disappointed, and he responded with a phrase I recognized from reading spy novels (loosely translated “oh my god!”).  In the image below, I have shown the interior of St. Ignatius at the left.

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Two Prague churches: St. Igantius (left) and the Benedictine Emmaus Monastery (right)

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Who doesn’t need stillness from time to time?

It is plain that the church on the right places a much lower value on decoration!  As you might have anticipated from the photo caption, the next site I visited was the Emmaus Monastery.  I had not seen any tourist literature directing me to the place, but a helpful sign directed me to the entrance.  The friendly docent refused to let me pay the full adult admission and insisted on student admission instead (which was handy, since I only had a little pocket change).

I walked through the door into nearly total silence.  The square cloister was very peaceful, receiving only indirect light from the enclosed courtyard.  The pamphlet I had received at the entrance gave a helpful map explaining the art in each alcove.  The images were very old, dating from the creation of the abbey by Charles the IV in 1347, and the monastery had suffered bomb damage during World War II.  Restoration on the art has not yet returned its former glory.

I was strongly moved by the peace of the cloister.  After a quick look at the nave I included in the comparison above, I paused at the corner of the cloister for just a moment.  I sang a song for my friends back in Nashville.  The reverberations were very comforting.  I continued on to a small chapel that I had missed on my initial walk.  I was astonished to see the image of a spear head that I had last seen in Warsaw!  This chapel had once featured sacred relics believed to be from the Crucifixion, specifically nails from the cross and the spear that had pierced Jesus.  The art in this small chapel has been restored to a much greater extent than in the cloister outside.

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A refurbished chapel in the Emmaus Monastery

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This massive gateway dates from 1841.

Having spent some time with the transcendent, I was ready for a bit of a slog.  I trudged south along the evocatively named “Na Slupi” in the cold wind.  It seemed to be picking up speed, and a few snow flurries came my way.  I came to a rail underpass that was my route to the Vyšehrad access.  The roads led steeply uphill.  Soon I encountered the massive brick gate (cihelná brána) of the rooftop fortress.  I nearly fell on my backside trying to get a photo; once I stepped away from the roadbed, I was slipping and sliding on ice.

I should explain that Vyšehrad was prominent in the ancient history of Prague and regained standing in medieval times.  The castle atop Vyšehrad was the ducal seat of the Přemyslid dynasty during the 10th century, before Prague Castle was constructed on the opposite side of the Vltava River.  The area’s rebirth came about after the New Town extended to the south in the 1350s.  After the ancient fortress fell into ruin, a new Baroque fortress atop Vyšehrad was established after the Thirty Years’ War, in 1654.

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The church looks pretty great for being nearly a millennium old!

My first stop inside the walls was a visit to the Rotunda of St. Martin.  The rotunda represents an ancient type of church architecture that pre-dates Gothic cathedrals by half a millennium.  St. Martin was constructed during the reign of Vratislaus II, who died in 1092.  The building has been decommissioned and renovated a few times over.  Its walls still contain a Prussian cannon ball from 1757!

I wandered south to the most external gate of the walls, Tabor Gate, originally built in 1655.  The information center was closed when I walked past, and most signs that I observed were in Czech, so I felt somewhat unsure of what I was seeing.  As I followed the walk back north on a bluff to the east side of the Vltava River, though, I was treated to some really lovely views of today’s Prague.  I saw a private boat harbor to the east side of the river, and ice had covered the entirety of its surface.  Soon, though, I came across some ruins.

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Libušina lázeň was a medieval Gothic lookout tower.

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The St. Peter and Paul Basilica

Legends surround this place, as well.  After the warrior Čech settled in this area, his son Krok produced three daughters.  The youngest daughter, Libuše, was famed for her wisdom and prophecies.  She was selected as leader for the land, as a result (and gave her name to the tower shown above).  When people complained that a woman should not lead by herself, she prophesied that her white horse would lead her servants to Prince Přemyslid, who would become her husband.  Soon thereafter, the happy couple launched the first dynasty that ruled Bohemia from Prague.

Even before the creation of the New Town, a church had stood at the crest of Vyšehrad.  The 11th century church was remodeled in the second half of the 14th century and again at the end of the 19th.  St. Peter and Paul has been an important part of Prague history as the political leadership shifted between Vyšehrad and Prague Castle and as religious leadership has shifted among the three principal churches of the city (the others being St. Vitus and Our Lady before Týn).

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Final resting place of one of my favorite composers

The graveyard adjoining St. Peter and Paul came into vogue during the 19th century, and a quick walk through the grounds will show any number of beautiful memorials and tombs.  The classical composers Antonín Dvořák and Bedřich Smetana are both interred there, and I recognized Jan Neruda, a writer and poet, as well.  It seemed strange that this place at the edge of the city would have regained this prominence at such a late date.

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King Wenceslaus looks out on a magnificent view of his city.

I was glad, though, that I could finish my visit to Prague at Vyšehrad.  My final moments of tourism saw me slipping and sliding across the icy hill top.  At last I reached a lovely equestrian statue of St. Wenceslaus.  It dates from 1680, when it was crafted by Bendl for the Prague Horse Market.  This area was subsequently renamed “Wenceslaus Square;” the statue currently standing outside the National Museum was a later replacement.  I think that the dukes, kings, and emperors who have ruled Prague would be delighted if they could see it today.  I know I was!