To Russia with love?
We left Haapassari, the small Finnish island just short of the Russian border, at 14.00 hrs and crossed the maritime frontier with Big Brother watching our every move we were sure, at 15.23. Nothing looked different, just sea and distant islands, but there was something in the air. That feeling never left me until we passed out of Russian territory 10 days later en route to the Finnish Lakes although it was only on the odd occasion we came across what might be regarded as Kremlin or KGB tactics during our time in St Petersburg.
We arrived at Kronstadt in the early hours of the following morning after slowing our progress in light winds. We had been asked to telephone the CA HLR (our man in St Petersburg) when we got to a certain spot on the approach to Kronstadt and I didn't want to disturb him at 05.00 in the morning. Bad decision as it turned out. We tried to call at 07.30 hrs but there was no mobile signal. The sign of things to come? A couple of miles short of Kronstadt we got a signal but no one answered our call, just a recorded message in Russian. We sent a text which never arrived apparently so we arrived at Kronstadt 'unannounced'. This caused quite a stir and our HLR, Vladimir, got it in the neck apparently. Also we managed to sail straight past the passport control jetty on our first pass to exacerbate the problem and they called us up on the VHF. Once we'd deciphered what they were saying through their thick accents we turned around and arrived at the correct jetty 20 minutes after we'd first sailed past it. The Russian officials were totally relaxed about all this and the young lady who came on board to check us out had more of a problem with her tight skirt and high heels than anything else. But she never stopped smiling. We were soon checked through, Vladimir arrived from St P a little agitated because we hadn't advised him of our imminent arrival according to him, and we continued on our way to sail the last 20NM to the central River Yacht Club in St P, our home for the next 10 days. As we approached all of us on board were distinctly unimpressed by the skyline as the shore got closer and closer. Tenemernt blocks, shipyards and dirty looking shoreline were all we could see. No church towers or palaces in view. I checked the chart just to make sure we'd come to the right part of the Baltic! It turned out we were to be berthed on one of the outer islands upon which St P is built and all the palaces etc were some way off in the centre of the city.
The central River Yacht Club was a real dicothemy. Filthy rubbish strewn water, broken pontoons and walkways and water and electricity points which worked when they felt like it. Harry, our group leader, came over to greet us and gave us a tour of the tired looking facilities. Much equipment and doors and staircases had been broken for some time by appearances and no effort was being made to effect repairs. The shower 'facilities' were 'guarded' by a young man who barely looked up every time I used them. And there was another guard at the dilapidated entrance to the boat pontoon - a 24 hour gatekeeper, wizened, dislevelled, uniformed, poor; sourly, who grunted response to a foreign "good morning." Most times I saw him he was on the nearby rocks fishing but occasionally the main gate was closed and we had to walk through the pedestrian gate. The 'guard' showed no interest in anyone all the times I passed by. But there were many very expensive western cars in evidence, including two Bentleys, and this obvious affluence appeared in stark contrast to the poor standard of the surroundings generally. Large, and I mean large, motor yachts were much in evidence. Every afternoon, some 50 metres of red superyacht (interior in gold, "Czarist" baroque, insignia "Crown"), departed. A foredeck cannon announced its return each day in case anyone had missed something the size of the QE2 entering harbour. A squat, serious, broad, suited owner swiftly disembarks, followed by four, dark suited, bulky, unsmiling, humanoids - entering, a royal blue, silver, open top, Rolls Royce. The car swiftly departs, trailed closely, by a large, blackened, dark, Range Rover, 4WD. It is owned by an oil oligarch it seems and his wealth had clearly gone to his head so ostentatious was he. Helicopters came and went at will, landing on the grass outside the yacht club, depositing their young wealthy owners for another fun filled evening surrounded by attractive, scantily clad girls.
We also discovered the yacht club was half an hour's walk from the nearest metro station, the best way into town we were told. There was a closer bus stop but the bus journey could take hours so bad is St P traffic congestion. But we were in St Petersburg and were not to be deterred and the next morning we were up bright and early to make the journey into this 'dream city'. The temperature was in the 80s/90s and by the time we'd found an ATM to get some roubles (it was behind a locked gate!) and arrived at the metro station we were all feeling in need of some liquid refreshment. But we boarded the train and what a surprise! The station was clean and airy, the track was hundreds of feet below the surface down two long, long escalators and everyone was so well behaved. They queued politely and a young lady sprang up to offer me her seat when she saw I was clearly of 'that age'. I refused since we were only going three stops but I was treated to the same courteous offer by good looking girls each time I boarded a crowded train.
We wandered around looking just like Japanese tourists do in London with cameras slung round our necks and our faces buried in a city map, but we soon found the Hermitage and stared and stared in awe. For me it was a dream come true and as I wandered closer and closer across the vast square fronting it I lost contact with the girls. No matter I was happy to be alone in the throngs of people coming and going. The Hermitage was on our 'agenda' for the coming week so I didn't visit inside on this our first day. Instead I started to wander and drink in all the sights. There were many and the day flew by. I found a sushi wok house in a basement where I had a very cheap but tasty lunch and continued on my wanderings taking in all the sights. One pleasure was all the young women, models by their appearance, with long legs and very short skirts. There were dozens of them and that evening a number of the chaps on the rally commented on them. They'd enjoyed it too!
Back at the neglected yacht club expensive restaurants attract the arrogant, well to do, newly enriched in large black, chauffered, western.cars/4WDs. Most would probably not even recognise a Lada today. Long legged, high heeled, scantily clad, beautiful blondes, parade in expectation. We'd been recommended by Vladimir to use a restaurant at the yacht club called 'The Ship's Bell' in preference to any other and that is where I dined that evening. The cold beer was good but I was unimpressed by the grilled meat and half tomato, slice of pepper and shredded cabbage that accompanied it. The meal cost me 650 roubles in total -about £13 - so nothing to really complain about. Until the last evening when we had the final rally dinner at the same restaurant. For 1600 roubles we had the same meal with just the additiion of a salad starter and a chocolate eclair as dessert. Someone saw us coming! Our first official rally evening when we had a 'pontoon party' with each boat contributing a dish and wine/beer knocked the pants off it in my view.
All the crews on the rally went to a Russian Folk Evening on Monday. I was sitting in the front row at the side of the stage. Mid way through a Russian dance three of the Russian girls came down into the audience and grabbed three men and led them up on stage. I was one of them! We all started dancing and the girls were flirting with the men. The Filipino and Japanese men appeared extremely embarrassed I’m told but I entered into the spirit of the thing. At one stage I waved an attractive and attentive girl away and turned my attention to another. It brought the house down! And when we’d finished more than 20 people came over to congratulate me, crew and strangers alike. Three Russian guys wouldn’t leave me alone calling me a ‘star’ and slapping me on the back and offering me Vodka. One of the crews asked if I’d had any formal dance training?!!! That will make my wife scream with laughter when she recalls how we met! I explained that I’d been married to a fabulous ballerina for 30+ years and it must have rubbed off!
The ballet we saw, Swan Lake, didn't impress. The prima ballerina was superb, the corps de ballet had some exquisite dancers but that is as far as it went. The men were disappointing - a view I've heard many a woman express down the years!