Tsarskoye Sela

Another day; another palace...

Assembly point: the Concierge’s desk. Time: 10 am.

We were headed to Tsarskoye Selo, AKA Pushkin Palace, once home to Catherine the Great, and some fifteen miles south of St. Petersburg. This time there were just the three of us, plus our guide, Maria. And we heard Maria coming... The quick, sharp clack of steel-tipped heels on tiled floor informed us we were going to have to pay attention.

The hotel provided the people carrier – a relic from the Cold War, possibly – but although it rattled a lot and you had to sit in very specific places to feel the air conditioning it proceeded at a cracking pace along Nevsky Prospect. “See, over here on the left, apartments built in the time of Stalin, and over there on the right, buildings erected in the Kruschev era. Notice the functionality of the latter. Now, also, see here the memorial to the great Siege of Leningrad... Would you mind, please to pay attention.” Glower, glower, tch, tch.

On arrival at Pushkin Village – Pushkin did indeed have a dacha there – we joined a line of visitors. Not for long though. Maria didn’t like to wait, and gave us a master-class in queue-jumping, elbowing out of the way competing tour guides with the skill and fervour of a rugby forward. We looked straight ahead, avoiding the glares and unseemly gestures of those we were leaving behind.

In front of the palace a small group of musicians, dressed in uniform, suddenly burst into a medley from Swan Lake – dance of the cygnets followed by big swans – which proved irresistible to Gail who, handbag in hand, pas-de-cha’d her way to the end.  Here is a video of the occasion - apologies for camera work, it was my first attempt!

It was only yesterday that I wrote in purple prose about the architecture and collections in The Hermitage so I don’t want to repeat myself and bore you in the process. Obviously, the palaces have their own personalities and collections – and Tsarskoye Selo is much smaller - but there are only so many mentions you can make of corridors of tapestries, halls of chandeliers and truck-loads of precious jewels.

Tsarskoye Selo was Catherine the Great’s favourite residence – she spent the summers there – and we could see why, given that Saturday was shaping up to be one of those glorious autumn days and the palace with its hundreds of windows was sparkling like a fountain in the midday sun.

One of the main attractions of the palace is the Amber Room. This sounds exotic but when you actually get in there it’s a huge disappointment. There are no big slabs of amber but thousands and thousands of tiny pieces that go to make up the wall panels, and it all looks like plastic, a brown plastic mosaic. It is not the original Amber Room either, since this was taken away piece by piece during World War II by the marauding German army. There is a great mystery as to where the stolen amber went: some say it was taken to a castle in East Prussia, now Kalingrad, which was subsequently razed to the ground in an air raid; others that it sank without trace in the Baltic. Suffice to say what you’re seeing now is a testament to the dedication of the restorers who, over the course of many years, painstakingly recreated the room from drawings and notes made across the centuries.

We did enjoy a separate exhibition of Meissen china, which was tucked away from the main route through the palace. We couldn’t afford to buy a dinner service in the museum shop but Gail and I came away with identical bone china bowls. Memories are made of this...

Perhaps the best part of our visit to Tsarskoye Sela was the park itself. Vine-covered, crescent-shaped walkways led to ornamental pools, and great sweeping lawns took you down to the pellucid lake. (I just had to get that word in; it’s such a favourite, and only three syllables.)

 Every so often amidst the trees we’d see a bridal couple being photographed – obviously you want the grand-children to know you married in style even if you now live in mutual loathing on either side of Russia. 




Which reminds me... Last night on our way to Terrassa, we kept seeing women clasping a single flower in one hand and a guy in the other. Apparently, it is something of a tradition in Russia to give your girl flowers on Friday night – it’s a token of your ardour and commitment. Sweet, don’t you think.

The journey back passed in much the same way as the journey there: periodic blasts of cold air from the ancient a/c system and sporadic shots of information fired at us by Maria. By the time we got to the hotel we were glad to see the back of her.

On our wish list for the afternoon was a tour of St Isaac’s Cathedral for Sue, R and R for Gail and me, then the three of us would try to find the fabled Beluga – basically, an up-market souvenir shop.

There must be something about the word beluga because, big as the shop was, it kept itself hidden from view. We asked directions several times, always in our best Rush-lish, but people shook their heads. Even the girls in a souvenir shop, which turned out to be fifty paces from Beluga, claimed never to have seen it... However, our travels were not in vain. Obeying our intuition we set off in a north-westerly direction and en-route discovered an antique shop – Tertiaspb. (I mention this because it is a treasure trove, should you ever come to St Petersburg.) We found old programmes dating back to Pavlova’s day and also some of the Ballet Russe. They were too much of an investment for our depleted rouble accounts but I was able to afford three little shot ‘glasses’ – hand-painted at the turn of the century.

And there, as we stepped out of Tertiaspb, on the near corner of the square, was Beluga.

You’re ahead of me, aren’t you. Yes, it was a big disappointment. Rows of babushka dolls, fake Faberge eggs and shelf upon shelf of amber. But at least Gail had her bone china cup and saucer – purchased from the not-Beluga-souvenir shop – and I had my shot glasses.

As we wandered back to the Petro Palace in the warm afternoon sun, we realized this would be the last time we’d walk along Nevsy Prospect; tomorrow we would be returning home. And it hit us like a sledgehammer. St Petersburg had truly smiled on us and caught our hearts and our imagination.

Dinner with Xander at Ocean. 

Until tomorrow.