St Petersburg is Mum and mine’s last stop on our rather epic journey (we’ve covered inches on the map!). It was conceived as a seaport for the mostly landlocked Russia and was the baby of Peter the Great. Peter was a devoted Europhile which explains the Germanic name, the Dutch-style canals, the several streets named after European countries, and the blocks and blocks of neo-classical Russian buildings. After my year of mostly skyscraper after skyscraper, it was the feast after the famine for my beauty-starved eyes. I do like Europe…
Our first stop, of course, was the Hermitage. Mum had been looking forward to this for months. We had bought tickets on the internet to save queuing, which were epically long, although I caused a fuss with mine. I’d paid for an internet ticket when actually students get in free so I managed to make them swap my paid ticket for a student one and hopefully I will be able to get the refund back. We shall see.
The Hermitage is one of the world’s best museums housing a rather fantastic collection of art from around the world and through time. The building itself is worth the entrance fee, being the Winter Palace of the Tsars and fantastically decorated. A tad over the top, and parts needed dusting, but it was rather awe-inspiring. As for the collections themselves, well I was left feeling a bit cold. Perhaps I have been museumed out after so much but I suspect it is more that not much of the art was to my taste. I like art that makes a comment on its subject, rather than just being a representation. The gallery after gallery of Greek and Roman statues I felt I’d seen before, as with the Egyptian and Assyrian stuff. Most of the paintings were of aristocrats and no doubt great works, but boring to me. My favourite collections included the temporary exhibition of Anna Leibowitz’s photos. She is my favourite photographer and I loved her pictures, many iconic like the pregnant Demi Moore. I was rather sad to see her Disney pictures were not included. They sound silly and shallow, but are actually great to look at. The photo that left the deepest impression was that of a heavily pregnant woman whose body was rather different to that of Moore’s. It made Hugo very glad he will never be pregnant.
Another of my favourites was the collection of rooms left more or less as they would have been used including a room with lots of deep emerald green malachite, another with a beautiful harp and a room with lots of red. I also liked the ballroom and had a little whirl with Hugo-which was rather difficult as I was wearing trainers… I also liked the room showcasing European arms and had four stuffed horses wearing plate armour.
Each room had a middle-aged woman on watch for improper use of cameras and Touching Things. These are fairly common throughout Russia and it is not an exaggeration to say we have spent quite a lot of time being shouted at by them.
One long room was devoted to those with a hand in defeating Napoleon, including a large portrait of our very own Wellington.
In one of the courtyards some workers were clipping hedges. Somehow a cat had got in and was dozing off in the middle, completely oblivious to the luxury of his surroundings. Or perhaps not. Cats can be choosy.
Otherwise the room after room of priceless paintings got a bit wearing and the tour groups were starting to torment us. A herd of humans, characterized by a bovine slowness, would very slowly move along a corridor, completely blocking it to nippier singles like myself. At their head was the shepherd tour guide who would be waving a flag. They would wander slowly after the person in front, not looking where they were going, mouth slightly open and tour headphones deafening them. They would all cluster around the same exhibit, blocking it to everyone else. Occasionally I would hear a snippet of the boring drama that fills their day, “Joan has accused me of deliberately walking into her!” It got so that I would desperately go down any corridor to get round them, only to turn back as another advanced. They really need limiting, or splitting up as it was their tightly packed mass that caused a problem.
Mum liked it very much as there is a very good collection of Impressionist paintings that she likes. As for me, I am one of the few people to groan, “God, not another Gaugin!”
Today was my last full day in Russia, and of my entire year abroad.
We headed out early for breakfast but I had to return to the hostel to lock the locker as Mum had not… Then Mum and I walked across the Neva to see the rostra, and the bit where all the brides had been having their photos taken. Eventually we headed onto the island of St Peter and Paul fortress to meet up with Hugo who went inside the church. The church houses most of the bodies of the Tsars, including the last one and his family who were reburied there only a few years ago.I stayed outside and made friends with a cat, and glaring at the coach load after coach load vomiting over the square.
Then to the Winter Palace of Peter, which is right next to the Hermitage. It was fairly small as the Tsar preferred small rooms. There was his study as well as the room where he made things out of wood. It was his hobby apparently. There was also a wax figure made from moulds of his face and hands. It was sat on a throne wearing his clothes and looking slightly freaky, and noticeably smaller than the 6 foot 8 he was said to be.
Then we attempted to enter the Staff Building opposite the Hermitage but could not find the entrance….
…so it was off to the Menshikov Palace. Menshikov was a great friend of Peter the Great as well as his general who won several victories. He also happened to be a fan of wood-working too, although whether this was to get in with Peter, I couldn’t say. Peter never seemed to mind when Menshikov was caught with his hand in state funds anyway. After the death of Peter he somehow managed to become de facto ruler of Russia but, after attempting to acquire royal relatives (and we can all guess where that would have led) other nobles ousted him and he ended up in Siberia. Not the first, or last…
His palace was like the others. A lot of gold and marble. Dutch imported blue and white tiles everywhere. There was a Chinese themed room, which did not interest me. None of it did. I had Seen too many Sights.
As for Russia, I think I prefer China. Russia may have similar food, language and looking people but I dislike the bluntness of them. Far too much shouting and not enough manners, at least to my eyes. Part of what I liked about China was the just complete and utter difference to home- which was often comical. It was a far more entertaining place. There’s nothing funny about Russia. No surprise chicken feet here!
As I write this Mum has struck out on her own to revisit the Hermitage and I am parked in the hostel.
Home tomorrow, if it hasn’t burnt down.
