g&k

Several years ago when visiting Austria, Kathryn & Gavin set a record for seeing every tourist site (or is it sight?) in Vienna in one day. This occasion of slick, efficient and comprehensive touring has set a benchmark that we have continued to aim for when confronted with a lot to see and not much time to see it. So it was that we set out to 'Vienna St. Petersburg. This was our only full day in the city so we were going to hit all the highlights.

Nevsky Prospekt, the main street of the centre of town, opened our enterprise in efficiency by being a tourist destination in its own right as well as providing the route to the Hermitage at the other end of town. Along the way we passed several elegant and ornate buildings. Not least of which was the one pictured.


Gold hilt lettering and impressive glass-work topping the building. All that you would expect from a sewing machine show-room. It turns out the most elaborate shop front used to be the sales room for Singer. Sew there (ah! hilarious). Also along the way was another of St. Petersburg's less admirable novelties - water. The city is noted as being one of the few first world cities where you can't drink the water cos it might hurt you. Knowing this Kathryn was forced to dive for cover several times as street-weeper machines came along the gutters spraying water as much at the pedestrians as it did the street surface. Kathryn was not about to become a victim of aerosolised Giardia.

Surviving the water-borne scourge we arrived at our major destination for the day - the Hermitage. When I (Gavin) was growing up, ‘Hermitage’ seemed an odd word - I knew it only as following the word 'Grange' (thanks, Dad). Then I played the PC game Civilisation and learnt that it was some wonder of the world. But it still sounded like an academy for hermits. Even as we were about to visit it I really didn't know just how important a place it was. And now having to describe it seems too difficult. It is too much.



The building itself is magnificent and impressive. It was the Winter Palace of the Russian Imperial Family, the richest in Europe - and they wanted you to know it. Every room is elaborate, gilded and inspiring. The ridiculously golden Jordan Staircase sets the tone as you enter room after room of palatial grandeur.


And then there are the contents. Treasures of antiquity, rarities of history and works of fine art from every century and continent. The only comparison I can think of is if you were to take the contents of the Louvre and stuff it into the Palace at Versailles. It's nuts. Having spent the last week thinking of many reasons why no-one should ever go to Russia this is one reason you should never miss it. It is epic. Completely deserving of the title a 'wonder of the world'. Even more than a school for hermits.



Inside Kathryn found her historical namesake, Catherine the Great. Kathryn is a great fan of anybody, like herself, bearing the descriptor "the Great". Roman busts lined gilt staterooms. Every character of Russian history was portraited.


And the masters of 20th Century art world were lined up like collector cards. Amongst this, the modern sense of Russian hospitality wasn't lost - I was sternly told off for taking my iPad out as they thought I was taking a photo with it. In fact I was opening the Hermitage App they have advertised in every available space. In place of an apology the stern woman gave me a look that said 'I wish I could spit on your corpse'. If only she was around when an entire family found it necessary to touch a variety of 300 year old tapestries on display. Or perhaps when this dork actually took a photo with an iPad. Really? Can't afford a camera?


This is a new chapter in the 'dumb tourist' look. It might be because we were in our fourth week of travelling, or perhaps it was me not appreciating cultural differences but I was getting heartily sick of peoples complete lack of decency and awareness of others. Idiots stopping at the top of escalators, having group meeting in narrow doorways, pushing past me when there is plenty of room to go around. Reaching exacerbation in the Hermitage I decided to simply stand still and let the morons do as they might. What they did was to walk straight into me, push, and walk on without even looking at me. Speechlessness added to my apparent invisibility. So we left.



One of the things not mentioned as a highlight of the city-formerly-known-as-Leningrad are the canals. In the bright sunshine that we had been enjoying for weeks now they seemed just as impressive as any in Amsterdam. We followed the long bend of the Moyka (technically a river but whatever) admiring the blatantly European architecture. We were on our way to a lunch stop at an (according to the book) famous Russian pie shop. The major difference between Russian pies and other meat pies are the disdain with which they are served.


By this stage we were so used to unfriendly service it passed almost unnoticed - particularly as the server seemed happy to not be further infuriated by idiotic Americans speaking in progressively louder and slower English or the Russian who seemed to think that paying almost enough for the pie should be good enough. The decor was more inspiring than the pie or service. It did look as though it may not have changed since somebody first, uttered "Communism? Well I've never heard of it but it seems like a good idea to me...".


From here we continued our ruthlessly efficient tourism by visiting the evocatively named Church of the Saviour on Spilled Blood. Similar to the Church of the Blood in Yekaterinburg this marked the site of the violent death of a Tsar, this time Alexander II. Externally it was more similar to St. Basil's in Moscow with its multi-colour spires and domes. However unlike St. Basil's it was never turned into a stable by Napoleon so its interiors were preserved in their technicolour ecclesiastical glory - similar to those in the Kremlin. Dissimilarly, though, here in St. Petersburg we were allowed to take photos. And so, dear readers, we share these images with you.


Happy, suitably impressed and satisfied with our conquest on the city we made our way back to the hotel along Nevsky Prospekt. Coming in the opposite direction was a growing tide of sky blue clad football fans. On reaching the hotel and turning on the TV we discovered these were Zenit St. Petersburg fans. It was last day of the season and they were playing Dynamo Moscow for the title. Gavin was very happy he had chosen not to wear the Dynamo Moscow shirt he had bought as a curiosity the day before. Russian fans have a reputation of being passionate and rather stabby. But the game provided appropriate contemporary Russian entertainment for our meal of vodka and zakooska. And they won the title. Go Hobos!

It is hard to know where to begin in Moscow if you're not going straight to the Kremlin. We had booked a walking tour for the nest day that would include the Kremlin area and after we would go inside. So today was for the 'the rest'. Being right here in the heart of the former communist beast from which the Cold War was fought against the West there was obviously only one place to go. Shopping. Because capitalism won, pinkos.

More correctly, and politely, we were going to the Arbat, Moscow's famous pedestrian arcade. To get there we would take the Metro. The Moscow Metro is a tourist attraction in its own right, according to the guides anyway. This means either Moscow is very boring or the Metro is very good. Certainly the stations in formerly Communist Budapest, the second oldest metro in the world and a world Heritage site, were very impressive. Stalin had said 'that before palaces had been built for kings, he was going to build palaces for the people'. Underground. With trains in them. So with a degree of expectation we descended into Komsomolskaya Metro. There certainly was an older world grandeur to the entry and ticket halls with attractively decorated lights and fittings. On entering the platforms, though, things were distinctly different. Tiled walls, brass balconies and a mezzanine level over-looking the trains.


This unusual, open space was repeated at other stops with small bridges rising off the platform and over the tracks. There certainly was a sense of grandeur that contrasts with the usual functionality particularly of the London Tube. And the people liked their palaces and packed into them. The stairs were so full that the crowd would often come to a complete halt at choke points which were numerous due to the puzzling Russian habit of only opening one half of every set of double doors. So we joined the slow shuffle and enjoyed the carefree local customs of never holding a door open, never allowing anyone else on first and never apologising for anything.


At the Arbat we moseyed up and down a very tourist orientated strip of souvenir shops and alfresco cafes. There were human billboards/touts along the way doing a bare minimum to attract you inside. When we did stop at one to ask for information he had none. What’s the advantage of these guys over a plank of wood with the sign nailed to it?


To complete the historical absurdity, or poignance, of visiting a commercial hotbed in a formerly anti-capitalist capital we decided to really rub the Soviets noses in by going to the most American Western place we could - the Hard Rock Cafe. But even here there was a picture of Lenin on the wall.

After lunch we headed towards the centre of town that is the Kremlin. Circling onto the north eastern side we came to Krasnaya Ploschad, Red Square. A long square with dark cobblestones bounded by the dark red Kremlin wall. It was recognisable from all those reels of footage of Soviet troops parading past Stalin, or Kruschev, or whoever the baddie in the movie was.


We half expected to see missile trucks rounding the corner at any time. It was from this spot that the Soviets rattled their sabre at the West. It seemed so implausible for a free Westerner to be stood now in the centre of this parade ground. More incongruous was what the Soviet hierarchy would have seen behind the marching troops, charged with an aggressively defending the Communist motherland. The GUM. A shopping centre. Apparently Stalin had wanted it destroyed but the wives of the party bosses complained bitterly that there was nowhere else good to shop. So it stayed. It would seem the KGB was not utterly efficient in ensuring the hearts and minds of every comrade were steeled to eliminating the bourgeoisie.


At the far end of the square is another Russian postcard moment. St. Basil's Cathedral. Named for Vasiliy (Basil) the Idiot, the only man who could speak to the Tsar because he wasn't afraid of him. Certainly one would presume that only an idiot would have suggested the technicolour palate used on this, an orthodox church (think black cloaks and beards). But the result is stunning. So good that apparently Napoleon burnt out the inside and turned it into a stable. Them horses must have been trippin'. On the cobbled approach to St. Basils there was the predictable population of happy-snappers taking photos, us included. However there was a particular penchant of what we think were local Russians, to have their photo taken sitting in the ground in any sort of glamour-esque pose. More disturbing were the forced dance/pose routines of a few small groups of children and cheering ringmasters, I mean parents. The dancing consisted of very MTV pelvis thrusting mixed with traditional Russian Cossack moves. The results seemed utterly unlikely for an 11 year old boy to be doing by choice. Most unappealing though, were the fully grown adult tourists who laughed at, danced amongst and posed next to the kids. Like a happy bunch of pedophiles in some sort of depraved petting zoo. Just because you're on holidays doesn't mean the Russian girls Under 13's gymnastic team is a tourist attraction you can touch.

Disenchanted with our fellow tourist kind we returned to our Stalin tower (he never hurt anyone). There were no good restaurants near us and we were not in the mood to travel across the city to a Lonely Planet recommendation that may not even exist anymore (our LP guide book was increasingly sending us to nonexistent locations). Instead we turned to our old favourite mode of eating in foreign European cities, the supermarket run.

With a 'Producti' around the corner we secured ourselves a collection of 'Zakoooska' to complement our modest vodka supply. With Kathryn only managing one shot Gavin had to press on alone in reducing the vodka weight load. It what you, our reading proletariat, would have wanted.

We were packed and ready to leave UB for a night in the Terelj National Park just as Kathryn was reaching breaking point with the city. The constant chaos was bedeviling her vigilance or paranoia, depending on your perspective. Unfortunately our pick-up was late as the driver 'forgot' to come and get us. This allowed us (or forced us, again depending on perspective) to take another quick turn around the streets of the capital while we waited. Along the way we made the following amusing observations that make UB unique:

1. SkyNet is not only here, but purportedly everywhere, since 2007. Those of you who know you're Terminator movies will appreciate that this is ominous. Although Judgment day was supposed to be during 2007 wasn't it?

2. There is a block of Lego. Nothing more, nothing less.

3. Both the statues of the revered Genghis (Chinggis) Khan and his pictured soon Kuble activate our cameras 'Blinked Eye Detected' function. This may have represented a case of commercial racism or maybe they just believe they're all blinking, a lot.

3. The fur-lined Ger tent is the traditional Mongolian home. Parked near our hotel was the traditional Mongolian mobile home.

4. You know that gunk you get stuck under your finger nails? We found where it comes from.

5. The Ulaanbaatar University is not necessarily on the same austere and grand level as Oxford or Cambridge.

6. The UB ski fields. All 5 runs.



Once our driver did arrive it allowed us a new perspective into Ulaanbaatar's traffic, this time from inside the storm. Driving involves a lot of mad swerving, horn blaring and driving into any spare area of space you can find, on either side of the road. Cars may be right or left hand drive. A pattern of driving did emerge to some extent, that being turn, look, brake suddenly, horn, accelerate hard, repeat.


By following this system we found our way out of UB and onto the road to Terelj. Along the way we got to see some of the surrounding suburbs consisting of modest wooden houses and dusty Gers all enclosed in frameworks of wooden fences. These surrounded each and every dwelling. Sometimes fences existed even without a dwelling. In fact fencing seemed such a priority that a single Ger was surrounded on 3 sides by a thick, six foot tall concrete wall. The fourth, road facing side, was left open, seemingly failing the defensive objective of the rest of the wall. But perhaps it is the prestige of such a wall is what really matters? If this is so then the Chinese had put the flame in front of the moth with their Great Wall. Genghis and friends couldn't resist: "Hey, Genghis, you know how good fences are right? Well you've got to come south and look what these Chinese have done. Bring your friends. There's a toboggan and everything" and off they'd ride to the terror of the Chinese.


As we approached and entered the park we encountered numerous forms of wild life including falcons, wild cows, horses, two-humped camels, sheep and dinosaurs. The landscape changed from flat tundra to hilly, mountainous with the first trees we'd see in 100's of kilometres. Amongst this were a number of rock formations resembling things that were pointed out to us - a pig, a turtle and a man praying (presumably for a really nice fence). Kathryn also managed to see several rocks that looked like poo's.


The change in topography was also heralded a change in temperature. It was actually cold for the first time so far. There was even snow, much to Kathryn's delight. The whole scenery was a pleasant change from the madness in the city and made the long travel worthwhile. The cold, vast openness was exactly the foreign, far-away landscape that one pictures when thinking of Mongolia. We were somewhere different.



Our hotel was an indulgence of luxury before two more nights sharing a compartment with who-knows who. And it may well be the nicest hotel in Mongolia. It was plush and luxurious from the lobby. A quick tour revealed a manner of assorted facilities including a library, a cigar room (where paradoxically one 'could enjoy cigars or the fresh mountain air'), indoor pool, a karaoke room, a statue of Lenin, a statue of a woman who never existed but served as an allegorical figure for the Soviets that Lenin produced, and even a gentlemen's club - unfortunately this went unvisited.



In return for the tardiness of the hotel's driver we were offered a free horse-ride which we took up. We imagined an hour or so touring around the surrounding hills and forest. Instead we were put aboard two 'mentally affected' horses (although this may have been due to Gavin's presence - a special power he has to make horses behave like somebody had lit them on fire) and lead for 5 minutes up and down the same road we'd come in on. Now technically we had ridden a horse so the hotel had fulfilled its promise of a 'horse ride'. Well hotel, with respect, shit-house.



In fairness the rest of the hotel and the staff were very nice and we had a good dinner of average Mongolian food including an accidentally ordered shot of vodka (yes, accidentally). Then came the spectacular awesomeness that is us in private Karaoke, much to the be/amusement of the hotel staff.





And finally back to our peculiarly small room, peculiar as with miles of empty space in every direction why would you cram a bed into a cupboard? Nonetheless we spent a short time watching the only English language television channel -Fashion TV, on which models strut around wearing almost nothing. We both found something to enjoy it. Now settled into our bijou luxury the sparks flew. No I don't mean whatever salacious innuendo you're assuming, I mean it literally. The static electricity was phenomenal. It had first been an issue in Beijing but here in Terelj it reached new heights. We became afraid to touch anything metal or each other for the fear of the visible sparks and loud crack of the current discharging from us. You had to make sure you were well earthed before any physical contact.