Oi Oi Internets, Michael J. Fletcher here taking over Martha’s blog with a cameo appearance about my visit and adventures in Russia this last week (1st-7th November.) Alright, so my journey began Sunday morning at around 2am and after a pleasant day of cage-fights and drinking this was not the easies of starts. I was eventually bundled onto the 3am Dublin bound bus and soon after departure the dreaded hangover kicked in and would not leave until check in opened at 7… So after a brief stop in Amsterdam it was off to St. Petersburg. Once landed it wasn’t long before I was reunited with my dear friend, both of us grinning from ear to ear as we set sights on the other, it had been too long since we last met. After hugs, kisses and general pleasantries were exchanged it was off to get the bus home. I say bus it was really a van with extra seats, anyway, as this mobile weaved in and out of traffic without a care for passenger safety or other road users it gave myself a chance to see some of the city. My initial impression was that St. Petersburg/Russia looked exactly how I had imagined, however, I still had some culture shock about how backward the place was. [It's not THAT bad...] So after settling at Martha’s den it was off for a bite to eat, something Russian was on the menu, so a sushi bar it was (sushi is absolutely everywhere.) After meeting up with a few friends we hit a local bar and spent the rest of the evening there before retiring at about 1 or so to recover from the day of travelling.
So day two came, my first full day there and tourism was on the cards, we sauntered about St. Petersburg in search of the fabled KuntKamera museum (I could be spelling that wrong?) [You've definitely omitted a pivotal 's', but I prefer this way] Really this place was just like another museum you could visit with the exception that it had a room full of foeti in jars… Yes, babies straight from the womb stuck into jars after being dissected. There were Siamese twins, ones with two heads others with no heads and just heads. I don’t think bizarre even comes close to describing the madness of this place, so I’ll just say it was utter bananas. We needed air and something to eat after seeing this exhibition so it made perfect sense to go to the nearest sushi bar and munch on raw fish. One thing I learnt during my time in Russia is that being a tourist sucks, this was clear when Hamad found a fly in his soup, when attempting to explain this to the waiter something was lost in translation and he told his mates so they could have a rate good giggle, commie bastards. Once the bill had been settled and Martha and Katie had left their numbers for the waiter [NOT in a pervy way, merely educational] it was back to Katie’s to finish the night for more beer, acetone based vodka, soft cheese and in some circumstances, creeping…
As the sun rose (I think, it’s hard to tell with the constant overcast sky due to factories spewing their smog, traffic and just dirt, not to mention the fact Petersburg was built on what is essentially a bog.) [You're really selling this place aren't ye, ye wee bastard. It's a beautiful city!!!!] The day was spent recovering from travelling and drinking, unfortunately Martha’s boiler had just decided to give up on itself leaving us to have what I guess you could call a ‘Soviet Shower’ that nearly put me in a state of shock. Once that ordeal was over Becci and myself set off to meet the rest at the train station (at this point Martha was at her university shaking down admin staff over her passport, which she got 3 minutes before closing, success! [Post wrong tram, half an hour of sprinting and a mini-vom!] So it was all green for Moscow.) Tickets bought and plans made, we were to meet at Katie’s once again at 12 to catch the 2am train. On the Trek home I decided to eat at a Russian fast food chain, tepemok, that specialised in pancakes/crepes. What caught my eye was their caviar pancake. “Here, I’ve never had that before should be a great call, the food of the bourgeois being served to the proletariat, how can I resist?” This was my internal monologue at that exact moment, oh how I wish I turned it off. It was like eating the saltiest, fish ever that had been in the marinade of salt and fish, garnished with the sweat of a Russian man named Boris. It brought tears to my eyes and gut-wrenching feeling in my stomach. Batta bap bap, packed with our over night bags, suit cases for some, the assembled party of eight said goodbye to St. Petersburg if only for an evening and embraced the trip Moscow bound. Armed with beer, sausages, haribo and a ukulele [AND A RED PANDA KIGU look it up people], how could this be a bad trip?
Crammed into a 60-bed cabin, with minimal room in the bunks, I couldn’t help but think, ‘thank flip we aren’t travelling in Asia where average height is like 5ft6.’ Kept awake only by the drunk Russian beside playing awful techno and the lady under me snoring like a fox chewing bees I managed 4 hours of broken sleep, enough to keep me going round Moscow for a day. After much hustling and phones calls and general farting about the place we got our hostile sorted, Godzilla Hostiles, (I think it was the name more than the beds that sold it to us..[and definitely the fact that there was nowhere else within about 400 miles that was going to have 8 beds that night! High five Martha and other early morning/post-boozey train hostel hunters thank you very much]) This place was insane, so clean, so sound and more importantly so cheap, needless to say we took full advantage. Dinner that night was at the Hard Rock café, because you know, when in Rome. Rumour had it that a few other Russian students were in town and it was therefore arranged that we should all go out to this ‘awesome’ [It was awesome actually] club in Moscow that was really near the hostile [I really like this spelling]. It was nowhere near the hostile… [It was like 2 metro stops away!!!!] Upon arrival an uneasy feeling crept up inside me when asked by the bouncer if I was carrying and knives, however I was soon reassured that this is standard for Russian night clubs. It seems Russia has not been exposed to any music post-2003, before I came here I was told they had just got rap and reggae. Some of the greatest dancing ever was witnessed at this club, in hindsight I wish I had joined in, but alas I did not. Then again it’s an excuse to go back [Obv]. So, yeah!
Second day in Moscow, early starts and a warm shower, hazaa! Tourist day, Cathedral of Christ the Saviour was our first stop, amazing place, words really cannot describe and photos cannot capture how proper crackers this place is, the artwork is truly jaw dropping, so much so it almost converted me to Russian Orthodox, but it’s hard to find one of those in Belfast so I dodged a bullet there, phew. Once we had finished there Martha, Andy and Myself left Becci, Mike and Katie to do their thing while we did ours. We walked a fair bit, not great with a suspect broken toe and blisters, saw a statue of Peter the Ugly and the Red October chocolate factory before heading back to Red Square. Upon arrival I was truly gutted that it was closed, no zombie Lenin for us [zombie Lenin yay! Another time my man], however, there was a military parade going on to celebrate their National Day of Unity. So seeing a parade in Red Square it think made up for not getting in, then again there’s another excuse to go back, ha.
So there we were in the home of communism, what better way to say goodbye than the food of the capitalists, Pizza Hut! It was a great call and just what was needed after a day of casual sauntering. The whole gang rendezvoused back at the hostile to collect our luggage before departing on for the 2am train back to St. Petersburg. Booking our tickets in advanced was such a great shout, the eight of us had two little sections within the cabin and so we were able to have the little party we didn’t get a chance to have on the way here. Beer, Pringles, raisin biscuits, iPod and ukulele were all out in force. Needless to say everyone hated us, but we weren’t Russian so they weren’t going to like us in the first place.
By this stage I was getting a bit drunk, Martha had already passed out, [from tiredness, and my tail was hanging out] Hamad was wedged into a corner with a strange uncomfortable Russian man [he was FINE and very nice gitbag] and things were heating up between Becci and Andy [hahaha]. So we soon called it a night. Being on the bottom bunk and in 4-person section meant one thing, loads of room. The alcohol no doubt helped but I slept so soundly that night that is of course until I woke up, then things got grim, curse you brooskis [beers in Russia]! Arrival at the station was at 11 we said our goodbyes and went our separate ways, all in all, savage trip and I was so glad we were able to do it.
Back to the flat for a quick nap [post Becci and Martha hitchhiking, Martha clad in full-length red panda suit..why was no one mentioned this in these bloody write-ups, it was magnificent!!!!] before heading off to the banya! (Traditional bathhouses were men have their own section and women there’s and they all get naked and sweat together, or in some cases do yoga too.) Thankfully we were able to get our own private room so no sweaty awkwardness for me. Every man’s fantasy and the basis of any good porno, 1 man 3 women alone is a bath house, but alas no such scenarios occurred, in fact the most arousing thing that happened was being beaten by Martha with a bunch of bay leaves… [I was very aroused] Anyway, this was the best way to clean up after spending 9 hours on pretty filthy overnight train. Becci and Phoebe both went home after this while Martha and myself stopped off for coffee were I was able to pinch a mug for my brother as well as get a much needed caffeine boost. When we polished off our coffee and split out the door it was onto the Jager-haus bar, this was probably the best night of my stay. Just Martha and myself getting drunk on Jager, quite appropriate as we spent a lot of the summer slamming shots and necking Jager-bombs. One lesson I took away from that bar is NEVER add Jager to a beer, even if it is called a JagerBeer!! [So vomitous] Cannot emphasis that enough, saying that it was better than the caviar pancake and I probably would do it again. After spending too much money we staggered home for a quiet evening in watching movies and drinking. Martha prepared a lovely dinner of Russian ravioli with dollops of sour cream and chilli sauce (they love sour cream out there) followed by after dinner delights of vodka, ‘meat’ and cheese (apparently a Russian way of drinking) the two of us then stayed up chatting away, we even got Agnes and Tony on Skype, always good. So yeah, this night was particularly good for me because it was the first time Martha and myself spent serious quality time together this trip, a great last evening, having a drunken heart-to-heart discussing the good days, the present and plans for the future before passing out on the sofa, ha. But my journey wasn’t over yet. I still had one last thing to do the next day.
Sunday morning broke and it was another early start, 9:30, I made the coffee this time, I only wish I knew the difference between granulated and filter… [I loved it anyway, and didn't pour it away or anything...] Although no one drank any the gesture was appreciated. Out the door by 12 and there was a noticeable difference in the weather, it had gotten much colder and even snowed. Saying that I did not need my long johns after all. So we made our way to the winter palace, I had to see this attraction otherwise Babzilla would probably have had some words for me on my arrival home. All I heard from her before I left was ‘see the winter palace.’ She’s never been, only heard good things. So finally made it there on the last day and the only word I could use to describe this place at the time was ‘insane.’ This building and the décor inside it blew my mind, much like the Cathedral in Moscow photos and words cannot capture the beauty of this place, and it was less than 100 years ago that people were still living in it! I did find myself thinking ‘if this was the cause of the revolution, why did they keep it?’ There was so much money in that place and so little for the people. The palace was gigantic, we were there for about an hour and half and I don’t think we saw a quarter of it [nowhere near man!]. When we finished up here it was to the merchant stands, as I had promised my brother an old styley Russian hat and I’d be damned if I wasn’t going deliver, when shopping for it I managed to pick myself up an old Soviet union flag which is now proudly displayed in my room beside my inverted American flag, heh [good boy]. So with souvenirs acquired and a final sushi meal in us it was homeward bound. Back to the flat, quick double-check on everything and sadly a rushed goodbye with Martha before I was hustled into the bus to go to the airport. Man, parting ways really sucked that time; to be perfectly honest I found it all quite emotional and hard. Things didn’t get any easier, the plane left St. Petersburg 20 minutes late meaning my bag wasn’t transferred for my Dublin flight, then on the bus back to Belfast I was sitting beside the fattest women ever, who felt the need to blast the air conditioning even the bus was already freezing. I got home eventually and my bag arrived the next day so I shouldn’t complain too much. Upon reflection and regurgitating these memories I had a fantastic time and even learnt something’s about myself. Sure it cost a lot to get there [still indescribably grateful...], was a bit of a stressful effort and I had to make some sacrifices along the way but those don’t matter anymore and are already forgotten. Would I go back? Deffo. Already I’m planning ahead with the hope of doing so. I miss my friend and eagerly anticipate seeing her again. Thank you for your time, much love M.J. Fletcher xxx [Yay x]
