In response to thousands of requests, ** I have been persuaded to write a further series of newsletters, I am going to try not to be a tittle-goose (A foolish blab). It will not surprise those of you that have subscribed to these newsletters before that they, once again, coincide with a bit of a trip away.
** Well, one actually from Janice, that trusty person who keeps my accounts in timely order.
The trip
I leave these shores on Tuesday May 15th for Singapore. I plan to spend a day and am at present herbrowles # .
I want to look for some software and then on to Frankfurt. About 30 mins away by train is Wiesbaden where I plan to relax in the baths – spas and saunas. After Germany it’s off to St Petersburg. More about the rest of the trip later, but for now.
# Without lodging
Go to your friendly travel agent – they are there to help – or are they.
Those of you that know me will by now realise that I like things to be organised in advance, for me there is no such thing as an impromptu holiday. Well that is not quite true, Judy and I did have an impromptu weekend away a few months ago, that only took about a week to organise. For the last few trips away I have enlisted the help of Ann at the Travel Centre in Bondi Junction. She has that ability to make one feel that you are the only customer she has, a very much appreciated skill. For the 8 days in St Petersburg, I chose a bed and breakfast package from the Russian Travel Centre in the city centre (Sydney – for the overseas subscribers). I went to pick up the vouchers from their office last week. First let me point out, that now the printed itinerary was finally right, it had taken 3 tries with mistakes in the location of the flat where I was staying and the number of nights etc. I had just had the itinerary explained to me, arriving on Sunday evening and staying in a flat in the heart of St Petersburg for bed and breakfast. I asked if there were Visa ATM’s to get some Roubles (They are not available outside Russia). The conversation was as follows:
The agent said, “Why don’t you go to the bank at the airport?”
Barry, “Will it be open on Sunday evening?”
The agent “No, not Sunday evening, Why don’t you get them at your hotel?”
Barry “Because you have booked me into a bed and breakfast”
The agent, “Oh! yes, maybe, Oleg – the Russia agent – (not KGB – I hope) will lend you some money”
Barry “Are there any shops or restaurants which are close enough to walk to from the flat?”
The agent, “There are shops and restaurants in St. Petersburg”
Barry “Are any close to the flat,?”
The agent “I don’t know, I have only been to St Petersburg for a short stay”
At this point, I went back to work.
Public service announcement.
“Leaving your windows open and playing music loud will annoy your neighbours”
another good way is to set fire to their rubbish bin!
Would you?
If you were called Walter Mattaschankayasky and wanted to get into films, would you change your name to Walter Mattau? Also, I don’t think that Issur Danielovitch Demsky rolls off the tongue quite as well as Kirk Douglas.
Isn’t the Internet fun – when it works
I won’t bore you with the whole story, it is rather painful to relate. Enough to say that on Friday night our Cable modem karked it (broke down) or so we thought. After 4 phone calls to our supplier Telstra I was persuaded to buy a new modem. The old one was 3 and a half years old. I signed up today – the new one was to take 3 weeks to be delivered and installed. I, therefore, rushed out and signed up for a regular telephone internet service with my phone provider One-Tel. This took about 2 hours and a couple of phone calls to set-up. I just got it working a few moments ago (9pm Monday evening) and just logged on for the first time. I cast a glance at the Cable modem and guess what – yes! it was right as rain. In fact that seems to be the problem – Telstra said they have had some problems due to the rain and this is probably what caused my intermittent fault. I have a better theory – modems send each other signals and gang up on humans. All those flashing lights who knows what is going on between them. I have moved them further apart in the hope that this kind of thing won’t happen again.
By the way
If any of you happen to pass my Mum at 83 Meadow Rd, I know she would appreciate a copy of this newsletter. Many Thanks.
Perception
Perception is a strange thing and different people perceive the same situation in different ways.
Take, for example, my perception of boarding the airplane. I was convinced that I was actually walking to Singapore. I walked for miles, well the full length of the 747-400 anyway. At one point I asked a flight steward if that was the case, he assured me the end of the plane was just past the next set of loos. He was right, my walk was over at row 65.
My perception of life changed again when we had been taxing along the airport apron for 20 minutes. I thought we were going to drive overland to Singapore. Well, those of you that know “geography” will realise that the last bit (Darwin to Singapore) would be by boat. You will be pleased to know that round about Wollongong, we turned round and fly off.
What to do to pass the last couple of hours before going to the airport – 2 helpful hints (You may like to note these done for future reference)
1 Phone and check your travel insurance policy. This should increase your stress level about 4 fold. I thought this was necessary as I have extended the trip and last week sent an extra $47 to cover the extra days. I learnt that the insurance company did not receive the cheque.
This is a good a moment as any to panic. I got a good grip of myself, with the aid of a stiff lemon squash. I wrote out a new cheque and planned to post it on the way to the airport. That should cause the other cheque to materialise and cause all sorts of confusion in the insurance co.
2 This chaos was being acted out while I was making some LMPs (Lemon Meringue Pies). You see, this to me is a form of relaxation, so I decided I had an hour to spare so, naturally, I decided to bake. There was also another reason. As I was going away for a few weeks and leaving Judy behind, as everyone knows, if you partner is left alone the next best thing is an LMP.
They did, in the end turn out fine. During the bake there were about four phone calls including one to the insurance co and a job agency with a Project leaders job available. I am not sure what they thought as I either had the whisk or the liquidiser going. When Judy phoned I had to turn it all off and act relaxed as I did not want to spoil the surprise.
I was a bit late leaving for the airport, I paid the taxis extra to “step on the gas” so we made up time. It turned out OK in the end as I was there before the check in gates for the flight had opened and made 3rd in the queue. I was nearly second but I underestimated the speed of an old lady of 70+.
Three occasions when your whole life flashed before you.
1 In the seconds before you are about to get run over by a car
2 Spread on the railway tracks in front of a train.
3 When you drop your only pair of spectacles in the loo on LH6391 – Sydney to Singapore on Monday 15th May over the Timor sea. Luckily the loo had been flushed. The glasses needed extensive washing so the metal bit will now rust and the specs will fall apart.
I offered to try and fix it!
I should first give you a bit of background to this cameo. I travelled on a Singapore airlines plane that is a code share with Lufthansa, hence LH6391 is also SQ222. I am going to Singapore and then the plane goes to Frankfurt. Singapore airlines are noted for their service, courtesy and entertainment system. So there are 25 movies running continuously and they play on a screen fitted into the seat in front of you. Well you might guess, its like Satellite or Cable TV, there might be 37 channels but nothing to watch so you go out and hire a video. Well, as I could not go out and get a video, we were 10 kms (6 miles)+ up in the air. I though I would try the 12 audio channels, they did not work, not a peep. I will skip the bit where the steward reset my seat system 4 times and continue with the fact that she offered to move me. (Further up the plane – this was good as it split up the walk to get off into two parts). I won’t bore you with the rude German next to me who rushed at the last orange juice on the tray! This seat’s audio did not work either so I thanked the steward and we decided that the whole plane must be out.
Being the sort of fellow that I am, I naturally offered to have a look to see if I could fix it. I had, luckily, my Swiss Army knife in the backpack in the overhead locker. (You know a Swiss army knife – mine has a spike for getting boy scouts out of horse’s hoofs)
Well, unfortunately at this point we hit the language barrier. I could not seem to make the steward understand that I would have a look at the system. Anyway, there is a happy ending I managed 3 out of the 25 movies.
Food and Singapore
I left the hotel at 9am in search of breakfast. As I was staying in Little India, I decided to try what little Indians eat. I had a Poor. A poor what you may ask, well a poor is complete as is. It is a vegetarian dish with beans, onions and a light brown thing that looks like one of those fish in the Great Barrier Reef (Stone fish?) They blow themselves up into a kind of football. It turned out to be a kind of puff bread. All eaten with the fingers.
Next, to the market, to buy some fruit. I bought some Lychee and red hairy balls (I don’t think that is there real name). When this goes up on the web site I will include a picture and you can name them for yourself.
PS I passed on the fresh goat – well it was only 9.30am.
It’s not natural.
Well, it isn’t is it. Just consider, to sit in a comfortable (ish) seat, watching the news (in German) and listening to Beethoven’s 5th (what else on Lufthansa), 9 kms above the ground drinking a Vodka and tonic and reading a novel about a stricken airliner (747-400) like this, waiting for dinner. It is either 7:50 pm yesterday or 00:50 tomorrow, depending upon whether you ask a Frankfurter ( Yes, that is what they are really called) or a Singaporean. By the way, I have virtually nothing in my suitcase and it weighs 25.1 kgs (Eng: 60 lbs). We are in the Straits of Malacca just above Georgetown. (or we would be if we had gone by road).
I can’t see the nametag clearly of the steward in our section, but if I tell she looks like a Brunhilde you will get the picture. She is 6 foot 7 inches tall and about 14 kgs (Eng:21stone), she bears down on you menacingly. I bet all our section eats our dinner up for fear of being told to stay on the plane until we do. Is anyone there – Help.
The Catering.
Judy must have a secret life as a catering advisor to Lufthansa. I have about 2 and a half kilos (Eng 5lbs) of Broccoli on my plate and not a pea to be seen. NB We are now over Phuket – Thailand.
German precision.
It has let us down as we 50 mins late leaving Singapore. The captain announced (this is true) “We are being held up because the company has asked me to wait for some connecting passengers”. He promised to go like a bat out of a hot place to get top Frankfurt on time. Only Lufthansa would bother to try to get to Frankfurt on time at 5:45am when it is predicted to be 5 deg C (Eng: Really cold)
An Australian would land when the pubs had opened.
A Frenchman would divert to St Tropez.
An Englishman would ask everyone when they would like to land so as to “play the game”
(Brunhilde is back – God she frightens me)
An Italian would wait until there was a new government. (59 since 1946)
A Japanese would hold endless meetings about how we should land but eventually have to stay up in the air as no one has the money to pay the landing fees. (The national best is 130% of GDP, Australia is 5%)
By the way
I think someone in Lufthansa has read the last newsletter as I am sat in Row 30 (4 rows behind silver service in Business class – their food smells good). The drink is taking over I am falling asleep
How lucky can you get.
I have just had a shower before breakfast. I guess I was in the right place at the right time. Sadly, though, it was a cold shower, ice cold to be precise. The attendant was practicing for the trolley pushers grand prix and rammed into the bulkhead behind my seat. She split iced water over bits of me, and, yes you guessed it, Brunhilde was the culprit. I got profuse apologies and I survived. I must say I nearly cracked at the end, Brunhilde smiled at me, very unnerving.
I actually got some sleep last night. A miracle for me in a plane. I even missed the end of the first film, I don’t think anyone noticed. I hope I don’t have to stay after all the others have gone, to see how it ended because I fell asleep.
At leisure in Wiesbaden.
It is 5:30 pm on Thursday and I am still awake. I am not sure what time my body thinks it is but I know if I blink slowly I may be asleep for 10 hours.
We arrived 20 mins late this morning, to a rainy Frankfurt day. The airport was controlled chaos (is there such a thing?). A number of Lufthansa pilots were out on strike for more pay. I was a bit concerned as I fly to St Petersburg on Sunday. I asked at an information desk how long the strike was thought to last. I got a very frosty reply that the pilots only strike on Thursdays as so as not to cause too much disruption. Very organised I thought.
Wiesbaden is a very beautiful city, made up of substantial old buildings. I have mapped out the next two days. Tomorrow (Friday) is the Kaiser-Frederisch (Irish-Roman) bath. I am not quite sure how the Irish got into the act.
Saturday is a day for the Thermal baths. The styles are similar but different. In the Kaiser baths there are:
Thermal hip bath, Lumenarium, Frigidarium, Stone Steam bath, Russian Steam bath, Sudatorium, Tepidarium, Lavarium,Quellen bath, Sanarium, Tropical sleet and a Finnish sauna. (Aren’t you glad you asked). My Mum will be so pround of me, after 4 hours of these various baths I will be as clean as the day she last gave me a bath.
How decadent can a fellow get?
When I checked in to the hotel earlier in the afternoon I took a bath (What else in Wiesbaden?) I read my paperback and ate some strawberries (they are in season at present). I followed this with a stroll to a pavement cafe. I ordered a large beer. Simon, Karen and Matthew know how to order a “large beer” in a foreign country, as I have already shown them. For Everone else, you place your palms facing each other in the horizontal position, they should be about 10 inches apart, now wave them about and shout large beer, large beer. It works every time.
Am I relaxed or what.
I think I sampled all the ‘ariums at the Kaiser-Friederisch baths. I spent not 4 but 5 hours in the baths. I also laid on a beach. Well it was a room full of sand where you lay on a hugh paper towel and they turn on sun lamps that reflect off the ceiling. It was a great experience. The brochure describes it as an invigorating textile free experience You go around in the nuddy (Eng:Altogether)
Did you notice I spelt Friederisch correctly. Yesterday I missed out the first “i” and the assistant in the Internet café leaned over my shoulder to correct me. That has never happened to me before.
How to pass an hour and a half.
Phone home. It went like this, the first major task was to find a phone box that accepted real money and not a phone card. I did eventually.
You see I have a One-Tel card to charge the calls to our phone account in Australia . You have to dial International first then 800 plus some numbers code and a pin number. (That should be a pin as pin number is Personal Identification number number, like ATM machine).
Well every time I did this I got a message saying I was trying to dial the USA . I realised that I was dialling the wrong International access code. I walked back to the hotel to find that I had got it wrong so off I went again. I got through to the Australian system but all the lines (somewhere) were engaged. After 4 tries I got a familiar ringing tone. This was after about and hour and twenty five minutes. The ringing stopped, a familiar voice cam on the phone to say “Judy and Barry can come to the phone right now so please leave your name and number and we will call you back as soon as possible”. Of course, I had forgotten that Judy said she would be out!!
2 ways shorten your life
1 Forget you are in Europe when you cross the road and look the wrong way.
2 Refill your glass with orange juice at breakfast.
I am afraid there may be a break in transmission as I am not sure if there will be an Internet cafe in St Petersburg . Rest assured that, providing something happens to me, you shall hear about it at my earliest convenience.
I used to be undecided but now I am not sure.
I know, however that I am paranoid. I find, in Germany , I wait for the worst to happen, it usually does. For example, this morning I was going down to the ground floor of the hotel, at 5:30am before the reception opens, in a lift with no phone and when it stops the door won’t open. It was probably a security thing to stop people from escaping without paying their bill. Being a resourceful Aussie, I went back up to the first floor and walked down via the stairs to freedom (Well, a waiting taxi anyway). It would have been nice to jump in and say, “Take to the airport fast”. As it turned out to be 65 DM and the train was 6DM. It was “Hauptbahnhof, bitte” in my best Aussie drawl (Eng: Main train station, please mate).
If you need further proof of my healthy paranoid state, here goes. When I was at Kaiser-Friederisch’s bath, I left a bottle of water in an open Perspex locker. I went back to have a drink about 10 minutes later and it was gone. My first thought was that it had been confiscated by the guard. They are disguised at the bath as cleaning ladies. I thought for a fleeting minute to confront one but she did not look as if she would crack under interrogation. After another sauna or two I passed the locker again and, guess what, the bottle had returned. I tasted it and it did not seem to be drugged. I thought that maybe they had decided that they should be lenient on a foreign national.
The real reason became apparent some time later when I discovered that there were two identical lockers next to two identical archways. Paranoia is a wonderful thing.
I told them they should have booked with Ann.
As I was checking in at Frankfurt airport I spotted a mother and daughter with Downtown Duty free bags and a familiar ” Flight Centre ” red and white travel wallet. I said a pleasant “Dobry Dyen” (Eng: Good Day) Anyway it turns out that they had no baggage to check in as it had been lost by their airline. I told them Ann from the Flight Centre at Bondi Junction would not have used an airline that looses luggage. I tried to cheer them up by saying “Look on the bright side, you don’t have to wait at the luggage carousel at the other end”. They both started to cry, well I tried.
Milk this time.
Well, it makes a change from iced water. To be fair the lady in front caught most of it on her cardy. I think it was in retaliation to her asking for decaffeinated coffee.
What a sense of fun.
I think air stewards do it on purpose, they gave out the Russian immigration forms 10 minutes before we were about to land. The whole plane was in panic mode, it would appear. The questions were not hat difficult, things like name, nationality, age, are you a spy. The one that seemed to cause the most trouble was about precious gems, art works etc. Anyone with any sense says “Niet” to all the questions. Not my Germanic travelling companions. People were agonising over the cost of watches, rings – prices were to the nearest DM. On two forms that I saw were gold bars!!! (This is true). Bother, I forgot to pack mine.
One lady did at least 3 forms for her mates. She got told off because she chose to give them back just as we were touching down. The lady next to me (one of the Gold bar set), kept on “Lieber Gott” ing every few minutes. I suppose it German Human nature to fill out official forms with a precision that the rest of the world can only marvel at.
Home stay
I have arrived at the Home stay (Eng: B&B). Oleg met me at the airport in his Chevrolet and delivered me here. You may recall I had occasion to mention that I was told 2 different addresses by that other travel agent. Well, Oleg has brought me to a third different address.
I don’t know the names of the Homestay people (I will dub them Mr. & Mrs. H) Mr. H speaks a little English and understands more written English. Mrs. H has no English. (I known Dobry Dyen – Good Day). Mrs. H knows Chocolate – sensible woman. I gave her a gift when I arrived.
Mr. H is a Professor at a University and specialises in Acoustic Electronics and is involved in space research. They are really lovely people. The second question of mine was “Where would I find an Internet cafe” Mrs. H sprang on to the phone to her daughter and then, it would appear, numerous friends and relatives. They concluded there was one near the Ligovskiy metro station. I looked around for a while and then, with phrase book in hand ventured into a photo shop. A customer who understood Internet cafe and no other English guided me to this cafe. I would never have found it as it does not say anything about the Internet over the door and looks, from the outside, more like a medieval wine cellar. It should be fun finding my way home. Which by the way I had better do.
I am glad I came in late spring, early summer as the weather is 10c and seems 10 below to me. Oleg said it is usually -25c in February!
Well, good bye dear subscribers. Assuming something worthy of note happens in the near future I will document it for you to ponder over. Meanwhile….
Strange But True Stories
Ian Lavric got up from a wheelchair and walked after receiving a blessing from the Pope, but he says it was no miracle. Some nuns at a Vatican audience thought otherwise, but a slightly embarrassed Lavric said from his home in the English Midlands yesterday that he had never been disabled. “I just found an empty wheelchair and sat down in it,” said Lavric. Suddenly a nun wheeled me off,” the Pope entered and “what was I to do?”
A woman passenger survived a fall of three miles from a Soviet airline and then won US$50 compensation for the loss of her baggage.
Tomorrow without pictures.
(I am just typed this first item and it has gone somewhere – who knows where. If you have already received it then here it is again – with more hopefully)
By 7pm , I had done enough exploring for one day and decided it was time for dinner. You realise that when you cannot speak Russian and, a menu consists of mainly 3s and about a dozen letters that you have not seen before, your choice is limited to eating where they show pictures of your meal. I refuse to eat at McDonalds, KFC and Basin Robbins 31 flavours of ice-cream (The last was in Russian) but with temps seemingly near zero that was not my first choice. Well my first choice from the pictures was a salad so I chose Chicken Kiev (It sounded a bit Russian and local) It was under the hot list so I thought I was on to a winner. Well, I am so glad I picked a hot meal, the chicken was hot, it burnt my mouth unfortunately, the peas, sweet corn, cabbage and cucumber was cold. The lettuce was warm. Oh! yes I had a large beer. (Instructions for ordering are in letter #4). It was a local brew called BOYKAPEB. (Maybe that was the town where it was brewed). I wish I knew the Russian for “Beetroot soup” as that looked good. I know my son-in-law is a beetroot man – Greg, any ideas?
I won’t die of thirst.
I can now buy Mineralaya Vada (Eng: Mineral water). That was a major operation that took 10 minutes, finding it in the guidebook etc. etc. The Russians could do with a lesson or two in commerce. They make things really difficult to buy. For example, kiosks near the metro (that sell mineral water), are jam packed with goods, many on show, with their price, so far so good. Where they go wrong is that they serve you through a window at the height of your navel (unless you happen to be a midget – then it is eye-level). This window is closed until you get two inches from it. It is then thrust open and you lean down to converse. The window is about 9″ by 9″, this severely limits the goods that can be sold. I did not see any French bread for example, this would take too long to feed through the window. It seems to be around or below freezing most of the time so maybe there is some logic behind all this. By the way some of the restaurants here close for lunch!
Volodja and Irina Ivanovitch
They are my hosts, Volodja believes that he is much worse off post communism as the currency has been devalued so much (100 times I think). He works at the University and always felt safe under Communism. He has a computer at home but cannot afford to connect to the Internet.
I don’t believe it
For the second time in as many days, I went down Livorsky Prospect instead of Nevsky Prospect. There is a hugh intersection at the War memorial ( Vastanya Square ) and heaps of roads leading off, I took the wrong one. I started getting nervous when I had gone about 1.5 kms from the intersection. I should have seen shops and not factories. I had been down both roads a couple of times so they looked familiar. Anyway, I asked 3 chaps, who spoke no English, and by pointing at the map made them understand where I wanted to go. One befriended me and we caught a tram part of the way back and then we walked for a bit. He was clearly a man after my own heart. He had an animated conversation with the tram conductress over the cost of the trip, the price was settled at 4 Roubles each (Aus: 20 cents and Eng 9 pence). She offered us a ticket which my friend, and so I politely refused. This was treated to much thanks as I think that was the way that she made a living, the 8 roubles when into her pocket and not the St Petersburg transport company’s pocket. I then suggested we get a taxi, at this point I understood he was going by metro in the other direction so I hailed a taxi. My friend would not accept any money so I thanked him via the phrase book.
The moral: Do not leave home without your Koala. I decided this was a 2 Koala and 2 key ring deed. We shook hands and parted best of mates.
I was made of sterner stuff with the taxi driver. He wanted 200 Roubles for the ride, I started to get and the price came down to 150, we haggled and it came down to 120. My feet hurt so I settled on that – it was probably by now only twice the right price. There are two prices for most things, the Russian local and foreigner price.
I arrived at my destination, the Beef Stroganoff Palace, all you can eat for US$8. I have started with Cabbage soup and hoed into Red Caviar, Smoked Salmon and the Stroganoff was good too. I have to pace myself, as there are still 3 main and 4 desserts to go. Did I mention the large beer?
Now I understand
This cafe (palace?) is hailed as the first telephone cafe in Russia . When I sat down I picked a table sans phone. I had already tried (unsuccessfully) to buy a phone card to phone Judy. I though Judy would not appreciate a call at 3am Sydney time. What a silly Aussie Billy I am. Each table has a number suspended above it and the idea is you spot someone you want to talk to and phone their table number.
Travel bits
Today I did a tour of the Peter and Paul Fortress; it was built in 1703 to keep out the Swedes (People not Vegetables). A war which Peter the Great won. Inside the cathedral in the fortress are the graves of the Romanoff Czars. As recently as 1998 scientists have located and identified the remains of Czar Nicholas and Alexandria murdered in the 1917 uprising. Their remains have now been buried here alongside their ancestors back to Peter the Great who founded the city.
It would be a beautiful day if …
It would stop snowing. Some of you may think that I am prone to using a little literary license as I write my journals, you may be right. This is as true as a true thing that is true. I have just looked out of the window at 10:15 am and it is snowing. I am told it is 2 deg C. Volodja says that this is unseasonable weather. He did not say if it is normally colder or warmer that this.
You would drink Vodka too
If you saw the colour of the water in quantities greater than a thimble full. It has a hue that I would call burnt oak. They must not use water in making Vodka as it is a perfectly clear liquid. Maybe I should clean my teeth in Vodka?
I went to the Russian Museum gift shop yesterday. It was very up market and civilised. They offered you a tea, coffee or Vodka upon entry. I thought that as tea and coffee would be made with the local water, I would be safer sticking to the Vodka. I knew that the custom was to drink the Vodka straight down and bang the glass on the table, to a typical Russian cry. I did not disappoint them.
Now I can read Russian.
This may be somewhat of an exaggeration. I recognised “Start” and “Shutdown” on Volodja’s computer – the Russian Microsoft Windows operating system looks just like an English one.
Is it the Russian mentality …
To hide things? Take shops for instance, few, if any, shops are on street level. They are either down in the basement or up on a Mezzanine level. When your only two Russian words are Start and Shutdown you have to peer through the windows to see what is inside. (Not much hope of finding a Start or Shutdown shop that you can recognise) You just pray that you are not peering into someone’s front room.
A classic example was the last Internet cafe. I found out about it by accident. I asked a Sandwich (Bill-board) man for a card as his board was advertising Internet access. I was struggling with my map to find the street address and was just about to give up when I found what I thought was a near match. Only a 3 and an O with a vertical line through it different. Off I set to find it, with only one wrong turn and by stopping a passer-by I stumbled into the right alley. Lots of shops hide in (what appears to be) bomb-sites from some previous glorious conflict. (Most conflicts are Glorious in Russia – the ones they talk about anyway).
This bomb sight was pretty normal, I found the door and it had a combination lock on it. I pressed the intercom and as for Internetski. The door opened and I went up a flight of stairs. The guard on duty at the top of the stairs, complete with battle-dress, nodded me to go along the corridor. I found the room with 4 terminals.
I hope my subscribers appreciate the considerable determination that I showed to bring you these works of dubious literary merit. I feel, at times, just how a war correspondent must feel.
Happiness is a Supermarket….
I had drunk my last bottle of water and things were not looking good. My vision was blurred and the heat of the road was throwing up mirages. (Well, that last bit is maybe an exaggeration). Olga, Oleg’s offsider (I must be important to warrant a driver and a guide all to myself – stop laughing at the back!) – to continue – she had told me where I could find the Supermarket as I was walking back from the Hermitage. In the basement (where else) of The Passage in Nevskiy Prospect. When I fell in, I was in heaven. I bought emergency supplies of Water and Beer among other essentials. It’s a good job I did buy beer because when I returned home I found that Irina had ironed all the washing I had done earlier that morning, even my underpants. My Mum was the last person to iron my underpants. Something about looking nice if I got run over. I gave up my beer and the Heineken I bought in Frankfurt and had been saving for a special occasion. I decided my ironing was a two bottle job. (The Heineken was a sad loss, I hope she did not see me shed a tear)
It is 10:45 pm and soon it will be dark so I had better close.
I forgot the gem
Olga, my tour guide, called at the flat in a taxi to go and meet Oleg and we were to continue on to the Peterhof (Peter the Great’s Summer Palace – 29 kms from the city).
I should have started to worry when we left the flat to see the driver pumping up the rear tyre of the taxi. We got in settled and the car would not start. The battery was flat. All three of us got out and pushed which got us going. During the journey, Olga was pointing out some sights, in English, of course. When we stopped to meet Oleg an argument ensued, the price suddenly doubled, as the driver thought we were tourists. Olga stood her ground and paid the agreed price. I suggested a discount for the push but she was glad to get away.
An example of a two edged sword.
When you come out of a pub called “St Patrick’s Irish bar”, a young fellow with a car offers you a taxi ride. (Don’t be alarmed dear readers, the locals will flag down any car and agree a price with the driver for a ride. I guess you could say St Petersburg has the most taxis per head of the population anywhere in the world.)
He unfortunately misreads your address and takes you to Sovetskaya Hotel and not Sovetskaya St which is really where you want to go.
I should fill in a few gaps before continuing, The other tour company in Sydney who, you may remember got my accommodation address wrong and the number of nights etc. have really efficient agents in Russia. Oleg and Olga could not be more helpful. Oleg only has a few customers at one time. At present he has myself, Garry and Frank. We all went to the Peterhof together and Oleg managed to get us all excellent seats at the Kirov ballet for Don Quixote. AS we were only a couple of seats from each other we naturally went for a drink together at the 3 intervals. It also seemed most natural to drink Vodka in the interval. After the performance which lasted 3 hours we went for a nightcap before going our respective ways, Garry and Frank to a suite at the Grand Europe Hotel (5star) where I might add it costs US $50 (Aus$100 or Eng 30 pounds) to get a suite ironed and me to Flat 2, 43 Sovetskaya St where you get your whole wash done for 2 beers. (Something I might add they were very jealous of). So a few gaps have been filled so now read on…..
The good side of the driver misreading the address was that the price was argued from 150 to 120 Roubles for this 3 minute journey. The downside is twofold.
1st Fold ) There was an immediate discussion to renegotiate the price upwards. I stuck at 150 Roubles.
2nd Fold) He had a compulsion to try and attain the speed of sound in a Russian car that was old when Karen was born (She is now a Mum). I guess he wanted to get this job over as quickly as possible because he was only making 5 times the fare and not 10!
I guess I should be happy that he did not, like and earlier taxi driver see a traffic jam ahead and go down a one way street the wrong way (500meters) – quickly so that no one would catch him.
Two don’ts in ST Petersburg and their consequences.
1st Don’t) waste time looking for the No5 tram – it only exists as a figment of imagination in the person the printed my guide book. I walked 2 kms along it alleged route looking for a stop (They are all numbered) I did pass numerous 1w2 and 28 stops but no No5. I did not feel so bad because I actually beat a No 12 as the traffic was so bad. I kept on overtaking it and smiling smugly to its occupants.
2nd Don’t) Look for the tram that crosses Nevskiy Prospect at Sadovaya Ulsa as they have just dug up the tramlines.
Now the result.
1) You are forced to get a taxi cab to the ballet, argue the price, walk away from two when the price is not low enough.
2) You are in danger of being late.
3) You will probably go down one way streets the wrong way very fast.
4) As a result of 3) your knuckles turn white.
Did I do right?
I spent some time choosing and writing postcards to my children, Karen, Simon and Matthew plus Judy. I am not saying Judy is my child. Actually it is more the other way round, she is prone to ask “When are you going to grow up” – sadly with some justification
To give you an example of the care I took, I chose a yacht on the River Neva for Matt and Many as they are keen yachties. For Simon, a single young lad, some scantily glad young girls in from of a Russian Palace as he is keen on architecture. So you get the picture. I also took care to write each one differently in case they tried to catch me out by phoning each other to see if I had written the same card 4 times.
Now comes the tricky bit so I need your advice.
I put them in , either:
1) A blue post box which is collected at 3:58 each day
or
2) A blue rubbish bin with a narrow slot near the top numbered 358.
I guess only time will tell which it was, so what do you think, Did I do right?
I did the Metro, twice.
First was experimental, I did not want to go anywhere just use it. Everyone (Oleg and Olga) told me I must see the Metro, so I had two hours to spare so I thought I would. All public transport is either 4 or 5 Roubles to go anywhere on the system (Aus: 35 cents Eng: 9 pence) The Metro is 5. I bought my token and popped it straight away in the slot in the turnstile.
The first obstacle was the escalator, those of you that are long time subscribers of these newsletters and have been paying close attention , will remember the European series mentioned the speed of the escalators in Prague. These were Russian built. I now know that the Russians export half speed escalators and keep the full speed models for home use. I can understand this philosophy to a certain extent because St Petersburg has a network of canals (for drainage as it was built on a swamp) The metro has to go really deep to get below them (otherwise they would need boat-trains), something like 60 to 80 meters down. If they have normal speed escalators people would get on and by the time they reached the bottom forget where they were going.
You cannot just get on a moving escalator as the sudden speed change would throw you off balance, you have to at least jog on to them if not come of of set of blocks at a good pace.
There is a lady seated at the bottom of the escalators who appears to have two jobs. The main one, it would appear, is to shout at Australians taking photos of people leaping off the bottom of the escalator. A secondary, less important one is to pick up anyone who did not run fast enough to get up a good terminal velocity.
The sad thing about this whole adventure is that I did not want to go anywhere, but I kind of went sideways, I went one station and was not father away from home at the end. (No nearer either, if the truth were known)
Am I Ready?
You may have thought these journals lacked a certain seriousness of content. I think that is in the past. Yesterday, I visited Tsarkoe Selo (The Tsar’s village) and saw a newly restored and opened Alexander Palace, where Nicholas 11 lived until his arrest in 1917. The town was also the home of the great Russian poet Pushkin. (The town has since been renamed “Pushkin”) I think the effect of the memory such great people has made me a more serous person.
I know that I can boast many learned men and women among my readership so I now pose a question to you all. Am I ready – for the final exam that I have to pass before I am worthy to receive the “Diploma of understanding of the Great and Glorious Russian Transport system” awarded by the St petersburg faculty.
Let me present my case for you to evaluate. I don’t need to remind you, I am sure, of how I stood firm in the matter of the Sovetskaya taxi drama when things looked bad.
What you probably don’t remember is that I have exemptions in the subject of buses (as distinct from Trams and Trolley busses). I passed this subject in Prague. You may recall Judy and I passed when we made a limited stop bus halt between stops when we pressed the bell numerous times (Judy got the credit because it was her finger on the bell push). This counts here is Russia as Prague was formerly Soviet.
It may surprise you to know that I thought the Tram exam was more difficult to pass than the metro, even though I did get a credit in Trams. Let me now tell you why. I am referring to the first tram ride, that does not count as it was Russian assisted. (You recall a Russian befriended me when I went down Livorskiy Prospect by mistake) The pass, with credit, I may add was gained when I took a No25 from the Internet cafe to Moskovskiy station. I think two things contributed to the credit.
1) I knew the No90 went to Moskovskiy but after letting two No10s go past I took a chance and jumped on a No25 hoping it did not turn left at Kuzenchyy. I did not refer to the map (This I learnt later was noticed), and it did go to Moskovskiy. Chance favours the brave!
2) I was nearly tricked. A man came up to me, on the tram, with his hand out clearly asking for money. I hesitated for a split second and looked into his cold grey eyes. It ran through mind mind, in an instant, was he the conductor or a beggar asking for money. He hesitated also and then, slowly pulled out a roll of tickets from his pocket. Our eyes met, he nodded slowly, it was in that nod I knew I had passed “Trams”. He walked away chuckling softly, as he turned at the end of the carriage I saw him make a note in the little book he carried. As I mentioned earlier, I gained a credit. He who hesitates wins the fight.
Before I tell you about the real Metro exam, you remember I had a practice run earlier, going only one stop. You will think me remiss if I don’t mention the Mini-bus. Mini-bus is not a core subject but because they do form part of the transport system they are in the curriculum. They essentially go from one place to another place with no decisions to be made. You still have to take one ride and it can be Russian assisted. I did me ride with Olga back from Pushkin village to Moskovskaya, a metro station on the extreme south side of the city.
This was the start of the metro exam. You are allowed to be pointed in the right direction of the ticket office but it must not be in sight and you have to make at least one decision about which tunnel or passage way to take before you reach the window. No further assistance is allowed. I bought my token, ran on to the escalator, keeping my balance and, if I may be so bold, did a rather classical “run off” at the bottom. The lady guard was seen, I am told, to raise one eyebrow two mm. This was praise indeed as they are specially chosen for their ability to remain stony faced under all circumstances. Part of the interview process for the job entails lining up Australians who take photographs, while the candidate shouts at them. More than one in tears means they get the job, a whole row in tears in a supervisor in under six months, for certain.
I digress, we now come to the choice of platform, this was easy! I should think that the examiners took their eye off the ball, so to speak. You see, I had started very far south of the city, doubtless they thought that I would loose track of the stations before I got to my destination, Nevskiy. They did not think about the up side of this, namely, the fact that being only 3 stations from the end of the line meant that I went on to the platform with 14 stations and not 3. Whoa, that was easy. Logic is a students best friend.
Once on the train, I did not loose any marks for letting an old lady get the last seat in the carriage. You are allowed to use elbows but, I heard from someone that they do frown on the use of backpacks over 15 kg on anyone over 60.
I have to confess that at this point I nearly went to pieces listening to the guards announcements, I thought we went to the same station twice, I twigged at the third station that he was probably saying “Mind the doors”. I followed the progress on the map and was happy to hear the announcement for Nevskiy when I was expecting it. I even got the “Standing o the right side of the carriage when it stops” part of the exam right. This bit is harder to fake in Russia because the opposite of the platform has no advertising or station name. When in London or Sydney and you stand on the wrong side of the carriage waiting to get out, at least you can pretend to be enthralled how “A Wonder bra will lift and separate you and keep you comfortable all day”.
I never did find out if the stations had all been specially prepared for my exam as none of the stations had any names displayed anywhere. I thought of going for a High Distinction but it meant making at least one change to another line and I was content with a pass.
There is one last hurdle before I can hold my head up proudly and receive the Diploma of understanding the the Glorious etc etc. This is The Trolley bus exam. I am going to a folk concert this afternoon at 4pm and the concert hall is near the Neva river and along from the Hermitage. The rules state that a trip of this length (50 minutes) must be completed in 2 hours. A big ask, I am sure you will agree. I will start at 1:45. Volodja, my host at the B&B is, as I mentioned, a professor and, therefore, qualified to supervise the start.
I had a light breakfast of meatballs and brown rice so as to keep a clear head. I will spend the last hour or so reading inspiring works to help focus the mind. I have ear-marked “Great Russian Trolley bus rides of the Post Tsarist era”. I don’t know if you are familiar with the work, it is by a contemporary of Pushkin called Pullkin.
I cannot, dear readers, in all conscience, disappoint you as you have all stood by me in my quest for this Diploma. You doubtless felt the emotion of the Beggar or the Conductor situation as I did. I shall chronicle that last hurdle in my quest to gain recognition for my hard work that has become, for me, a symbol of all that is good and right in the world.
The final exam – The Trolley bus.
Spot the conductor was easy! It turned out to be a lady in a plum coloured rain-coat and a white woollen hat, a good disguise but. alas, she was probably new. She let her coat fall open, momentarily, when the bus lurched to an unexpected stop and I caught the glint of her ticket machine in the rare sunlight.
Now, I could have chosen the No5 or No22 bus for the exam as both go to the Square of the Workers (Honestly!) I chose the No5 – I decided this must be a good omen after my experience with the Phantom No5 tram – I thought the god of Transport – Tramskiaya – would favour the brave.
Do not be alarmed, dear readers but there was a crisis on the bus. Suddenly, without warning, there was a shout from the conductress and the bus, which had been full, emptied of all but 3 passengers. Whoa, I thought, this is it, over the top, the driver got out, the other two passengers left, my self and the conductress were the only living soles on the bus. I thought quickly, I whipped out my phrase book and looked for the only thing that would help “I can drive a tram”. I have to say the phrase book was an inferior edition. It did not contain that phrase. Then, in a trice, the bus filled again, the driver got in and away we went. I realised that the roads had been closed for the celebrations of City Day – the city was founded 298 years ago on Sunday. They must have let the trolley bus through as it batteries would not have made the detour. Fortune favours a flat battery.
I moved up to the front to brush up on tram driving in case the driver lost his nerve again. It ran through my mind I might get an HD if I actually rescued a stricken tram. I could see the headline ” Australian tourist is hero of the Glorious Russian Trolley-bus drivers co-operative”
I can tell you, with some pride, comrades that I did in fact pass and will be awarded a Diploma. The only sadness is that cameras are not allowed at the presentation and the Diploma is not allowed to leave Russia. I will only have the memory of the exams and this record to show for all my hard work.
Until we meet again,
I remain,
Barraskaya DOUGRT
(Diploma of Understanding of Glorious Russian Transport)
You know you are flying Lufthansa when….
1 You change seats (across the aisle where there is an empty seat next to you) and two people turn and stare for 15 seconds.
2 Your overhead cabin bag gets moved and your coat is tidied to make way for more important German cabin bags.
3 When you start to rise from your seat to let a couple sit down, Brunehilda’s cousin looks down at you and and says “Stay, one moment” (You do not move a muscle – if you know what is good for you.
4 Brunehilda’s cousin asks the man in front to straighten his seat before takeoff. It is, after all, 6 degrees from perpendicular.
All this before the plane has moved an inch. (Aus: 25.4 mm)
Cultural Differences.
I have spent 8 interesting, sometimes cold and wet, but never boring days in Russia. Yesterday I watched the City Parade (Carnival) celebrating 298 years since the foundation of the city. It was vibrant and fun. Today, I saw one of the cultural differences between Australia and Russia. You may recall I told you how a typical Aussie spends his time waiting to depart his country. That is it, making Lemon Meringue Pies. Things are done a little differently in Russia. Namely, you spend the last 40 minutes in a Police station at the airport because, the police claim that your visa registration was incorrect.
While Oleg argued with the officers, I spent the time quietly contemplating what the cuisine in Russian jails would consist of.
When you enter Russia your visa is stamped by the company inviting you to stay. In my case, this was Oleg’s travel agency. The argument seemed to centre around the fact that the date of departure was entered as 22nd May and not 28th May. Although it was a 10 day visa from the day I arrived so I had not overstayed my visa limit.
It appeared that this digression needed 5 forms completed, by the officers, and 8 signatures from me. It flashed through my mind that I may be signing a form to say I wanted Sausage and brown rice for breakfast in jail. The whole thing ended abruptly when 50 roubles (Aus: 3.30, Eng £1.25) was offered and accepted.
Olga had been dispatched to tell Lufthansa that if I did not go straight to jail I was hoping to be on the flight. She cam back to say that check-in closed in 3 minutes. I was very happy to see the sun and feel the freedom of the outside of the Police station.
You would think that whoever organises these things would have decided that I had my fair share of officialdom for the day but it was not to be. I had my baggage overspill in a red carry on bag which was x-rayed. Brunehilda’s Russian aunty called me over to the x-ray machine and pointed to the bottom of what she assured me was an x-ray of my bag and said “What’s this”? It was like a doctor showing you an x-ray of you liver and asking you to spot anything wrong. Needless to say I could not. The bag was felt by her, she muttered and walked off, presumably to lunch.
Anyway I am safely in the plane and the lunch trolley is approaching, Oh! good its Sausage and brown rice.
Australian looses weight – fast
I know why so many English people (Aus: POMS) are so thin. Let me tell you the recent research I conducted. I was invited out to lunch with my long time friends (Aus: Mates) Jeremy Hopkins and his wife Shirley.
We drove to the local town, Wokingham, famous the world over for the Farmers market, next one in the town square on Thursday 8th June.
For our lunch, we earmarked the Assam Indian restaurant. We arrived at 2:03pm – they advertised serving lunch from 12:00 until 2:30. The owner, it is rumoured, is a distant relation of Basil Fawlty from the Punjab. The kitchen, we were told, closed at 2pm. We heard someone mutter that it was to enable the chef plenty of time to get his hat and coat on ready for the off at 2:30.
This breach of the advertising section of the Office, Shops and Railway’s Act (1904) amended 1909 had an effect. Shirley who has, in my experience, endless compassion for children small and large plus husbands was visibly incensed. At one point both Jeremy and I had to restrain her when she looked as if she was about to plant a left hook on the jaw of Basil’s cousin.
I will not bore you with the detail about the other 4 establishments we were turned away from because, it appears, lunchtime in Wokingham is between 1:00 and 1:23pm.
We did not go hungry as a pub called the Redan, (Something military I am assured by experts), served meals all day.
It was fitting that we ended up at a pub with military connections as we marched around Wokingham in single file. Jeremy, being a local and a born leader of men (and women) was elected to head the contingent. Shirley, with her recent experience of repelling borders, was to take up a rear position. The rest of the troops, me, elected to go in the middle.
It pains me to have to record that at one point there was wavering in the ranks. At one pub that refused us I wanted a drink to keep me going. Ranks closed and order was restored. The thirst had a strange effect. Jeremy told me afterward that I became delirious and was talking about fish and chips, riverbanks and diet Coke. I came right after a few large beers and some Chicken and Chips.
All good things must come to an end and, you will be pleased to know, bad ones as well.
I am back,
I have been inundated with one request from Shirley Hopkins to produce a last final never to repeated newsletter. As this is a small literary piece I will call it a news note.
You know you are in England when,
1 You walk uphill to the bathroom in your hotel room. This is because many of the buildings were built well before Capt Cook fell over Australia in the late 1700s. The old buildings have a decided lean.
2 You get advice on parking from someone who has been on holiday in Brixham every year since 1967.
3 Every coastal town worth its salt has a pier that has an amusement arcade and sells candy floss.
You know your hotel is run by an engineer when he gives you your bacon and eggs at breakfast and the milk jug is realigned with the coffee pot.
You know you are on a South Devon beach when the tide goes out so far you cant see the sea.
You know you are on an English motorway when
1 The cars travel at 90 mph (Aus: 140kph+) and are two car lengths apart.
2 Barry is overtaken by old ladies on their way to bowls.