For our time in Saint Petersburg, which was two glorious weeks, we have decided to change our format a little bit. If we were to give you a day-by-day run down of activities and sites seen, you probably would go insane or become incredibly bored and never visit our site again. So, with that in mind, we are going to try to offer you the highlights of our time there, along with our thoughts and observations on various topics. Those in italics are taken from NikiAnne’s journal.

While the city does have a lot to see that was not the main reason we decided to spend two weeks there. As most of you know, NikiAnne participated in a dance exchange program with Pat Jackson’s American Dance Studio and Russian dancers from Saint Petersburg about 10 years ago, and developed particular fondness for two families- the Vylegzhaninas (Kate) and the Lukorevskys (Dima). With so much time there, we were able to split our time evenly between the two families, while also staying at a student dormitory in downtown Saint Petersburg for 3 nights.

Saint Petersburg is a beautiful city, located 8 hours by train north of Moscow. During our stay, the city was experiencing what locals call the "White Nights," when the sun disappears for only 4-5 hours a night. Despite these extra hours of daylight, usually great for late night parties, things were pretty tame when we were there, due in most part to the city’s 300th anniversary celebrations that had taken place in May, just a few weeks before our arrival. The city underwent massive renovation to make itself somewhat prepared for foreigners; the buildings were freshly painted and construction projects completed (kind of).

The end of June was a wonderful time to visit the city because the days are so long and the nights so bright. The sun set around 11:30pm and rose around 4:30am, but it actually only got dark for an hour or two. Practically every night we were up until 2:00am because we were out and about doing whatever in the city, thinking it was 7pm when it was actually 11pm. The White Nights were spectacular, but I don’t know how people living here maintain a normal schedule and manage to sleep enough.

(June 17, NikiAnne) Saint Petersburg was even more beautiful than when I left it in 1993. Or is it that my eyes are more curious, attentive, and appreciative now? Regardless, the older buildings are romantic and attractive-many newly painted in pastels, the powder blues, light yellows and corals stick out in my mind the moSaint It’s apparent that Peter the Great was very fond of the European style of architecture, for his city has a European flare and ambiance to it. The 42 canals and rivers that run through the city have led some to call it the "Venice of the EaSaint" The water’s presence amongst the bustling city streets adds a pleasant calm that is often difficult to find in large metropolitan cities.

Saint Petersburg itself, with its ubiquitous canals and great shopping, has an extremely European feel to it. While we definitely knew we were in Russia along Nevsky Prospect, the main street that runs east to west through the heart of the city, you could conceivably be in Rome, Paris, or Prague. Though only 300 years old (ancient to us Americans yet very young to the rest of the world), Saint Petersburg has a number of famous cathedrals, palaces and gardens that took us the full two weeks to properly explore.

A distinguishing characteristic of Saint Petersburg in contrast to Europe is its wide avenues and streets. Their immensity didn’t take away from the city’s charm, but the honking of horns while cars are stuck in traffic jams often did. Despite having larger roads, Russians still managed to create gridlock with their impatience and inconsiderate driving manners. To make matters worse, the local trolleys share the roads with the cars. There is no division between the train tracks and the roads. Even stranger is the trolleys have to obey all the same traffic rules and lights that the cars do. Pretty comical if you’re not the stressed out one driving. The streets’ magnitude made me think that the original designers of Saint Petersburg felt a lot like those who migrated and settled out west in the US; there was so much land in comparison to where they had come from that there was no need to conserve space or build tightly and up. So just as you find in California or Nevada, there are many 1 or 2 story houses or flats that inevitably create a spread out city that takes an hour or two to cross.

With the good of Saint Petersburg also came the bad… I had the misfortune of experiencing my first bout with the infamous "traveler’s stomach bug" within 3 days of being in the city. At first I thought it was my body’s natural reaction to ridding itself of Germany’s thick and rich cheeses and meats, but the following days proved that it was much more than the body’s natural cleansing process. Knowing that Saint Petersburg has giardia in its city water system made my mind wander viciously, but thanks for a few professional consultations with my private physicians, Aunt Terry and mom, my mind was calmed. Some antibiotics did the trick and within a day it was gone, thankfully. Not fun to say the least, but I do know where all the available bathrooms are in downtown Saint Petersburg now.

One of the first things that really made an impression on us was the Russian-style hitchhiking. On our second day, after staying with Kate’s family for our first night, we opted to stay in a dorm downtown, in order to be closer to the sites and sounds of Saint Petersburg. Kate’s father, Sergei, was nice enough to take us down to the dorm and help us register our visa on his day-off. He told us to wait by the entrance to their apartment building and he would go flag down a car. We asked if hitchhiking was common in Russia, and were told that everyone does it. We were pretty impressed by this display of Russian kindness. So you can only imagine our confusion when, at the end of our trip, Kate’s father pays the driver. We then learn that while it is common to hitchhike, it’s not free as we’re used to in the States. It is basically an unregistered taxi where you and the driver agree upon a price beforehand and then you are driven there. This transportation arrangement turned out to be very handy when getting around the city, as all you needed to do was stick your hand in the air and there would suddenly be a line of cars waiting to take you wherever you needed to go.

Getting our passports registered was our first major ordeal. We soon learned that almost everything in Russia was a huge process, a reoccurring theme throughout our entire trip through Russia. We spent the majority of our first full day with Sergei, chasing down a "certified Russian tourism agency" that would register our passports and give us the proper stamp needed for departure. One of Russia’s laws for foreigners is that they have to register their passport in every city that they stay in for more than 3 days. Luckily we had the assistance of Sergei because I imagine there could have been many more difficulties if we hadn’t had a native Russian speaker with us. All in all, we resolved the matter 2 hotels later and 4 hours older. Having only paid $22/each for a stamp, we saved $28/each in the end. I’m sure that doesn’t make sense to most of you. Basically, the government requires that you register your passport with one of these authorizing agencies, which in many cases is your hotel. However, if you’re staying at a dorm or hostel like us, which doesn’t register passports, then you have to find a hotel that does and pay for a night’s room to get the stamp. So the cheaper the hotel room, the better off you are. We were supposedly strapped into paying for a room at a hotel charging $50/person/night by the agency we got our visa through in the States, but since they were booked up for the night we were released from our "contract" and allowed to go elsewhere. It’s a ludicrous process the Russians deem necessary. It just boggles my mind how difficult the Russian government makes it for foreigners to enter the country and even travel within when they could benefit so much more from foreigners’ money by eliminating the bureaucratic hoopla required.

Our third night in the city we went to the home of Dima’s family, the Lukarevskys, for a welcome dinner they were having in our honor. They were my host family when I first came to Saint Petersburg in 1993 on a dance exchange. His parents, Peter and Olga, treat me as if I’m their own when I am there. Unfortunately, we didn’t keep in great touch throughout the years because neither of us could write or speak in the other’s language. However, when we’re in each other’s presence, the conversations and laughter never stop. We’re thoroughly entertained by the many variations of charades, broken English or Russian, and dictionary talk. This time around I was able to meet Dima’s siblings as well; the first time I was here they must have been coincidentally visiting relatives when I came to create room for me in their house. Dima is the oldest of three; his brother Simione is 19 and the youngest is their sister Nastia (15). In 1993 the Lukarevskys lived in the old Soviet-style communal house where two to three families lived in the same flat; each family has one room to call their own yet share the bathroom and kitchen with the other families. I didn’t understand any of this at the age of 14, yet I do remember thinking that it was quite odd that after dinner they put me to bed in the same room we ate in while they all went next door. Little did I know that they were "sardining" themselves on the floor of the neighboring family’s room, just so I could have my own room. This is only one example of how much them overextend themselves with hospitality, most of the time unbeknownst to the guest(s).

Soon after I left Russia in 1993 they moved into a fairly large two bedroom flat of their own (I’m still unsure if they own it or rent it), which is where we visited this time. Kate, Andy, and I metroed out 45 minutes from the center of town to their place. Once we approached their door I got butterflies in my stomach; I was in disbelief that I was finally seeing Peter and Olga after 10 years. I had promised them that I would always return, I just never thought it would take a decade. Dressed in a leopard patterned bathrobe, Olga opened the door and greeted us with the hugest hug and smile ever. She looked beautiful, healthy and happy. I imagine the changing of times has played an enormous role in her transformation. Peter approached me with his arms out and a grin hiding under his Yosemite Sam-esque mustache. As we squeezed each other with big bear hugs our conversation began, neither of us paying any regard to the fact that we didn’t comprehend each other’s words. We knew that the messages were being understood.

Tummies were grumbling in hunger so we promptly sat down at the table for dinner. The table was already full with salads, bread, champagne and spirits. We loved the Russian salads. They never have lettuce in them like they do at home. We had a lot of tuna salads, pasta salads, cucumber/tomato salads, beet & carrot salads, vegetable salads, and potato salads. Practically stuffed from our salad dinner we leaned back in satisfaction and raised our glasses. If we had only known that that was the first course of three we would have paced ourselves a little bit more. Next rolled out the hot dishes or meat and potatoes… delicious!

For four hours we had broken conversations of this and that and looked at pictures of when I last visited Saint Petersburg and when Dima came to California. Andy made friends quickly as most males do with a bottle and shot glass in hand. Let’s just say that it’s impossible to tell a Russian "no" to vodka, especially if they feel there is a reason to be celebrating. Two bottles of champagne, one bottle of vodka, and ผ bottle of whiskey (a gift from us brought from the States) later the night was slowing down. Or shall I say for Dima, Peter, and Andy. Olga kept up with the boys quite steadily, but somehow knew when to quit at the right time. At the end of our wonderful evening I tried to express how special it was for me to be in their house and presence again, yet when I turned to Nastia to translate it for Peter tears came out rather than words. In that emotionally climatic moment (assisted by the champagne), Peter reached out and held me tenderly as my mother or father would have done, stoking my back and head, the universal language of parenthood. My tears of happiness to be with them and longing for my own family poured onto his shoulder. There were no barriers of communication in that moment, my words were not needed for him to understand me. All of this was only for Andy and Nastia to witness. Poor Nastia was quite confused as to what was going on. Laughing at the moment, I explained as best I could when I could clear my throat enough to speak. Soon there after we hit the hay. Olga insisted we stay at their house due to the late hour and distance to the center. Somehow we ended up moving our stuff to their apartment and staying with them for a little less than a week. From this point on we split our time between Kate’s house and Dima’s.

Kate was as organized as a professional tour guide for us. She had picked out some of the more spectacular sites for us to see of the mainstream touristy ones as well as some fantastic "off-the-beaten path" sites. Two of our favorite not-so-touristy things we did were doing a tour at the Russian Vodka Museum and an evening at a Chinese teahouse. The vodka museum has only been opened for 2 years, but it was a pretty interesting and enlightening place. Spanning the life of vodka, with particular attention paid to its role in Russian society, we saw how it is made, and old posters and pictures showing us the ways of the times. Also on display were ration cards from the 1980’s that guaranteed each Russian citizen the 10 essentials- one of which, not surprisingly, was vodka. At the end of the tour, they give you a free shot of their best vodka, Flagship, before heading back out into the evening light.

We were wondering why we were going to a Chinese teahouse in Russia when we could be going to a Russian teahouse. We eventually found out that the term Russian teahouse is a myth and that they don’t really exiSaint Upon entering the Chinese teahouse we took off our shoes and slipped on the sandals they provided. We had no idea what to expect as we plopped our bums on the floor in our sheeted off section of the room. At first we prematurely labeled our "tea guide" a tea-Nazi, playing off the Seinfeld soup-Nazi, because of how serious he was taking the tea ceremony process. However, shortly into the ceremony our attitudes began to change. His demeanor and melodious instruction led us to understand, respect, and enjoy the tea ceremony and the qualities it brings to one’s life. It was similar to a meditation or way or life. Some instructions he gave us to properly respect the ceremony and the teapot, the most important element of the ceremony, were to always heat any tea utensils, cups, and teapots with boiling water before using them. Never touch the tea leaves with your hands because our nature oils change the flavor and attitude of the tea. To "meet" with the tea you inhale and exhale it 4-5 times. Supposedly you’ll notice the scent of the tea change over time and after mixed with people. Each person’s cup smells differently when empty than the person’s next to her due to our body’s unique oils.

Our tea guide spoke of and treated the teapot as if it were alive, petting it with a brush and constantly heating it by pouring boiling water over it’s outside. We conversed with the tea leader and the teapot for three hours, filling ourselves with over 20 cups of green tea each. The ceremony truly was a relaxing and bonding experience. Before we paid our bill of $5 and departed the tea guide gave us a couple of tips about buying teapots for when we get to China.

Without a doubt, the Hermitage was one of my favorite sites in Saint Petersburg, just as it was the first time, particularly the Malachite Room. The location of the museum downtown and on the Neva River is divine. Andy and I enjoyed a homemade lunch in the museum’s central foyer before entering. There were long lines but we bypassed them by heading straight for the tour office, which was advertising English tours. We figured we wanted to hear the history of such a wonderful place in English. Immediately after entering the small office a kind woman gave me price ($3.30 for students to enter and the tour was free; $10.60 for adults to enter and another $10.60 for the tour) and directed us where we needed to go to pay, get some stamp and then meet our guide. Russians love stamps; for whatever reason you need them for everything. Although Andy had to pay the hefty adult price (I fortunately reap the benefits of a student with my Int’l student card), we were pleased with the friendly, speedy, and efficient service we got, usually an anomaly as a tourist in Russia.

Our guide, just for us mind you, was as Russian as you can stereotype, monotone, lifeless, and impersonal. Nonetheless, we followed her around for an hour and a half soaking up every bit of knowledge and information she felt like spitting out. We enjoyed the Winter Palace (featured the rooms and possessions of the former tsars) most of all, although that’s not a very fair statement considering we only peaked our heads into the other galleries within the Hermitage. I’m sure we would have loved a lot of the impressionist art as well as others, but the place was huge and after 3 hours of walking indoors we had had enough.

Our two weeks in Saint Petersburg flew by, but not without adding another year to NikiAnne’s age. That’s right, we celebrated my 24^th birthday with copious amounts of laughter, food, Russian water (AKA vodka) and friends. I was even lucky enough to celebrate it for two nights, one with Kate’s family and another with Dima’s. The night ended late after multiple toasts and tears shed. It was the best birthday and goodbye I could have ever wished for. The special times shared only made it harder when we had to say our farewells at the train station the next evening. In true Russian fashion, we were accompanied to the station by practically all of our friends in the city for the departure. As our train pulled away from the platform, the last images of our Russian families were waving hands and smiling faces.