My day in St. Petersburg wasn't supposed to happen. We have training, you see, required each and every time we sign on to a ship. I do this signing-on thing on a regular basis (unlike those who do so twice a year) so I'm extremely well trained.
This day, I was scheduled for my security training. When said by the Greek officers who lead this training, the word "security" comes out like you have a large amount of milk in the back of your throat. But I digress. The officer in charge called in sick that day and we were only notified as the meeting was supposed to begin. Sudden port time.
I dashed off to change clothes and throw my survival items in my bag: money, sunglasses, cell phone, camera and sketch pad and ran down to the crew welfare office to purchase a shuttle ticket.
St. Petersburg is the city many of us grew up knowing as Leningrad. Russia is still not as obliging as any of the other ports, and ship personnel are required to either have a visa from their country, a Seaman's Book, or a paid shuttle ticket, €8 (about $10). The ticket generates a bit of revenue, I suppose, and we're required to return by the same shuttle later in the day or pay a $50 fine and have our visiting privileges revoked.
Seemed okay to me. I had run from the room so quickly, I didn't bring the tour book I'd gotten cheaply online before I left home, but, says I, "eh, I'll go to a tourist info booth and pick up a map. I'm sure there are signs pointing out what I want to see . . ." That is how it works in all the other ports, after all.
From the shuttle bus window,
I was seeing signs like these. Yaca means hours, maybe?
I enjoyed the architecture as we traveled along, improving as we got away from the port area. And the signs in the Cyrillic alphabet, so delightfully meaningless to me.
We were dropped off at St. Isaac's square near the horsey statue with Czar Nicholas riding high.
Here are a couple of details of the giant thing.
Armor above, comrades below:
There was also the grand, golden dome of St. Isaac's cathedral next door, which I was extremely grateful for later in the day. A little foreshadowing? Did I mention there was no information booth at the drop off point? I still thought I had no worries.
At quite a distance, I could see the puffy spires of some famous Russian landmark and headed off blindly in that general direction. Walking at a good clip, after several blocks I realized I couldn't see them anymore, but they had to be out there somewhere.
I did walk past the sign below:
And some lovely doorways. I have a thing for doorways.
I stopped several people along the way, none spoke any English what-so-ever. I usually have pretty good luck with older people being patient with a hapless tourist. Not here. I tried to trace out the oh-so-familiar shape of the spires I was seeking with my fingers in the air, but they brushed me aside with a hand wave.
Not one to give up, I drew the shapes in my sketchbook as best I could under the circumstance showing where I wanted to go and kept asking. I was directed to a couple of bright eyed, well scrubbed teens in "We Can Help You!" tee-shirts. I showed them my drawing and was told enthusiastically to walk back the way I came several blocks, turn thus and so and I'd find what I was looking for. I did so
and again walked past the sign above:
Hmm. One more try. I started asking younger people who laughed at me, but pointed. I followed the breadcrumb trail, past some new, vaguely familiar signs,
until I was pointed toward a walkway beside a canal. I followed along until I could see the magical thing off in the distance.
The name of the place is The Church on Spilled Blood and it was well worth the effort it took to find it. For more photos of the church than you probably want to see, you can click on the image.
It is a wonder to behold. Intricate detailing everywhere.
I stood in the lush, green park next door, enjoying a different angle, when I was suddenly overrun by dozens of nicely dressed people. I believe the two over-dressed ones to the left, followed by their cameraman were about to be married in the shadow of the church. Not sure how auspicious that would be, tying the knot at a place with a name like Church On Spilled Blood, but at least it was really pretty that day, as were they.
Next
to the church was a little outdoor market where I found the people who spoke the
best English. They also spoke Ruble, Euro and US Dollar and offered
all-you-can-eat Matrushka dolls.
I fear I spent a bit of time there, found the stand of an art photographer who liked shooting amusingly ancient Russian women ~ one of those photos is hanging on my cabin wall right now. I like to support local artists.
I headed back to the shuttle pick-up spot with plenty of time, walking unknowingly for the third time a block away from The Hermitage which I dearly wanted to see. Sorry, Tim, I'll have to water your plants on my next go-round. I'll bring my map.
I did spot the Admiralty, another massive, gold, pointy topped spire I won't use anymore bandwidth on, and easily found the golden dome again with half an hour to spare. Good thing I was early, the shuttle driver picked up those of us who were waiting and drove off an easy 5 minutes before the scheduled time. I haven't checked, but don't think we're missing anybody . . .