Peter's Place

A : Alliteration seems to be catching.

With high hopes we stepped out of the train into Saint Petersburg. Moscow, it seems, left a sour tinge on everyone's palette - and we weren't alone. The most expensive city in the world, ripe with the undulation of debutantes had us hungry for out next destination. So hungry in fact that we spent the morning of our departure practicing our trip to Leningradsky train station (C's idea). It was a prescient move given that it took hours to navigate the labyrinthine corridors of beauracracy. Worth the trouble...

Saint Petersburg is quite nearly a world apart from Moscow. Built at the behest of Peter the Great, from scratch mind you, the city has a strong neo-classical charm. Water defines this place, with sweeping canals and bridges every few kilometers the air smells of sea breezes. Every few blocks a towering monolith of gilt stone, and domed heights appears. It's a beautiful place.

So, we take in the Hermitage. Shortly said the Hermitage is the Louvre of the East - boasting art and artifacts from every corner of the globe - some given and some taken. C and I running like mice through its hallways dodging the elephantine foot of massive octogenarian tour groups. I had an art moment in front of a lovely Picasso of a jeune femme. I was teleported back into a mind of a genius, his work before me - seeing backwards through the prism that produced this image.

Peter's place has made believers of us. It benefits from the comparison with its homely sister Moscow - fleeing as we were into the arms of an affordable and affable refuge. Welcome us into your generous collection of English speaking tourist boothes, your quaint thousand room palaces, and the hearts of your still questionably dressed yet notably more caring populace.