Last Night A Big Mac Saved My Life: St. Petersburg

Here's a tip if you find yourself preparing for a trip to a part of the world you know little about.  Read enough to be smartly informed, but not so much as to scare yourself into paranoia.

Such was my mistake in Russia.

I was so excited for this visit and considered it as an early contender for 'high point' in our year of travel.  With two bucket list items on the agenda, it was a dream destination.  I had spent many hours researching the city and I knew to be cautious, but I definitely wasn't afraid going in.

So you can understand my disappointment and frustration that St. Petersburg would be the site of my first on-the-road meltdown.  Yep, a full blown freak out.  I didn't lose it immediately, however, and it was a combination of things that pecked away until the blow out. 

My excitement and confidence were at their peaks as I stood waiting to depart the ship.  Behind me, a Canadian family with two kids around 7 and 10 were chatting about what they were going to see, and I asked if they were taking the shuttle into the city to which the mother responded they had a personal tour guide picking them up at the terminal.  'You're touring the city on your own?' she questioned, in an incredulous tone.  'Wow, you're braver than I am.'

Brave?  Lady, please!  I've navigated the globe with grit and savvy.  I've dealt with plenty of on-the-road shenanigans- strikes, demonstrations, riot police, food poisoning and countless weirdos, to name a few.  I'm a travel ninja.  Besides, I thought, this is a well-traveled western tourist destination, not Kabul.  But as the door opened into the port, I knew the seed of fear had been planted. 

The seed germinated as I passed through customs.  Now, I certainly did not expect a parade and balloons as I entered the country, but didn't think it would be overly onerous either.  HA, silly American fool!  The officer looked down at my passport photo, then up at me, what seemed to be a dozen times before she proceeded to slowly pore through every page in my passport.  She then repeated this again.  And again.  Then, she began to deliberately photocopy each page of my passport.  After about 20 minutes, which is an eternity in a long line with people glaring at you, she disdainfully slid my passport back at me with one finger.

Wait, I need to photocopy your entire passport

Welcome to Russia!  

Finally outside the terminal, the sky was dark with rain.   A man wearing what can only be described as a 'Russian Gangster Starter Kit' (tight capri jogging pants, leather jacket, newsboy cap) was smoking as he leaned against the front of a run-down van with a cracked windshield.  The side of the van read 'City Shuttle' in English.  I approached him for the following riveting conversation.

• 'Excuse me,' I said, smiling.  'Is this the St. Peter Line shuttle?'
• 'Where you go,' he questioned as he looked at us with suspicion.  
• 'Um, St. Isaac's Square,' I said as I held out my tour ticket.  

He didn't look at my ticket.  He looked at me, stone-faced and paused.  'Get in,' he finally said with a hint of menace while motioning to the van with his thumb.  

Perry and I boarded the empty van and sat with our heavy packs on our laps.   We are getting pretty good at speaking without words and looked at each other silently while communicating 'Is this guy for real or is this the van headed for Siberia?'  

The remaining passengers somberly entered the van, reinforcing the 'trip to the Gulag' atmosphere.  No one was speaking.  Half the curtains on the van were pulled, which obstructed my view, but I could see we were driving through some very rough and deserted neighborhoods.  Traffic began to thicken as we crossed the River Neva into the main city, and while I could see some of the famous sites poking up in the skyline, I was struck by how grimy everything is, like the city is covered in a film.  There is definitely a push for renovations, with plenty of scaffolding up, but a severe recession has slowed improvements needed to many of the city's buildings.  Yes, you could say the city is full of character, but overall, 'spiffy' will not be in the descriptive vernacular of St. Petersburg anytime soon.

My enthusiasm was still in good supply when the van stopped in front of St. Isaac's Square.  St. Isaac's Cathedral is an imposing Orthodox church with a dome that reminded me of the US Capitol and it turns out that indeed, St. Isaac's design not only influenced the US Capitol, but also the Wisconsin State Capitol in Madison and Helsinki Cathedral.  However, there was no time to ponder or take a picture as it was starting to rain.  We knew that our hotel was a bit of a haul and our plan was to walk until we found an ATM, so we could confidently sit in a cafe (where cash is always accepted) and wait out the rain.  

That first walk down Nevsky Prospect was something I will not forget-- but not in a good way.  There was something about the combination of dour faces, harsh tones of the language and faded buildings that chipped off a large chunk of my initial excitement.  In eloquent terms, it was a major bummer.

Pushkin, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy.  Speaking of language, how is it that some of the most inspiring literature and beautiful prose ever written has come from a land where the words sound so unbelievably angry?

Leo Tolstoy

We finally stopped at a crowded bank lobby to use the ATM (complete with gestapo-style security) and withdrew the largest amount we could, 3000 rubles, hoping I wouldn't have to go through this exercise again.  It was only when we walked out did my mental currency conversion reveal the amount to be a highly inadequate $45.

Nothing in Russia was going to be easy.

After we dropped our bags at the hotel, I had one destination in mind- Winter Palace / the Hermitage Museum.  It's been a dream to visit the home of the Tsars as I'm a bit of a Russian monarchy buff.  

The original St. Petersburg badass, Catherine the Great

I had read that the lines to get into the Hermitage were long and the museum itself very crowded, so I was pleasantly surprised when we got behind one other person at the ticket office and breezed right in.  I was convinced the short wait meant the museum wasn't busy, but that was wishful thinking.  It was an absolute crush of people, mostly with iPads and GoPros held above their heads recording every bloody inch of the place instead of actually looking at it with their own eyes.  Instantly irritated, it became a game for us to weave in and out of galleries, backtracking when necessary, just to avoid a crowded room.  We were lucky enough to find peace and quiet in a few unpopular rooms where I sat down and savored the visual delights as best I could.  It took every ounce of mental energy to focus on what I was seeing and block out the noise, but eventually, I was worn out from being pushed around by tour groups and we left after two measly hours.  

Not exactly the dream I imagined [sigh].

Outside, we breathed easy, thinking the pushy madness was behind us, but soon a new obstacle emerged- aggressive canal boat ticket sellers.  Usually a polite smile and shake of the head works, but not for these guys.  They follow you until you give them a firm and loud, nyet!  Initially, I thought we would take a canal boat tour, but the pushiness of the ticket sellers turned me off so badly, I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of believing that such tactics work.  Immature, I know.

That night, I mused on my first day observations.  After a couple of weeks in Scandinavia, Russia definitely looked and felt unbelievably foreign by comparison, with a harsh edge that didn't allow me to relax outside our hotel room.  Mostly, I noticed that when Perry and I spoke to each other on the street, we would catch looks that in most foreign cities would be characterized as curious, but in St. Petersburg appeared stern and/or pissy.

But was it real or just in my head?  In the US, the Cold War taught us that Russia is a dangerous place.  Russians seem to be the stereotypical villains in so many movies- Rocky IV, Air Force One and Goldeneye to name a few.  Yet, long after the fall of communism, Russia vs USA is still a popular theme, such as the recent WWE story line of Rusev, a Russophillc, anti-American character.  As a result, just being in Russia feels forbidden or at the very least, a bit naughty.

[He is actually Bulgarian, but most wrestling fans wouldn't know the difference]

After a good night's sleep, I regained my enthusiasm and enjoyed a morning of sightseeing, taking in such marvels as the Russian Museum, Mikhailovsky Gardens and the Church of the Savior of Spilled Blood, where the ticket seller actually smiled at me!

Afterwards, we stopped for tea and cake at Yeliseev's Food Hall, an impossibly pretty department store and cafe with red velvet couches, elaborately gilded walls and a grand piano playing classical music.  It felt like being inside a music box.  

Heavenly Yeliseev's Food Hall

As we walked back to our hotel, the disappointment of Day One evaporated.  Maybe Russia wasn't so bad after all?!   And things were about to get better as we still had tickets to the ballet that night.

But just as I was beginning to get all warm and fuzzy, I noticed two soldiers in blue camouflage pull a man to the side for a 'random' passport check.  When I first noticed the heavy presence of police stationed along Nevsky Prospect, I was oddly relieved, which then turned to puzzlement as to why they wore so many different outfits.  Some were dressed in military uniforms of solid green or blue and others donned the not-very-camouflaging blue camo, but all wore thick boots and carried big guns.

The men in blue

Back at the hotel, I had time to spare before our evening out, so I went online to investigate.  What started as a search on Russian police uniforms, turned into articles about random passport checks (actually not so random, with racial profiling and bribes the main motivation) and then further articles about St. Petersburg's history as crime capital of Russia.  

What was it that I said in my opening statement?  Oh yes, digging up the dark side during a visit to a new city is a bad idea.  As we headed out for our night on the town, I had these gems swirling in my head, courtesy of the US State Department.

• Surveillance and data monitoring

As a result, travelers should assume communications are monitored and should have no expectation of privacy.  Visitors should assume that host government personnel could monitor their movements and conversations. Discretion should be exercised at all times and in all places.

• Police detention

Police do not need to show probable cause in order to stop, question, or detain individuals. Persons stopped by police for routine identification checks should remain courteous in dealing with officers and be respectful.

• Anti-American/Western sentiment

Visitors should be aware that speaking English or wearing clothing or items that clearly identify them as U.S. citizens may subject them to additional attention from local residents.

To recap, no Putin jokes on Facebook, if stopped by the police, don't ask if this is retaliation over Drago getting beat in Rocky IV, and try to leave your 'these colors don't run' shirt at home. 

Red, white and blue doesn't run? Good news for Russia, Serbia, France, Slovakia, Netherlands, Laos, Costa Rica, Thailand, Slovenia, Paraguay, Luxembourg, etc...

I didn't have much time to think about it as I had to go to the ballet, dahling.  Due to the distance to Mariinsky, we had decided to take a taxi there and a combination of walking and metro to get back afterwards.

Spartacus & Phrygia

The Mariinsky Ballet, still better known by its former Soviet name the Kirov Ballet, lived up to its reputation as being one of the best in the world.  I was in awe of the physicality of the performers, the world class orchestra and the stunning environs of the Mariinsky Theater.  We saw Spartacus and I've attached a couple of clips (from YouTube) here and here.  I was still in a swoon when we left the theater and wasn't paying close attention to the route we were taking to the metro.  We were chatting away when suddenly, it was dark and the crowds had disappeared.  After a frosty glance from a passerby, I remembered the comment online about speaking English and drawing 'additional attention'.

Perry had been asking me questions about the various acts in the performance and became perplexed when I stopped responding.  He started to ask what was wrong, but I cut him off.  'Let's not talk,' I said as I began to speed walk. 

He tried to reassure me.  'Are you scared?  Because there are people all around, and even plenty of women walking by themselves!'

You know when you are angry, and you know you are being ridiculous, which then makes you even angrier?  Well, that was me.  By the time we exited the metro station, I had allowed my fears to snowball until I made myself so upset, I couldn't think.  Then, I saw those golden arches.

I know everyone says this, but I don't visit McDonald's very often.  Which is strange because that place is still raking it in, so if no one is going, I can't figure out how they stay in business.   Anyway, when I do, it's a cheeseburger for me.  I can say with certainty, that I had not ordered a Big Mac in over 20 years.  

Nothing transcends the language barrier like the Value Menu

But at that moment, it was exactly what I wanted.  I suddenly realized I wasn't scared, I was hungry and tired of feeling like I had to remain silent.  I walked right up to that counter and loudly requested 'Big Mac, please!'  Oh, what the hell, I thought.  'And fries and a Coke.'  No pissy look, no confusion, no judgment.  I took my tray of American goodness to a corner and as I devoured it, I felt myself return to normal.  A classy end to our night at the ballet.

We left the following day, which is too bad, because after that Big Mac, I felt strangely at home.  I didn't care how anyone looked at me when I spoke.  The Russians did get the last laugh, however.  I had the same officer stamp me out at the customs exit, which turned out to be a repeat of my entry, except it took longer.  I mean, I'm leaving, what exactly is the point of this except to let me know not to let the door hit me in the rear on the way out?

I took it in stride though, I still had special sauce coursing through my veins.  

Photo essay via my Facebook page

Thanks for reading!  Next time on Gobsmacked:

Estonia, Land of 10,000 Cheesecakes

Rough & Ready(?) Helsinki

When I posted a recap of Stockholm recently, I communicated the desire to get beyond stereotypes which is a lazy way of grouping people into a tidy collective instead of looking at humans as the individuals they are.  So as I started my write up of Helsinki, I was shocked to see the following sentence staring back at me.

I’m not surprised that Finland is known for great hockey players.  After our visit to Helsinki, I've seen the rough and ready attitude comes naturally.

<cringe> 

Ashamed, I stopped to ponder this further.  How was this my prevailing sentiment after our four day visit?

Did our AirBnB host Teemu fit this description?  No, in fact he was a refined young professional.  And what about the lovely young women that served us lunch every day at the Market Square food tents?  No hint of roughness there, either.

So even though I know better, why did I do it?

It's a combination of excuses, er, factors.  First, we came directly from Stockholm and though it's not fair to compare them, I did it anyway.  In contrast to Stockholm, Helsinki's rocky landscape can best be described as rugged and at times, handsome, but not conventionally beautiful.  Architecturally, there are a few Art Nouveau buildings (mostly lining Senate Square) but overall Helsinki is quite austere with many areas of Soviet influenced architecture that served as stand-ins for Russia in a few 80's movies before western filmmakers were allowed in.  Unlike the blockbuster museums of Stockholm, there are far fewer 'big draw' tourist attractions- one of the biggest being a church built into the rock.

So rougher than the typical Northern European capital.

The Rock Church

The second factor would be my actual encounters with Finns.  We spent time on four cruises either arriving or departing Helsinki and I can confirm the rowdiest people on the boat were Finnish.  I also spent four days walking the streets, and think I'm being fair when I say there are more bearded, tattooed, motorcycle gang types here than the rest of Scandinavia.  Not bearded, tattooed hipster types.  Those dudes have coiffed hair whereas the average Helsinki guy wouldn't be caught dead using hair product.  

Kind of rough.

While I can't say I love the look, I do appreciate that there is no pretense with the Finns.   They know their reputation as the unrefined cousin of Scandinavia and seem to relish it.   Even the women have the no-nonsense attitude as I found in the upscale department store Stockmann.  I was looking for some eye cream and the saleswoman made this decidedly straightforward statement, ‘I have three types- this one is no good, this one is expensive and this one is a good enough.'

Apparently, the Finnish are disparaged not just in Scandinavia, but in the Baltics as well.  Norway and Sweden have set aside their differences to unify in their mutual snootiness against Finland, but the Estonians have a legit beef.  Turns out there are multiple two-hour ferry rides between Helsinki and Tallinn, with the majority of passengers being Finns who loudly party on their way over, buy as much booze in the Tallinn ferry terminal liquor store as they can carry, then turn around and party back to Helsinki.  70%* don’t even set foot on land.

Definitely rough.

Ok, so Helsinki isn't supermodel-beautiful or flashy or filled with cultural delights, but that doesn't mean we didn't have a great time.  We just had to work a little harder.

Without the pressure to 'see something', we simply enjoyed the rocky splendor of their waterfront parks with several long, relaxing walks.

It was too warm to do a traditional sauna, so we took a day trip to the historic fortress on Suomenlinna Island.  

View from Suomenlinna Fortress

Bunkers on Suomenlinna 

We visited a couple of well-known sites like the Sibelius monument and Cathedral.  

Sibelius Monument

Helsinki Cathedral

We bummed around the downtown area, visited all of their malls and sampled Karl Fazer chocolates.  

And while we didn't visit any dynamo restaurants, that doesn't mean we didn't eat well.  We found great food at the Market Square food stalls, including hefty platters of reindeer meatballs or grilled salmon with potatoes and veg as well as huge bowls of salmon soup.   Not only were these meals filling and delicious, they were relatively healthy and CHEAP, like 8-10 euros, which after outrageously expensive Stockholm, was a welcome change.

Reindeer meatballs and sausage at Market Square

Salmon Soup at Market Square

So yes, Helsinki is a bit rough around the edges, but it's honest, and we found it to be a pleasant enough place to spend a few days.

And just like the eye cream I bought at Stockmanns', it's good enough.

*According to the informed but unscientific observation of our Estonian friend Joonas.

Things I'm Getting Used To: Part II

Greetings from Tallinn, Estonia, a small, but tech savvy country where Skype was invented and school children learn programming in the first grade.

After a mentally taxing trip to St. Petersburg, I'm thrilled to be here.  We've been blown away by the beauty of the Old Town, the foodie culture (at non-foodie prices) and exceptionally friendly people.  So far, the only negative is that we were awakened once at 3 am by the drunken patrons of Kismiss, Azerbaijani Restaurant & Disco.  I believe they were speaking Russian, but since the language sounds unbelievably angry to my ears (lots of harsh 'sh' sounds), I couldn't tell if a fight was breaking out or if the person was drunkenly repeating 'I love you guys' over and over again.

The heavy duty walking continues, with our year-to-date high being 15 miles (30,000 steps) during one monster day in St. Petersburg, but while my food consumption and walking have been in good ratio, Estonia might blow it for me.  Coinciding with our plan for a bit of down time (less touring) would be my discovery of kohuke: individually wrapped cheesecakes.  One of very few truly authentic Estonian foods (they have been occupied by Sweden, Russia and Germany and have integrated many of those countries' food traditions), these things are everywhere and cheap, too, like 25 euro cents each.  

Individual.  Cheesecakes.

My pants are crying out for mercy.

And now, more random thoughts from the road with the latest installment of Things I'm Getting Used To

The Kindness of Strangers

We had heard about these 'magic moments' of travel with locals, but it's not like we were combing the streets looking for them.  Until Estonia, we have had fun interactions with locals, but nothing I'd consider magical.

• Drinking beer with Arild and Philip in Norway while they built an IKEA shelf and made disparaging comments about the Finnish
• Discussing the NBA with Frederick and Michael in a British pub in Stockholm
• Helping Tero, a Finn, practice his English while listening to a story about his trip to Germany where he drank apple wine and listened to an organ grinder.  PS.  The Finns have a specific word for organ grinder but he couldn't translate it into English so he walked around the Helsinki ferry terminal asking anyone if they knew the translation.  At last, a kindly babushka came over with the words written on a piece of paper.  How a Russian grandma had this information, we'll never know.

Knows 'organ grinder' in Finnish and English

But the most memorable experience thus far has occurred in Tallinn.

Perry is a long-time practitioner of Brazilian jiu-jitsu (BJJ) and over the years has attended classes in different parts of the world while traveling, which he has found to be a great way to connect with local people.  It can be intimidating, especially where they speak a different language, but with his easy going personality and the generally welcoming BJJ community, he has always had great experiences.  He found a place he wanted to try in Estonia and when he returned that night, he conveyed how nice everyone was and that he was going back the next day for a daytime class.  

Meanwhile, I was trying to figure out a way to get a reservation at Rataskaevu 16, the number one rated restaurant on Trip Advisor.  I don't always select restaurants this way, but the reviews were just so rapturous, I had to experience it for myself.  I had stopped in personally once and called twice and was told they were fully booked every time.  

So you can imagine my shock when I got a text from Perry advising me to meet him at Rataskaevu 16 at 3 pm.  He was cordially invited to lunch after his training session by a guy who works 'at a restaurant in the Old Town.'  Turns out this restaurant was indeed the one that was seemingly impossible to get into, Rataskaevu 16!

I'll cut to the chase.  It couldn't have been more magical if I had been served by Penn & Teller.  These folks are doing something really special here with simple food expertly prepared and beautifully presented.  But it's the service that really sets them apart as the servers truly care about what they are doing and speak with such affection, I don't even think my grandmother made me feel as loved at the table.

What made the experience especially meaningful, however, were the people we dined with.  We traded stories and laughs with the Estonian BJJ guys for over three hours. We learned what it was like growing up in the Soviet era and heard some inside jokes about Latvians.  It's been a long time since I've had such stimulating dinner conversation only to be outdone by the food we were eating.  We had a multi-course meal that was out of this world...and we paid nowhere near what it was worth.  

This alone was generous enough, but our host then gave us a list of insider tips for places to visit the next day and also invited us back for dinner the following night, where he personally served us yet another gastronomic experience complete with local digestifs of sea buckthorn and Vana Tallinn.  

Sea Buckthorn juice

I tell this story not to boast, but only to illustrate how the kindness of strangers makes the world a beautiful place.  Someday soon, I vow to make a foreign person feel as welcome in the USA as we were made welcome in Estonia.

Love Means Never Having to Say Your Gray is Showing

In the name of saving money, Perry has reluctantly agreed to help touch up my roots with box color.  It turns out that his attention to detail and natural artistic talent lend themselves perfectly to the task of painting my head.  Love that guy.

Food Shopping Shenanigans

You would think that after 25 years of grocery shopping (and cooking) for myself, it would be like second nature.  But for some reason, the first time I enter a new store, my brain encounters some sort of paralysis where I can't remember the ingredients for a grilled cheese sandwich.

Just like driving on autopilot where you suddenly realize you can’t remember the last 5 minutes, you don't realize how the mind shops on autopilot.  In the cart it goes:  bananas, carrots, bread, milk, etc, etc.  You know the aisles, you know when your ketchup is on special, you know where to find the individual Haagen-Dazs bars that can be eaten in the car and evidence hidden before you get home.  

So when I actually have to think about what to buy, the paralysis sets in.

Um, where's the half and half?

So far, it's happened in every country and every store.  It starts out fun.  Oh, look at this.  Hello, what is THAT?  And so on.  But at some point, you look in your basket and there is only coffee and chocolate.   Nothing that spells out a meal.

Then there is cooking in a foreign kitchen.

If you have ever had to cook in a different kitchen from your own, you might have encountered a bit of difficulty in deciding what to make.  Are the proper spices in the cupboard?  Is there a peeler for the carrots?  Is there a colander to drain the pasta?

Because of this, you aren’t going to write your grocery list the same way.  At home, you look in the fridge and cupboard before writing down supplemental ingredients, or maybe you holler ‘What do you want to eat tonight?’, adding whatever the other person responds with.  In someone else's kitchen though, you can throw the list out the door.

Consequently, my current on-the-road cooking repertoire is uber-simple and reminiscent of my early post-college attempts.  You have money for something more than ramen, but lack the experience and kitchen accoutrements to make something really good.  Chicken stir fry.  Pasta and canned tomato sauce.  Frozen veg and jar of curry.  The most gourmet thing I've made so far is caprese salad.  

Perry is a champ though and eats whatever I make without complaints.  Love that guy.

Being Underdressed for Everything

If you know me, you know I like clothes and dressing up such that I often tend to be overdressed.  I knew going into the trip that I would have to set aside those ways and embrace a new casual side of me.  Neat and tidy, but definitely function over fashion.  

I was fine until we hit Russia.  I had heard that Russian women dress up for everything, which is part of their reputation for beauty.  It's true, and the women in heels particularly astounded me.  Young mothers navigating baby strollers on cobble streets and older women striding along running errands- they were all doing it dressed to the nines and in sky-high heels.  

Prior to Russia, I thought my city joggers, flats and daypack looked traveler-chic.  Now, I'm just a slacker, but Perry never complains.

Love that guy.

Next time on Gobsmacked...

Rough & Ready Helsinki