dacha tales

On Wednesday evening, we finally got out to Kostya's dacha. Getting there itself
was an ordeal, due to having rented a single bicycle, stranding Kostya and I in
downtown St-P and needing to get to his apartment in the suburbs. Kostya ended up
planting me in the Russian mix between a bus and taxi: a large van with many seats called
a Marshrutka, which follows a fairly regular route but only stops when passengers scream
at the driver that they want to get out. Kostya having told the driver I was
non-Russian-speaking, he was very helpful and told me when it was my stop. Kostya met me
there with the bike. By the time we had made the preparations at his apartment, it had
started raining, and we still had to get to the train station. What followed was about 20
minutes of me carrying Kostya's backpack and sitting on the seat of the bike while
he stood on the pedals and pedaled us to the station. Once on the train, we bought some
ice cream from the only legitimate ice cream peddler among about 10 fakes, and watched
the scenery go by and the rain stop.

At the dacha, Katya and Kostya's friend Igor joined us. I learned how to fire a
rifle, and surprisingly I was something of a natural. We had some beer and tons of
snacks, lit a fire in the stove and hung out until it was really dark and until the sauna
was hot enough; then to the sauna. After a few trips in and out of the heat, I was
treated to a Russian tradition more fun than visiting the police station: lying in the
sauna while being whipped with wet, leafy branches and then dousing yourself with
freezing cold water. I'm serious, look it up. Honestly, it feels like quite a nice
massage. After re-hydrating with a ton of juice and watching the boys barbecue some pork
over an open stove in the once-again-falling rain, we all went inside to eat and sample
the Russian vodka. As per usual with my Eastern European friends, I was expected to
demonstrate how I don't chase vodka with anything else (which is even easier with
Russian vodka because it has a smoother taste than what I'm used to), and Igor was
suitably impressed, ha. Some relaxed conversation, vodka and food later, we all crawled
into bed in the toasty bedroom. The next day was mostly spent eating snack food and
periodically climbing back into bed, but we eventually took turns taking rides around the
woods on the bike we had rented as well as Igor's bike. My Russian friends were
shocked that I basically don't know how to ride a bike, but they insisted I do it
anyway and I improved considerably. I mean, I still suck, but I feel a bit better about
it. Then we all walked down to the lake and the boys indulged in the lifelong pastime of
tall people everywhere of picking me up and throwing me around. Photos pending, of
course. Back in St-P, Kostya and I watched the Liverpool-Milan final UEFA match, half of
which I unfortunately slept through.

The next morning, after another refreshing 9 hours of sleep, we were planning to take the water tram to Petergopf (a garden outside St-P), but the clothing we had washed the night before was still soaking wet. By the time it was dry (with the help of the stove and the iron), there wasn't time to go to Petergopf; instead, we met up with Katya who had finished her classes at university, and took a good 2 hours walking around the Hermitage museum. Which was like, wow. I mean, wow. The exhibitions were breathtaking, combining Rembrandt, Picasso, Gaugin, Pisarro, Monet, ancient Rome, ancient India, and ancient everything else all inside one endless building - but even more impressive is the building itself. I was fairly unimpressed by Versailles, but although my inner socialist still jumps in and screams about the excess of gold, chandeliers and space, I was still in awe of the splendour of the Hermitage building. Unfortunately, cameras were prohibited - so no photos. Oh, another piece of info about Russia which will be useful for anyone travelling here in the future; prices for museums etc. are double to triple for foreigners what they are for Russians. Go with a Russian-speaker to pay $2 rather than $7; just make sure to not speak until you're in the actual museum.