Today was my big trip to Vyborg, the Russian border village on the border with Finland, with Marina and Victor Avvakumova and their four year old daughter, Katya. I fell asleep pretty early last night after a day of walking around St. Petersburg, and set my alarm for 5:45 AM (blaaah!) so that I had time to shower, breakfast with coffee, and navigate my way through the city’s metro system to Finlyandski Vokzal, the train station that service all points north, including the international train to Helsinki. I had to buy my ticket for the 7:45 train bound for Vyborg and then meet Marina in the dining car of the train as it left the station. That was the plan.
The metro here in St. Petersburg is a little more modern and a little less “Stalinized” than the metro in Moscow. It is also much smaller, has English written beside all its Cyrillic signs, and is far easier to navigate. So I had no problems. I took the metro from the nearest station just outside the hostel along Nevsky Prospekt, transferred once, and got off at the train station just to the north of the river. It was early so the station was pretty quiet. It is also pretty small. The vast majority of trains leaving St. Peterburg leave from other stations that service lines heading east and southeast to Siberia and south to Moscow, or even west towards Belarus. Northbound is not a popular train route. I went up to the ticket booth and asked the woman for a ticket to Vyborg, she handed me a small receipt with unintelligible markings on it, my ticket, and unsure of what I just bought, waited in the station lobby below the status board. After asking the woman again a little later I was assured I had bought the right ticket. The lobby was full of some interesting looking people. There were many older men, traveling solo, decked out in heavy winter clothes, in hunting patterned camouflage, all holding some interesting gear. They all had these manual drills that went up to about their shoulders, the bottom portion was the large screw portion of the drill, the upper had a twisting handle. And they had nets and some ice boxes. They were all headed north to go ice fishing, I gathered. There were ice cyclers bringing their professional bikes and there were climbers, decked out in packs strung with belaying gear. This was quite the crowd. I didn’t however see anybody that could resemble Marina and her family so I texted her what I looked like and where I was hoping that we could meet up before we got to the train but I didn’t receive a reply. When the status board posted my platform number and we were about 10 minutes from departing, I decided to head to the train.
I walked down the platform, down the length of the train and found no dining car. I also couldn’t tell by my nonsensical ticket whether I had an assigned seat or not. So I just kind of stood there on the platform, feeling a little lost in the dark and cold of the morning. Luckily though I received a call from Marina a few minutes before departure and she came up to me on the platform and gave me a big hug. She told me to follow her and she took me to the last car where her husband Victor sat by the window holding their daughter Katya in his lap. We were introduced and I took a seat in between Victor and Marina and the train got underway on its hour and half long ride to the northern border.
As the train made its way north, passing endless trees covered in snow, the sun slowly rose above the cloudless horizon just outside our window, turning the sky orange and forcing the trees to glitter with the snow that covered everything. The landscape didn’t look like the Siberian Taiga I have been describing in earlier posts along the Trans-Siberian route, this forest looked like the North Pole, and Christmas, and where Santa Claus might be found. The view had a sort of magical feel to it. Like maybe we were in Finland already (because this is always how I pictured Finland). The train car was nearly silent, all of its riders clearly tired from their early mornings. But in true Russian courtesy, I’ve learned to talk very quietly, avoiding the death glances from the Russian babushkas that I’ve received in the past, and I chatted with Marina for awhile.
Marina, as I mentioned earlier, is Sasha’s older sister. She grew up in Ekaterinburg, met and married Victor, and the two of them moved to St. Petersburg because they loved the city so much. They have lived in city for about 10 years. Marina’s English is pretty good, like Sasha’s, so it was easy to talk with her. Victor speaks some English too, a bit hesitantly though, but we chatted as well. He was originally from Kamchatka (coincidentally, like Lilia, and maybe 12 other Russians ever) within a stone’s throw from Alaska, and lived their until he was 14, and then moved to Ekaterinburg. He is an art designer and recently helped publish a book of photographs of Ganina Yama, the site I visited outside Ekaterinburg with Lilia and Sasha. Now he and Marina live in a suburb of St. Petersburg and have a four year old daughter named Katya, a lively little girl, who goes to kindergarten. Katya studies English already privately with her parents and can say a lot of words. We practiced mainly greetings and animals. And she speaks Russian in the best way I’ve seen any Russian speak. She speaks slowly, methodically, emphasizing her words carefully like a mob boss might, but in a cute, high pitched, four year old girl’s voice. She is confident in what she says and uses her hands to express herself. I don’t know what she is saying but it is really, really funny.
We pulled into the station in Vyborg and got out. Vyborg is a small, historic village with an “old town” district by its historic seaport in an inlet from the Baltic Sea. The village has more recently developed an industrial sector as it supplies the region of goods and resources by sea and by train. It is a Russian village but in the endless struggle between the Russian Slavs and the Finno-Ugrics and Swedes, the village has been owned by the Scandinavians for far longer and very much looks like a Scandinavian village. Most of the signs are written in both Russian and Finnish.
We walked into the old district and stopped in at a small restaurant for some breakfast and coffee, waiting for the sun to make its way a little higher in the sky and warm the village up a bit before we head out for some sightseeing. The restaurant was one of the few open for breakfast since the village doesn’t have too many visitors or inhabitants during the winter. I ordered a mushroom and cheese omelet, served in a pan, and a coffee. Russian mushrooms, by the way, are some of the best mushrooms I’ve ever eaten. I get them as much as possible here. After chatting a while and gearing up for the cold, we set out.
The village has a lot of old structures from the 14th and 15th century. We wandered around some of the old, cobblestone alleyways, past a really old clock tower in the village center, its bells still tolling, and made our way to a castle, sort of the showpiece for the village. The castle was built in the 14th century (and is older than America, Marina pointed out, accurately) by the Vikings of Sweden and centers around a very tall tower named after St. Olaf. We walked into the castle complex and by the tower and into a small room by the base of the tower kept closed from the outside by an old wooden, low-stooped door. We walked in to a sort of tourist shop where there was a large, Russian woman sitting at a table by the door with large reading glasses and a tall Viking-looking man in the rear of the room wearing sort of an antiquated white shirt and a leather working apron, like a blacksmith might wear. He was surrounded by Medieval armor, helmets, chain linked shirts, spears, swords, and other weapons, and all other kinds of Medieval stuff. This place allowed visitors to dress like Vikings, sort of a touristy space, but the stuff was the real deal and he was a real blacksmith. He ran his own shop here, made most of his money by dressing up tourists like Vikings, and also made his own glass work which he sold as souvenirs. Victor rightly believed that dressing up would be fun so we all did. I wore the chain linked armor, the tunic, chain linked shirt and head piece, outer armor made of metal, metal gloves, a big helmet, and carried a heavy sword and shield. Holy cow. If I had to find a Viking at that moment I would have been killed instantly. No wonder Vikings were so huge. All that stuff, with some slight aid from gravity, basically crushed me into the ground. I’m not weak and I’m reasonably fit (even though I’m out of shape from traveling) but I could barely lift the sword, let alone walk around. Victor was the same. The two of us though made it outside somehow and took pictures in front of the tower (with Victor’s camera though - I have to acquire those photos somehow). Marina and Katya were dressed in tunics for ladies and we all took a bunch of photos. It was really fun. Later, having heard that I am collecting magnets, Marina bought me a glass magnet, hand made from the Viking himself, that showed a viking boat in front of the castle and says, “Vyborg” on it. It was a really nice gesture and a really cool magnet, an excellent addition to my collection.
We left the room and continued to walk around the castle grounds. Marina stayed back with Katya, playing in the snow, while Victor and I climbed the spiraling staircase to the top of tower, offering incredible views of the village, the forest, and the seaport where just beyond lay easily visible Finland in the distance. We took some photos from the top, met up with Marina and Katya, and then walked a little more around the town.
Pretty cold and hungry, we walked into another restaurant within an old, village tower, sort of short and squat like a grain silo. The restaurant was nice, the interior had preserved its original wooden floors and ceiling, its original ironclad lamps and chandeliers, and its stone walls, maybe two meters thick. We went to the second floor, the top floor, where the room had been turned into a dining room with a bar, medieval music playing in the background. This restaurant was awesome. We drank glu-wine and ordered lunch. Victor and I both ordered the house specialty, a steak with some potato and fish cakes with gravy and vegetables and lounged and drank and made conversation for awhile. It was a terrific meal and a terrific afternoon.
Eventually we made our way back to the train station and back to the city where we parted ways. Tomorrow I plan to spend the day at the Hermitage and then to the ballet in the evening, but on Sunday I made plans to visit Marina and Victor at their home in the suburbs where Marina said she would cook a good Russian meal for me, probably one of my last. I cannot wait for that. Russia has its stereotypes but I have to admit, I have experienced nothing but the most amazing hospitality. From Siberia to the cities of Moscow and St. Petersburg, the Russians that I’ve met have shown me nothing but selfless kindness that I won’t soon forget.
Tomorrow, culture!
The metro here in St. Petersburg is a little more modern and a little less “Stalinized” than the metro in Moscow. It is also much smaller, has English written beside all its Cyrillic signs, and is far easier to navigate. So I had no problems. I took the metro from the nearest station just outside the hostel along Nevsky Prospekt, transferred once, and got off at the train station just to the north of the river. It was early so the station was pretty quiet. It is also pretty small. The vast majority of trains leaving St. Peterburg leave from other stations that service lines heading east and southeast to Siberia and south to Moscow, or even west towards Belarus. Northbound is not a popular train route. I went up to the ticket booth and asked the woman for a ticket to Vyborg, she handed me a small receipt with unintelligible markings on it, my ticket, and unsure of what I just bought, waited in the station lobby below the status board. After asking the woman again a little later I was assured I had bought the right ticket. The lobby was full of some interesting looking people. There were many older men, traveling solo, decked out in heavy winter clothes, in hunting patterned camouflage, all holding some interesting gear. They all had these manual drills that went up to about their shoulders, the bottom portion was the large screw portion of the drill, the upper had a twisting handle. And they had nets and some ice boxes. They were all headed north to go ice fishing, I gathered. There were ice cyclers bringing their professional bikes and there were climbers, decked out in packs strung with belaying gear. This was quite the crowd. I didn’t however see anybody that could resemble Marina and her family so I texted her what I looked like and where I was hoping that we could meet up before we got to the train but I didn’t receive a reply. When the status board posted my platform number and we were about 10 minutes from departing, I decided to head to the train.
I walked down the platform, down the length of the train and found no dining car. I also couldn’t tell by my nonsensical ticket whether I had an assigned seat or not. So I just kind of stood there on the platform, feeling a little lost in the dark and cold of the morning. Luckily though I received a call from Marina a few minutes before departure and she came up to me on the platform and gave me a big hug. She told me to follow her and she took me to the last car where her husband Victor sat by the window holding their daughter Katya in his lap. We were introduced and I took a seat in between Victor and Marina and the train got underway on its hour and half long ride to the northern border.
As the train made its way north, passing endless trees covered in snow, the sun slowly rose above the cloudless horizon just outside our window, turning the sky orange and forcing the trees to glitter with the snow that covered everything. The landscape didn’t look like the Siberian Taiga I have been describing in earlier posts along the Trans-Siberian route, this forest looked like the North Pole, and Christmas, and where Santa Claus might be found. The view had a sort of magical feel to it. Like maybe we were in Finland already (because this is always how I pictured Finland). The train car was nearly silent, all of its riders clearly tired from their early mornings. But in true Russian courtesy, I’ve learned to talk very quietly, avoiding the death glances from the Russian babushkas that I’ve received in the past, and I chatted with Marina for awhile.
Marina, as I mentioned earlier, is Sasha’s older sister. She grew up in Ekaterinburg, met and married Victor, and the two of them moved to St. Petersburg because they loved the city so much. They have lived in city for about 10 years. Marina’s English is pretty good, like Sasha’s, so it was easy to talk with her. Victor speaks some English too, a bit hesitantly though, but we chatted as well. He was originally from Kamchatka (coincidentally, like Lilia, and maybe 12 other Russians ever) within a stone’s throw from Alaska, and lived their until he was 14, and then moved to Ekaterinburg. He is an art designer and recently helped publish a book of photographs of Ganina Yama, the site I visited outside Ekaterinburg with Lilia and Sasha. Now he and Marina live in a suburb of St. Petersburg and have a four year old daughter named Katya, a lively little girl, who goes to kindergarten. Katya studies English already privately with her parents and can say a lot of words. We practiced mainly greetings and animals. And she speaks Russian in the best way I’ve seen any Russian speak. She speaks slowly, methodically, emphasizing her words carefully like a mob boss might, but in a cute, high pitched, four year old girl’s voice. She is confident in what she says and uses her hands to express herself. I don’t know what she is saying but it is really, really funny.
We pulled into the station in Vyborg and got out. Vyborg is a small, historic village with an “old town” district by its historic seaport in an inlet from the Baltic Sea. The village has more recently developed an industrial sector as it supplies the region of goods and resources by sea and by train. It is a Russian village but in the endless struggle between the Russian Slavs and the Finno-Ugrics and Swedes, the village has been owned by the Scandinavians for far longer and very much looks like a Scandinavian village. Most of the signs are written in both Russian and Finnish.
We walked into the old district and stopped in at a small restaurant for some breakfast and coffee, waiting for the sun to make its way a little higher in the sky and warm the village up a bit before we head out for some sightseeing. The restaurant was one of the few open for breakfast since the village doesn’t have too many visitors or inhabitants during the winter. I ordered a mushroom and cheese omelet, served in a pan, and a coffee. Russian mushrooms, by the way, are some of the best mushrooms I’ve ever eaten. I get them as much as possible here. After chatting a while and gearing up for the cold, we set out.
 |
| Marina and Katya on an ice luge that we found in the village |
 |
| Close-up of Katya |
 |
| The old clock tower in the center of the old district |
 |
| A view of the castle from outside its walls |
 |
| The viking room where we tried on our costumes |
 |
| View of Vyborg from the top of St. Olaf tower |
 |
| The port of Vyborg, Finland is in the distance |
 |
| Victor from the top |
 |
| A picture of the Medieval interior of the restaurant within the silo where we ate lunch |
Tomorrow, culture!
No comments:
Post a Comment