Irkutsk and Olkhon Island

After four days on the train, Irkutsk was a welcome if not boring stop.  The charm of the wooden homes and markets beckoned us to walk the streets and find the tourist bureau to book our Lake Baikal adventures.  Known as the Paris of Siberia, this small town's seal features a mythical creature called a Babr. Part lion but closely resembling a fox to us, the main square has a large statue. By the golden shine on the claws, it seems people rub them for luck.

We took a 5 hour bus ride to Olkhon island to stay two nights at Nikita's homestead. A kitschy place that rents bikes, atvs, and sponsors excursions to the northern tip of the island, the meals are hot and plentiful in the canteen. Unfortunately we arrived a week or two too early for the season.  There was still ice in the lake, precluding ferries and tour boats from running.  We had two options- pay 600 roubles each to get in another bus and bounce to the northern cape of the island for a total of 6 hours with a non-english speaking guide; OR, ride mountain bikes with two new American friends for 600 roubles total. Oh, and the fresh water seals have not been seen on the Cape yet this season.

How badly my arse hurts as I type this is a testament to how much fun we had. Through forests and up to clearings with budding flowers and vista views of the island, even though the bike changed gears without my desire, it was a good ascent and even more fun descent. On that sunny afternoon we drank some Russian beer a little ways away from the Sacred Rock and the prayer flag poles that stand outside the back gates of our Homestead. 

Blue is the holiest color and cloth tied to these poles strikes a contrast to the Caribbean like turqouise of Lake Baikal. Although I am disappointed we did not see the fresh water seals, the colors of the sunsets, the walks along the ice and pebble covered beaches, the sound of water lapping on the shore, was worth the jaunt here.

Victory Day

Early in the morning we took a fast train from St. Petersburg to Moscow.  A luxurious train similar to the Allegro we took from Finland we settled in for a 3 hour nap in the quiet car. 

We woke as train slowed and suburban Moscow came into view, complete with enormous apartment complexes in the picture below.

Upon arriving in Moscow, our friend Alicia met us (she was on a train the arrived 20 minutes prior) with her Moscovite hostess, Tatiana.  They were there to help us get from one of the regional train station, Leningradsky, to long transit trains departing from Yaroslavasky. For which we are very very thankful. 

A military band struck up the national anthem and other passengers sung along as we exited the platform. Alicia and Tatiana's smiles greeted us, along with red carnations in celebration of Victory Day. These same carnations decorated our table in the train to Irkutsk.

Outside in the warm air we stopped to see the flyover on their way to the grand stand at the Kremlin. Josh became quite animated and pointed out the new stealth fighters, cargo planes, and migs.  As always it was more impressive with the naked eye. The distance shown in the camera phone is a bit deceiving.

After a quick tour of the outdoor placards which list the departing trains' platforms, we thanked the gals with some coffee and small snacks at a nearby cafe.  Josh and I split some rabbit filled pelmenies and I sampled a regional favorite, berry tea.

We bid good bye to our lovely friends and navigated the crowds to our platform to begin our adventure. We discussed the women's 4 inch stilletos (very common), the few dogs (very uncommon), and the International mix of people at the station.  Overall, 2.5 hours in Moscow without incident. Go us.

Hermitage

When we opted to skip Moscow and tour St. Petersburg instead the first item on my list was Hermitage. Home to some of the world's most coveted art masterpieces and housed in the Winter Palace, this is one of the world's largest museums.

Wanting to make the most of the visit and avoid the crowds and tour groups, I read trip advisor reviews (love that app) and received intel from Alicia who had toured it two days prior.  Armed with those two sources and her floor map, I logged onto the website to purchase our will call tickets (to by pass the entry lines that taxed me at Pushkin) and check on the closed exhibits. With nearly 1/3 of the exhibits closed for renovation, I literally mapped out our attack plan to tour the highlights, complete on which stairwells to take. Yeah...I am a planner. You should have seen me at Disney.

Anywho. For nearly six hours we toured around the art and the Palace apartments that were open.  Matisse. Picasso. Rembrandt. Renoir. Degas. Monet. Manet. Van Gogh. And my personal favorite, Rubens.  Two things astounded me:

1. That I was actually seeing with my own eyes works of art that I studied long ago; and,
2. How the Russians treat their treasures.

On the second point, let me explain.  Having lived in DC and toured among our national Smithsonian archives, I am spoiled in beholding paintings in perfect lighting, under glare proof glass, behind security trip wires, and in temperature controlled rooms.

The grand rooms of Palace had windows open on a cold, damp day. Matronly ladies stood or sat in each gallery and warned away people who got too close to the art, when seen. Flourescent bulbs that were somewhat fully charged beamed down from the ceilings.  Much of the art did not have glass in front of it. Those that did have glass glared brightly under the poor lighting. And for that matter, there was no discerning reason why some had glass and some did not. It had nothing to do with value. I could have, when the matron wasn't looking, touch the tender brushworks of Renoir but not the one next to it because it was under glass. 

Monet's Bridge over Waterloo was in a dark corner with no glass and the frame visibility separating from the watercolor.

I was elated to see these works but disappointed by their care. I tried to not be distracted by the presentation but in some of the grand halls it hampered my ability to view it all.  Tiny placards denoted the artist and title but because of the glare and height of the room, you had to traverse to the far side to look up at the grand paintings hung just below the crown molding.

Nevertheless when I entered the gallery of Rubens, my heart melted. Compared to the rest of impressionist era artists, his ability to make a silk dress come to life on the canvass transports me every time.  I sat in awe, getting lost in the stories of the paintings' subjects. It was worth the crowds, the craning of neck, the navigating of maps/advice/stairwells to find myself beholding this beauty.

And speaking of beauty, the opulence witnessed the previous day in Pushkin was seen again the Palace Apartments that were open.  Golden peacock clock. Music room with intricately carved piano. Drawing rooms with examples of china used to host ambassadors and dignitaries.  A hall decorated for the sole purpose of marrying tsar and tsarina. And wooden floors and doors that, to me, were works of art unto themselves. 

Sauna

As I learned in Iceland last fall these Nordic and Scandanavian countries know their sauna. Many Finnish homes have personal saunas that whole families roast in daily as a ritual to improve their health.

At our new Finnish friend's home I got to roast in one, alternating between the 120 degree C inside and 4 degree C outside temperatures. Friends were on the porch smoking hookah and drinking beer after an afternoon BBQ; and so as steam rose from my freckled shoulders I took a few small drags from the apple flavored cubes and chatted about the differences among cultures in the US, Latin America and in Finland. The conversation was fun, lively, respectful and educated. After several trips to and from my legs no longer ached from the dancing the night before.  My sinuses cleared. My body and mind felt relaxed. I made a mental note to use our's in Girdwood more often.

Now I understand the Revolution

A day at Pushkin and you begin to fully comprehend what sparked the Revolution.

Alicia is our new Polish friend.  For our second day in Russia we navigated the subway and bus system to arrive in the town of Pushkin and see Catherine's Palace. And then the lines began.

1. Line to purchase ticket to get into the gardens. 150 roubles each.
2. Line to get into the Palace.
3. Line in the Palace to purchase an entry ticket. 400 roubles each.
4. Line to check our coat.
5. Line for a locker to store our bag.
6. Line to scan our ticket and access the actual freaking Palace.

The Palace, like many places in Russia, are undergoing renovation. Only 20 rooms of the enormous "country cottage" was open. We found opulence in each room: gilded frame work from floor to ceiling and then on the actual ceiling, surrounding scenes of angels and peasants in the impressionists style. The windows overlooked expansive gardens and ground which we later walked to see the Grotto, Turkish Bath, and Cameron Gallery. The latter was simply a long hall with a second floor promenade lined with bronze busts of people the Empress admired and was conceived for walks and philosophical conversation.  Can you imagine-  a whole separate building for conversations?

The majority of the buildings were under renovation.  From afar the facades looked perfectly white topped with colored roofs but up close you saw the chips and flaws in the structures. According to writeups in our tour guides, under Putin's leadership there has been a resurgence in national pride which funds monuments and attractions such as palaces and churches.  Below there are two photos displayed in the Palace's small archive dedicated to the process of renovations and reclamation projects. These are before and after photos of what Catherine's' Palace looked like during the Revolution. 

To Russia with Love

Allegro, our bullet train, carried us at a rate of 185 kph from Helsinki to St. Petersburg.  We picnicked aboard with treats we picked up at the Market on our last day in Finland's capitol.

A late night arrival at the hostel and some much needed rest, we headed out the next day to see the City's most famous churches.

Our hostel is located a mere two blocks from the Four Seasons. This high class hotel advertises its prime location near St. Isaacs, Hermitage, and many more. And yet we are staying in the same area at a fraction of the cost. The venue is perfect for walking to each of the highlights along our tour.

We climbed the colonnade of St. Issacs for a 360 degree view of the skyline from the port to the river to the churches to the palaces.  Our next stop was the mosaic marvel of Spilled Blood which took 27 years to build and yet 30 to repair after war and neglect ruined much of the artistry.  Our last church of the day was Kazan, in which restorations are ongoing but this active Catholic church sees many prayer requests and candles lit by patrons.  I was happy to have my scarf to cover my head out of respect as we walked among the paintings and tributes to saints.

In the evening we sat in box seats a few feet from the stage to watch the Mariinsky Ballet Company perform one of the world's most romantic ballets. Debuting in 1832 La Sylphide delighted the audience, myself included.

And yet we ended our evening in such a different way than one would imagine after a day of historically significant churches and ballet.  We found our way to an Irish pub watching south american soccer while listening to American music and dining on pelminis. I guess after the mini UN conference in Finland, we needed to represent.

A Chilean, a Nepalese, and a Finn walk into a bar

Our first full day in Finland was nearly 20 hours long.

After a day of museums and walking around the sights, we headed out to sample some local brews at Villi Waino.  Boasting wifi and some good ipas, Josh and I noshed on brats and waffle fries while checking in on social media.

Rather than wrap up too early we headed to the bar next to our hostel. We friended the bar keep, Robert, whose father was from Massachusetts.  Like many in Finland he spoke perfect English and to boot- he was wearing a Drop Kick Murphy's tshirt.

Some wine and some local liquor shots later, a smooth talking Chilean saddles up next to us to order another round for his table.  What transpired next was a scene from a movie.

The usual where are you from and what are you doing here was exchanged.  He works in Finland; we are on our honeymoon. This response elicits hugs from this Latin stranger but knowing latins as we do, does not take us by surprise.  We accept his invite to his table where two perhaps three more rounds are enjoyed while we all speak in English and tell our stories. By the end of the last call another joins us, a Mexican.  So there we are: us two, Chile, Nepal, Finland, and Mexico represented.  A small mini UN conference. 

Next stop? CUBA of course. The nightclub around the corner thumped dance music as the Chilean's Finnish girlfriend and I take over a small back corner of the club. Hungry and thirsty when the bouncers round up the stragglers that we were well after the music ended we accept yet another invitation to the Finn and Chilean's flat. We stop at the grocery and pick up a few sundry items and walk along quiet streets laughing and chatting excitedly.  The four of us squeeze into the kitchen as I prepare some bruschetta to soak up some of the alcohol in our systems. We compare notes on home size and decoration and make plans to join them at the Finn's parents' home in a nearby town.  Delighted to accept yet another invite Josh and I realize we should probably sleep at some point. So, 20 hours after our day began, we walked home to our hostel at 5 AM, guided by a beautiful sunrise.