Now that I've had a glass of wine and kids are asleep it seems okay, but IS the worst day of travel better than the best day at home?
The idea was to meet Peter a 20-minute walk away for Japanese food for lunch. Then go to the Yusupov Palace to see where the best friends of the Tsars lived, and to see the room where Rasputan a. drank poisoned wine, b. was shot, c. tried to strangle the guy who shot him, and d. was tied up and dragged to the river. Amid all kinds of elaborate finery.
I had two breakfasts, one before 8:00 with Peter and Stefan, one around 10:30 with Camille and Stefan. We spent most of the first breakfast having a guy come fix the lock of the room because I'm afraid to leave Camille asleep in the room, someone surely will kidnap her into a white slave ring while we are in the hotel dining room drinking lattes. This means we don't have time for lattes. At the second breakfast Stefan eats his 5th croissant of the day.
Around noon, stuffed with croissants, we head towards the restaurant where we are suppose to meet Peter. The streets have no signs, and I wouldn't be able to read them anyway. It's sunny and ski-slope cold. We are underdressed in down jackets. We find a Japanese restaurant, but I'm not convinced it's the right one. We wait, Peter doesn't show, further convincing me we haven't found the right restaurant and we head home. Waiting for Peter at the restaurant, the kids comment that they aren't hungry, hmmm, I wonder why. As soon as we leave the restaurant, they are starving.
I buy them something from a street vendor, what the heck is it? Whatever it is, it's cheap! Around 50 rubles, maybe a dollar fifty. Sausage wrapped in dough and fried. Oh my gosh, it's like crack, the food of the gods. And my kids won't eat it.
They want to go to McDonalds. I haven't been to McDonalds since last summer (when I needed a really good bribe) except for yesterday. So this is a record for me, supersizing my kids twice in two days. Strangely, it's the nicest McDonalds I've ever been in. In my defense, it's more like a Starbucks. Also, everyone is wearing fur, so that classes the place up somewhat. I, however, do not, in my bright orange ski jacket.
Okay, here's the thing: in St. Petersburg, I'm not only the worst dressed person in McDonalds, I'm also the dumbest. I am so dumb, I can't order at a McDonalds. Why have I not learned the word for "chicken strips" in Russian? Forget Russian! Who needs it? "Happy Meal" and "Mcnuggets" are esperanto.
We head to the Yusupov Palace, the very house of Rasputin's demise. (They also cut off his penis which is now on display in a jar in some museum, but we have to save something for next time.) We walk all the way down the Nevsky Prospect, we walk and walk. It starts to get dark, and really cold. Right as we are at the Yusopov Palace I chicken mcnugget out and turn us back around. It's getting dark and Stefan's cheeks are bright red with cold. If we make it to the palace, that will an hour at least and it's freezing in the daylight along the frozen canal. And the metro here doesn't have the stops posted, you have to listen for your stop, and none of the stops is Beeg Mak. Sorry kids.
We fortify ourselves by stopping at grocery store for yogurt, wine, apples and cheese. When people buy flowers here, the florist wraps the flowers so they don't freeze on the walk home.
Peter comes home and tells us that he never made it to the restaurant.
So, what did we learn today? If you come to St. Pete's in February, stock up on fur. It's a sparkly, San Francisco-Portland kind of town, not as full of itself as Moscow. I really like it here. And I can't wait to ride the train back to Moscow. But not until we have lattes in the morning and go the Hermitage tomorrow. I hope.
Some more pictures of us in St. Pete's here.
twenty-something years of "what have you been up to?" 