Homeward Bound

What is it that happens to luggage on the return trip. Why is it that what you neatly packed into your suitcase on the way out will now not fit into a bag twice the size. All the boxes of biscuits, chocolate and soap we had brought with us for our various hosts were gone and the only extras we had acquired were a handful of souvenirs. But after munch huffing and puffing, squeezing and squashing we were done and ready for check out.

It was with no great sadness that we departed the Petro Palace. The hotel, allocated a four star rating, was in truth a two star. There was no in-room wi-fi, unless you paid £15 per day and water had to be purchased. (I forgot to mention that you cannot drink the tap water in Russia – too many impurities.) There are two important points in the hotel’s favour: it is located in the centre of the city and adjacent to all the main areas and buildings of interest, plus the concierge service was fantastic. The girls who manned the desk spoke fluent English and went out of their way to supply our every need. Top marks. 

It was, however, with great sadness that we left St Petersburg itself.

There is something entirely magical about St Petersburg. Peter the Great is said to have envisioned the city rising out of the mists of the marshland bordering the River Neva. And even today, given the season and the weather, St Petersburg can be wreathed in mist. You could say that every city has its complexity and its unique spirit but St Petersburg has an extraordinary presence. Everywhere you turn there is a harmony of line and an apparently effortless fusion of water and buildings. It has a turbulent history too, beginning with the loss of over a thousand lives during its construction and, of course, the blockade that stretched from September 1941 to January 1944. And somehow its history and spirit seem to flow through the waterways of the city and into the veins of the people. How could we not be sad to leave. 

Our final few hours in St Petersburg were to be spent at the Mariinsky. First, we were to watch another company class – this time one which Xander was taking – and second, a performance of Shurale, a ballet based on a Russian fairy tale and made up largely of folk dances.

Develope

Arabesque

5th position

Pas de trois

The class started out with thirty or so dancers but by the end only five were left, including Xander. I have a video I would like to share with you of two members of the corps de ballet. (I'm still getting the hang of my video camera so apologies for not being able to make a clean ending - obviously the contents of my handbag are fascinating...)

It was difficult to appreciate Shurale. We were sitting high up in the ‘gods’, which provided a wonderful view of the stage, but our minds were elsewhere – the journey home, and all the hassle and rigmarole associated with flying in these post 9-11 days. We shouldn’t have worried though, the taxi arrived promptly, and at precisely half past two we were heading away from the Mariinsky watching the figures of Xander and Dimitri disappear into little dots.

One word of advice:  if you’re flying out of St Petersburg airport: don’t leave it till the last minute. Aside from not being able to check-in on line, which is pretty standard for British Airways, the baggage security check takes place before you get into the departure hall. And once you have checked in, the queue for passport control takes forever. We must have been almost forty minutes waiting to be checked out of the country.

How quickly our ten days in Russia had gone. We had seen so much, made new friends and gained insights about the country that few people achieve in a handful of days. It was a little too soon for a post mortem, we needed to let our memories filter our experience. And that would take some days.

Until then.


PS Since I have now mastered the art of uploading video, you can see the Dance of The Little Cygnets in glorious techni-colour in the previous blog, Tsarskoye Selo.