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Saint Petersburg’s good side?
OUTLINE
- Sightseeing starts late after a terrible breakfast at the hostel
- We walk to Moskava train station but my fever has broken my map reading skills and I get us lost. We see more of the dirty side of the city
- Book train tickets to Moscow via a non English speaking moody Russian woman who speaks English and takes commission
- We take the metro from the train station to Nevsky Prospect. 20 Rubles, about 50p – bargain. The tube is nuts, with no visible trains and loads of stirring communist imagery. Also each station is styled differently
- Sightseeing s cut short by a lack of sights and a cold biting wind
- Tea in a small backstreet cafe comes with a free drunk asking for vodka from the tourists. Eric was a pretty scary bloke – George Harrison DEAD.
- Jazz club expedition failed – too late. Quick drink at a mad bar a little closer to home instead
- Our decision to leave St. Petersburg early for Moscow is a good one. Everything here is against us; the weather, the people, the architecture, my health and my bank. Not a great intro to Russia
James downloads a virus. Internet Attack. Computer compromised.
The train station is a big pink blamonge but it has a great modernist departure hall.
Nationwide still giving me the swerve.
The tube is nicer than the streets with less people, better weather and lighting. The escalators to get to the stations are really steep too – also a good thing right?
The snow in St. Petersburg is horizontal and gets right into your face.
I load up on more Lemsip and pills. At this rate I’ll be doped up all through Russia.
The grand public spaces aren’t grand enough and are confused. The building are all painted rubbish gaudy colours, the recommended sights are dull and the only stunning thing about this city is the orange dusk light on the riverbank, oh and there are some pretty nice golden domes dotted around.
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Lone Trip
Everyday for weeks leading up-to today I had been apprehensive about what we had decided to undertake. Now the beast had caught up with me finally, I resolved to take each leg one step at a time. Manchester to London being the very first. Manchester felt like a place I used to live, with memories and issues all of which are behind me now. It feels like somewhere I wouldn’t want to be for long, visits – OK, maybe.
The Mega-bus was late, mum was getting teary and dad was snapping pictures. All I could think about was missing my St. Pancras connection. The Eurostar was only due to leave at around 5.30pm, the clock read 9.10am. I guess i was in no danger. Was I just anxious to begin or itching for an excuse to pull the plug on the whole terrifying ordeal. The replacement bus rolled lazily around the corner of Portland street and Chorlton Street and once on board with bags stowed and comfy I couldn’t stop smiling. The answer felt good when it arrived.
London, in contrast to all of my previous visits, felt welcoming maybe because I knew i wasn’t staying and only had one clear objective in mind – cross the city with all of my stuff in time for the train. I had done meticulous preparation for this simple task. I researched the line, the number of stops, the subways final destination and the general compass direction. I even had an alternative route plotted in-case i had to walk to Kings Cross from Victoria. My mega sack now hung light off my shoulders as I bounced through the streets striped with low slung winter sun from the coach station towards the tube. Once underground my cold weather clothing became strikingly out of place. The heat was stifling but the pain was over quickly and I felt a swell of pride as I wandered up through St. Pancras station looking for a place to sit and eat the last of my packed lunch. I walked the full length of the arcade upstairs and down and also did at lest one full circuit of the stations plan. I thought it an excellent way for me and my rucksack to get to know each other better. It was heavy but not too heavy, cumbersome but not unmanageable. I settled on a seat next to a separated couple handing over their child. He was from Leeds and she had a strong Birmingham accent. At first I thought how did they meet? But then a second question replaced it, why chose here to perform such a personal ritual? They seemed like good friends now and their son was happy. Everything was clean and shiny and my adventure had begun.
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