MORE FACES OF RUSSIA

JBelle

Bellemaison

The 'Kan EWA

St. Petersburg is among the most unique, if not the most unique, of cities. It is a new city, founded by Peter the Great in May 1703. It was to be the capital city of the new generation of Rus, Peter turning his back on the traditions of the ancient Rus, creating a fresh start with unparallelled ambition and vision. It's a dark city, with a tragic history but reminds you of Paris, because of the river, Amsterdam because of the canals, Venice because of the bridges, London because of the parks and New York because it's a city of immigrants. Peter invited the foremost thinkers of the day to come and form a new ideal, and they came scientists, academicians, artists, architects alike. The result was and is a stunning city, with spectacular vistas and panoramas, built by Europeans using classical European models, but squarely under the influence of Russian art and architecture. Some say it's a masterpiece in urban planning. It is extraordinary and a solid testament to the will of survival.

Having said this, St. Petersburg remains a difficult city. I would not go there without a Russian/English speaking guide. Moscow is the only place in Russia that has enjoyed capital investment since perestroika and so life remains quite difficult for some because jobs are not plentiful. I am a no-fear warrior and high challenge to boot. I get around most places in the world with relative ease; I feel safe just about always. Not in St. Petersburg. It is beautiful and fearsome all at once and no match for this white girl from Coeur d'Alene.

Because jobs are scarce, the guides available are highly educated and experienced, making your excursions with them a pleasure, worth every dime you pay and tip. They are classically educated, so not only do they speak three or four languages, but they have a specific area of educational or functional expertise as well. They are historicans, artists, economists, well versed in clasical literature, theatre and music. They are fiercely proud of being Russian and the resulting package is a delicious and rare opportunity. We used two guides, both having grown up in Communist Russia. They told personal stories of their and their families' lives under Communism, many of which brought me to tears. These people starved to death, froze to death, had the shit kicked out of them by the secret police. This was Communism. They survived. The Russians are resolute, sturdy and humorous. They are damned fine people. Here's how they look:

We arrived at the St. Petersberg airport via FinnAir from Helsinki. It was a warm Sunday evening and we were quite startled at how small, run down and shabby the airport was. After clearing customs and watching the locals watch us as we proceeded to baggage, we were both became anxious and tense but were quite relieved to see a sign with our name waving in the air. Our English speaking driver quickly escorted us to the car and locked us in. We turned and looked at each other. They lock you in? The people all wore old and worn clothes and the uniforms that some had on were raggedy and patched. There were a few newer cars, but without exception, the cars were all filthy dirty, having not been washed in months. Our driver came back with all the luggage, explained to us he had to wait for two more people and that he was turning us over to another driver, who didn't speak English but would get us to our destination in no time. Non-English speaking driver had a huge smile so we nodded and smiled back and he climbed in. We were off to the riverboat terminal on the River Neva. Lord have mercy.

The real estate around most airports is not the most visually appealing. Mostly because the purpose of the surrounding land is utilitarian, tied to the functions of the airport. Although in this case, there was no industrial productions facilities that you typically see. Just squalor, poverty, and destitution on both sides of the road. The standard of living in very, very low in west Russia. It's very disturbing to witness. It makes Tijuana look like San Diego. We had a light moment when the driver pulled in to the wrong terminal; the guards wouldn't let him in, he had to back up about 50 yards, and we became quiet and still, thinking about our original English-speaking driver that we had arranged for, back at the airport picking up some other people. But soon, our guy cranked a sharp right, took us down another road and this time easily passed security and got us in. Our boat was in sight! Lucky for him, I had no change whatsoever, so he got a $20US tip; he grinned broadly, bowed and said "Gracias!" We were both laughing as the porters from the boat took our luggage and we stepped down the gangplank. The front desk welcomed us by name and handed us our key and we were set. We made it.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

To Russia With Love

my own private Idaho

Each time you set out with a plane ticket in hand and your passport in your pocket, surprises await you. Sometimes the surprises greet you at the airport, sometimes the surprises wait for you at the front desk. Sometimes the surprises linger yet longer to reveal themselves to you and may even materialize on the last night of the trip as the most amazing sunset yet. Always there's surprises. You just don't know where. That's why they are surprises.

I grew up in North Idaho. It is beloved to me still and my childhood on Lake Coeur d'Alene, the St. Joe River, Marble Creek and the north fork of the Coeur d'Alene is a golden cherished relic to whom I regularly pay homage and adoration and for which I always, always whisper a thank you as I pass the altar. I have many, many, many memories of hot summer days in the water; walks in the woods after the tamarack turned; of the birches silent in winter, brilliantly leafed in spring. I remember the first time I caught a really big fish, remember how the soft underbelly puckered as I slit the knife in to clean it, and after that how I would always search the waters to see if I could see another big one waiting down there for me. We picked the huckleberries, tramped up and down the hills like billy goats, prized ourselves on spotting the absolute perfect Christmas tree in the snow and frozen air of the winter forest. My own private Idaho.

It was then, an emotional, deeply moving experience to find that very same Idaho again; the Idaho of the Coeur d'Alenes, the Idaho before the woods and the mines shut down, the Idaho of my youth, as I floated down a series of rivers and lakes on my way to Moscow, Russia from where I got on the boat in St. Petersburg. Surprises, indeed.

Russia is the biggest country in the world, covering 10 million square miles and 11 time zones. It has a vast inventory of natural resources that are yet untouched. It has gold, it has silver, it has uranium. Lead and coal; world's biggest oil and gas reserves. Diamonds and platinum. It has the two biggest lakes in Europe, both of which feel more like oceans than lakes when you ride them. Floating the waters of Russia, I saw stand after stand after stand of virgin timber growing right down to the banks of the rivers and lakes. Little, very little, of the waterfronts are developed. It's the Land That Time Forgot. It's Idaho, back in the day.

I saw old, dusty crummy cars parked down near the banks of the river. Dad was standing shin deep in the water, casting with a boy or two and Mom was cooking over an open flame as the other children played nearby. Mom wore a bandanna tied under her chin. How they got that old car down to the river remains a mystery to me. There just aren't many roads in Russia and many in the north are unpaved.

It was not like reliving my childhood and those endless summers; it was like watching them on DVD from a deck chair and remembering so many things you'd forgotten, but so many things you remembered, too. Slapping mosquitoes at dusk just before the campfire. Splashing, swimming and diving for rocks and beer cans. Flat bottomed fishing boats with outboard motors chugging around the lakes. And absolutely nobody but us and the water and the trees, as far as the eye could see.

So this is how it was. Two weeks of it. There was a surprise every single hour we were there.

JBelle
Bellemaison
The 'Kan EWA

Mother Russia provided numerous learnings and insights and left us humbled and awed. Where to begin? All kidding aside, it really is like 'War and Peace'.



JBelle
On Location
New York, New York