Another glimpse into my time in Russia

The writing of my story about my time in Russia is still a work in progress.  It's been slow going as I've taken on other projects and started college classes, but I write when I can.  Here is another installment.  They are posted in no particular order.  In this segment, my friend and I have just arrived in St. Petersburg from Moscow.  It is our first day in the city.

“As a single footstep will not make a path on the earth, so a single thought will not make a pathway in the mind.  To make a deep physical path, we walk again and again.  To make a deep mental path, we must think over and over the kind of thoughts we wish to dominate our lives.” – Henry David Thoreau

It’s early afternoon when we arrive at Moskovsky Rail Station in St. Petersburg.

Based on a design by architect Konstantin Thon and built in the late 1840’s, Moskovsky station was originally called Nicholaevsky after Nicholas I as he was the reigning monarch at that time.  It was not given its present name until 1930. 

Since both stations were designed by Thon, Moskovsky station physically mirrors its counterpart in Moscow, but there are subtle differences in the atmosphere.  People bustle about in the same way and it’s no less crowded, but their energy is different.  It is brighter, calmer, and more congenial than that at Leningradsky railway station.

St. Petersburg has always been my end destination.  It is here where I have wanted to be for the past six months, so maybe it is only my energy that is in contrast.  Maybe St. Petersburg is like Moscow, tired and indifferent, and everything remains the same.  Perhaps it only looks different to me because I am seeing it through a pair of cliché rose-colored glasses. 

Christy doesn’t realize how much of an impact the simple act of disembarking the train has on me.  I have told her very little about my internal struggles.  She knows, of course, about my separation from my husband and the ensuing depression, but not the depth of it or of the self-deprecating way of thinking that has followed.  I have downplayed my reasons for this trip, told her I simply needed a breather and some space to get my head on straight. 

Transitioning from having a cop’s mentality to that of a civilian has been difficult.  I am in a constant state of observation and situational awareness.  I’m always watching and profiling every person I see.  Always playing the “what-if” game in my mind.  What if the man in front of me pulls out a gun?  What if the bank gets robbed while I’m standing in line?  What if? What if?  A million scenarios run through my brain so I can be prepared at any given moment.  Traits that helped me be a good Deputy, helped keep me and my partners safe, but a way of thinking that has taken a toll on my psyche. 

That mind play didn’t simply stop when my uniform came off.  It’s ingrained in me and I hate it.  People who don’t work in law-enforcement don’t get it, don’t understand how it messes with your mind.  However, after spending a good portion of her adult life in law-enforcement, Christy understands.  She doesn’t ask many questions and allows me the time and space I need to get myself back to a good place again.

My first step off the train is the beginning to the end of my transformation, or so I think at the time.  There is much more to my journey that extends well beyond St. Petersburg, but I don’t realize it just yet.  It is in this beautiful city where I feel the biggest phase of my change will occur.  Already it is happening.  I am content and that in and of itself is huge.

In our itinerary packet, we received strict instructions to wait on the train platform for our greeter, so we wait.  I am looking for a man, someone young like the other two guides who assisted us in Moscow, but Mira is definitely neither.  She is perhaps in her early 40’s, incredibly beautiful, with dark hair and eyes.  Standing next to her, I feel fat and ordinary, but she is friendly and immediately makes us feel at ease. 

During the 20-minute drive to our hotel, conversation with her is easy.  She asks about our time in Moscow, what we liked best, and like our previous guides, gives us a brief history lesson of the city.  

My impression of St. Petersburg is it is very clean.  Beautiful is what I think.  It is the opposite of Moscow, however in its vibrancy.  I felt it at the train station, but now I am seeing it as we drive to our hotel.  There are kids playing in a park, a couple strolling along the street with their dog, two teenagers sitting on a park bench acting like young lovers do.  I see vitality.  I see life.

I was born and raised in San Diego, California.  It is where I have always lived, where my family lives, yet there is a disconnect between me and the city.  It is home, but it doesn’t feel like home.  It doesn’t give me comfort.  All my memories are there, but I only associate the city with the bad ones because as of late, that’s all there's been. 

Less than an hour after arriving in St. Petersburg, however, I already feel a connection to this foreign city.  I know I am blinded by my emotions and I am only seeing what I want to see, but it feels authentic.  It’s cathartic, and I hate using that overused word, but it is an accurate description to what is happening to me.

Our hotel is up ahead, but the roads surrounding it are blocked off.  Our driver pulls over and speaks with someone standing at the blockade.  I listen to their conversation, but can understand none of it, although I get the impression our driver is trying to convince the man to let us through.  

Mira explains the roads are closed for security because there is a group of foreign dignitaries staying at our hotel.  We will have to walk the rest of the way.  Our driver dumps us off about a block from our hotel and wishes us luck as Mira leads us to the hotel.   

The Angleterre Hotel opened in 1991 and was built to replicate the original hotel, Napoleon’s, that stood on the property in 1840.  However, when it opened in 1991, it was nameless, becoming part of the neighboring Hotel Astoria instead.  With a change of management in 1999, the hotel’s name was restored to Angleterre Hotel.  Although it is still connected to the Astoria, the 4-star Angleterre is now its own entity and known mostly for being the place where famous Russian poet, Sergei Yesenin, hanged himself in 1925. 

Our room is not as spacious as the one at Hotel Savoy in Moscow, but our view is better as we actually have a view this time.  From our room in Moscow, we looked out upon another building and its roof with crisscrossing cables and wires. 

View from our hotel window

Once, while Christy and I were getting ready to go out, we watched a young 20-something year old man and woman climb out a window of one building and onto the roof of another.  The woman promptly dropped her pants, squatted, and took a pee.  Our window and drapes were open and we made noise so they would know we were there, but apparently the woman had to go the bathroom really bad as she didn’t seem to care that we could see her. 

No chance of seeing anyone peeing from our window at the Angleterre, unless they do it on the street below.  Our windows open wide with a small sitting area where I can look upon St. Isaac’s Cathedral and a tree covered park.  The row of parking spots along the street is full of identical black SUVs, which will eventually carry away the group which has caused the road closures. 

It is now 4pm and I’m famished! 

Petrov-Vodkin on Admiralteyskiy Avenue is a quick 5-minute walk from our hotel.  The restaurant isn’t crowded and we easily get a table.  Our waiter speaks English, but not very well, although it is much better than my Russian.  I pull out my cellphone to use my translation app to help communicate with him, however, when I access it, the last word I translated pops up: шлюха (shluha), which means whore.  

The waiter makes a sound of surprise and I immediately cover my phone.  I am beyond embarrassed! 

After I apologize profusely and recover from my little faux pas, we follow him to a case full of deliciously looking tapas.  I’m seeing with my hungry tummy and want to eat everything, but I order just one, a beet-herring tapa.  And then we splurge on a caviar tasting plate.  Black, yellow, and red caviar along with bread, onions, chives, and sour cream.  Black is the more expensive caviar, but I prefer red. 

For dinner, I order a sterlett filet with a poached egg over smoked potato puree surrounded by (surprise!) red caviar.  Of course it is good, but my only complaint is there is not enough of it!  After dinner, we detour through the park near our hotel.  It is chilly and I am tired, but feeling good.  

St. Petersburg is already working her magic. 

St. Isaac's Cathedral at night