9-1-19 .... Fitting in a Great Palace and leaving Russia just in time.
/Day 77. Leanne here.
We see Peter the Great’s Great Summer Palace, but the Russia Welcome Ain’t So Great
Early on, we decided visiting UNESCO World Heritage sites would be an excellent way to cull down a million different options of what to see in the 40-plus country list we are attempting. If a UNESCO World Heritage site is within our radar, we make best efforts to see it..
For those of you not familiar, UNESCO has designated 1,121 properties around the world as World Heritage properties -- 869 of which are culturally significant, 213 naturally significant, and 39 of combined significance. Our guess is that some esteemed global experts with some top academic credentials in some field of culture regularly gather together and visit all these potential places to either bless them with this prestigious distinction or insult a place completely. Still, sounds like a great jig.
To give you a sense of how significant these sites are, the U.S. only houses 24 of them - which include the Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Yellowstone, Independence Hall and Frank Lloyd Wright's works. So you can get a sense of how highly selective these folks are.
Well, the Russian Federation has 29. Over 3 months of world travel under our belts, we have barely hit two dozen. But today, we venture out on the last few hours of 72-hours of time allowed in Russia visa-free (tick, tick, tick) to check off one more - Peterhof Palace, the summer palace of Peter the Great, originally built in the early 1700s. During World War II, the German Nazi troops actually took it over, occupied it and in the end destroyed it. But its been restored to its original glory.
When arriving at Peterhof by ferry, in the distance, we see a massive fountain streaming upwards and a large beautiful palace behind it. Getting in through its Lower Park entrance (the park that leads you to Peterhof) was quite the drama.
[The following dramatic incident was written by Kyle]
We started off the trip trying to ask, “do you speak English?” in the local language. But English has become prevalent enough that we would receive a response in return along the lines of “you’re in Lithuania, of course I speak English!” So we’ve switched tactics and now we walk up to someone and say “hello” with a big smile. If the person responds with “hello,” we are off and running down the English path. If the person starts talking and we have no idea what they are saying, we go into full blown hand gestures, pointing at pictures, holding number of fingers and acting out a scene if necessary.
So I (Kyle) approach the ticket window surrounded by the kids, smile and say “hello,” which is returned with silence. Hmmm. This is new one I haven’t encountered before. I stand there smiling trying to figure out what to do next when she finally responds with “what you want!” By a stroke of luck (or lack thereof), we’ve clearly ended up on the line with ticket attendant who forgot to take her happy pills that morning. My initial response which I almost say but manage to suppress is “Well, I’m at Peterhof Palace, waiting in line, at the ticket window, so presumably I want to buy tickets to the Palace, no?”
The sign with ticket pricing is in Russian so I ask if there are student discounts and she says, “No Students!” Hmm…I’m going to have to interpret that one on my own and assume she means no student discounts as opposed to students are not allowed to buy tickets. “Ok, do you have discounts for children’s tickets?” She responds with “free.” Ok progress. “What is the maximum age for a children’s ticket?” She responds with “16.” Ok very slow progress, but progress none-the-less. “Is that 16 and under are free or is it under 16 is free?” She responds with “*$!#%^” (this translates into something like a series of guttural noises that do not equate to any letters of the alphabet). All progress has evaporated so I decide to interpret it myself as 16 and under are free which is more favorable to us since Corey is 16.
“Ok, so 3 adults (John has turned 17) and 4 free children,” I say pleased that I’ve figured it out. However, I’m met with a stern response “No!” I have to admit I’m having a hard time discerning the meaning of her one word responses. “I don’t understand,” I say politely. “They not children!” she practically screams at me while jabbing her finger in a pointing motion at Justin who’s standing next to me. Ok, I’ll give you that our kids are on the tall end of the spectrum but Justin who is 6 feet tall is only 14 and they are the one that set the children’s age at 16. I point to Justin and say “14 years old.” She simply says “No!” Well, I have to admit I’m getting frustrated now because I’m pretty sure the ticket agent wasn’t present in the hospital when Leanne was giving birth to Justin.
She obviously doesn’t believe me and demands “Passports!” Oh great. I keep the passports locked in our portable safe back in the Airbnb and usually have copies of the passports in my backpack but today I went out without my backpack since it was only a half day. I feel the tide turning against me as I say, “I don’t have the passports with me” and she says, “no tickets!” in return. Now I’m not entirely sure if she means no free child tickets or if she’s just going to try to bar us from entering the Palace entirely.
I turn to the kids and say “quick, get out your International Student IDs, do they have your birthdays on them?” I hold my breath as they produce the cards and confirm they do have the birthdates. I slide the 5 student IDs under the window and explain they have the birthdates and ISIC organization requires passports to issue the cards so the birthdate has been validated. I can see she is in somewhat of a dilemma as she clearly doesn’t want to grant me free children’s tickets but she can’t figure out how to continue to deny me.
She finally concedes “4 adults, 3 children (apparently, the policy was under 16),” but not without staring me down until I become convinced that I’m going to end up in a prison camp in Siberia by the end of the Palace visit.
[Back to Leanne]
As we walk closer and closer to Peterhof we notice two things: A plethora of gold statues and another plethora of people in line to look at the plethora of gold statues. The walkway, palace facade and incredibly imposing entrance of Peterhof were purposely built to impress and also intimidate dignitaries visiting Peter the Great. I guess the prevailing vision of the original architects upheld was that you can't exactly call yourself Peter the Great without a Great House to show how Great you are. To me, it just looked like what Trump built in Atlantic City.
The shortest line of the several lines to gain access inside the palace is the chapel line, and I found out why the hard way. After another curt ticket attendant interchange at the chapel, I start to think that the Peterhof Employee Manual must have an incentive plan for every tourist you make miserable. We all head upstairs to see the beautiful golden interior that clearly rivaled all that gold outside. While we enter in complete and respectful awe of the chapel, the docents inside the chapel stare down our every move as we start to take our photos.
I lean in to take a photo of this sparkling ceiling and unbeknownst to me, my arm crosses an arbitrary red "No-No" line I hadn’t noticed. Next thing I know, my hand gets slapped down by a female docent for my apparent errant leaning with a stern “No”. Shocked, I gather myself and think "did that just happen?" Apparently, here in Russia, a good-old physical smackdown is perfectly culturally acceptable - especially for us naughty tourist photo takers! The other docents were equally cranky and harsh to the others during our brief 15-minute-stay; it was clearly a “hostile tourist environment” inside this beautiful space intended for worship.
So I decide to do what any good Catholic girl might do in a situation like this. I pray and I forgive (and I decide to blog about it later). In the interest of being uber-respectful, I do try hard to avoid advancing that "ugly American" reputation. I am in Russia for instance and for a good chunk of my life, we were in a bitter Cold War with this nation. So what am I expecting here - a red carpet rolled out or a uber-high-score-customer-service-experience? I’m lucky to even be here!
So, I gather the kids in the heart of the chapel and quietly suggest we all just stop and pray at that moment. We gather in a circle, make crosses on our faces, and collectively look down to pray for a few minutes together. On my way out, I offer up a huge smile and big thank you to all for the privilege of viewing the chapel. Figured a little extra positivity couldn’t hurt and once again I am reminded what a unique privilege the whole world trip really is. For me. For Kyle. For my children.
We walk back through beautifully manicured gardens and I think to myself why would one person -- even a Great, or a Tsar, or an Emperor or a President - quite NEED that much space, that much gold, that much fuss, that much opulence, that many curt docents. Seems to me that maybe a California-sized McMansion could have done the trick?
However, when we arrive at the Peterhof beach near the dock, we realize why Peter may have needed that Great-worthy palace. Unlike our beaches back home, Peterhof's beach was not so GREAT - it wasn’t sandy, more like dirt or gravel. The chilly Baltic Sea water wasn't particularly inviting either. Birds foraged for human food scraps. Our shoes sunk into the mud and none of us even dared to touch the water. Was this really the same gorgeous sea we happily jumped in after our Finnish saunas just a few days ago? It didn’t seem to be! Perhaps the sea of 18th century Peterhof was a bit more inviting but it was hard to not feel sorry for this Great Guy when he wanted to take a Great-worthy dip in the Baltic. This magical feeling of being in majestic St. Petersburg got stuck in the mud on my only pair of shoes!
And then we were off traveling yet again. After the chapel incident, I was happy to get that ferry boat back to the Hermitage ….. to a cab that would take us….. to the hotel to get our bags …..to another cab …… to the ship back to Helsinki ……..on our way to Tallinn, Estonia.
An hour later, we smoothly onboard the well-painted, well-worn St. Pete's Line but now this ship feels comfortable … like our favorite cruise ship ever (sorry Carnival!) because it was just so fun on the way out. After dropping the bags in our austere cabin, we all head back up to favorite deck on the top with the simple-but-oh-so-perfect bar with just one type of Russian bottled beer. As the kids snack on saukerkraut-topped hotdogs and Nutella crepes, Kyle comments that our French Ph.D. friends will probably be on the same boat back as they have the same 72-hour visa-free deadline.
After the snacks are gone, the teens split for the WiFi access in the cabins. (Yes, I said "Split" again for you avid readers, Croatia-reference). Their departure leaves Kyle and me with five empty chairs around our table as we enjoy our now favorite Russian beer. Once again, these empty chairs are instant friend-makers because within a few minutes, we have a U.S. expat originally from Michigan asking to sit with me, as well as a 24-year-old Czech guy with his mom and sister clamouring for our empty seats too. Kyle comes back with two beers to find me engulfed in convos with my new BFFS - these random international folks whom I didn't know just 10 minutes ago when he left for the bar. Wow, what a social cruise! Where's that Finnish teen with the Anti-social club sweatshirt now? We've got five countries of BFFs for him here.
All of the sudden, Kyle's prediction comes true and five of the six French Ph.D.'s arrive on the top deck. We hug them like we just saw our old college roommates -- even though we only know them for all of three days — and 2 of them we didn't even see them. I grab more chairs from surrounding tables. Alex tells us that their sixth friend Andre got denied at the cruise entry by the Russian authorities so he is missing joining them all on the boat ride back. The five of them couldn't really take the risk of NOT getting on -- however, they weren't worried either as Andre is a Russian citizen (of course, his country wants to keep him there, he's really smart!). The French Ph.D’s were confident Andre would sort his journey home just fine. He is a nuclear radiation Ph.D., remember? I suspect, had he been French, however, it may have turned into an international incident. Instead, in his honor, the Ph.D’s insist on buying us a round this time. (Nice touch! Just one of many acts of kindness we have already received on this trip — a free dinner in Croatia twice, free rugby tickets in New Zealand, wonderful hospitality in NYC, London, Finland, etc.)
We learn later that Andre will actually beat us all to Helsinki on an overnight bus taking him around Russia somehow down through Finland. Still, he won't have nearly as much fun as we did -- as the 24-year-old Czech starts buying Jagermeister shots for everyone. The rest of night is a bit of a blur. Our "International Party" group is now the biggest group up on the top deck with our now-15 chairs filled around a table meant for 8. With our really smart new friends, we talk about post-Communist Czech Republic, living in Middle East, future living on Mars, the environment, and (for some unknown reason) Kim Kardishan.
At one point, we even start our own singing revolution. John comes up to the deck to inform his parents that the buffet dinner is closing soon. By now our new international friends have heard all about how we are traversing the world with John’s singing, so they all start chanting "Sing, Sing, Sing” to John. Several random people chant too until John’s pretty much has no choice but to sing. A good mom might say, “its OK not to sing John” to give him an out, but I don’t know where she was at that moment. Cautiously, John belts out one of his opera songs for us all - a cappella and outdoors (both not good conditions for opera singing). But he sounds great nonetheless. And we all go nuts in excitement applauding him afterwards and he leaves us all carrying a huge smile on his 17-year-old face.
As St. Petersburg fades in the distance, we take only good memories with us. Of colorfully-painted palaces. Of majestic gold-filled entrances and and mile-high ballrooms. Of an exquisite art collection turned into one of the world’s top museums. Of well-orchestrated Russian performances. Of beautiful music filling the streets by music hopefuls. But most notably, of majestic churches that have fortunately returned to filling their original purposes of serving as places of worship.
Oh, yes, and lots and lots of errantly taken photos. Thank you St. Petersburg, we had a lovely 72 hours - slap and all!
