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All by myself

It was December 22, and I was CouchSurfing in St. Petersburg, Russia. My host had four other CouchSurfers over, and today they were all leaving. And since my host was busy studying for exams, I could go out by myself.

It may sound weird, but it didn’t occur to me till I was on the plane that I was going to a foreign country by myself. A year and a half ago, when I set off for Europe, the idea was unthinkable: I flew there with three friends and wanted at least to stick with Andy as much as possible. But now I remember that over the course of the summer, it happened that I was spending less and less time with him and more time traveling by myself. In fact, I completed the last leg of the trip alone. So I guess I actually was mentally prepared for this.

One thing I wasn’t quite as prepared for was the sheer amount of clothes you have to wear when it’s all snowy outside. Going outside quickly becomes an ordeal. Over my regular clothes, I wore at least one extra shirt, a sweater, a jacket, a scarf, gloves, and a hat, not to mention socks and boots I had gotten just for the trip.

So it took me a little while to make my way out that day, and when I finally did, I was hungry. Kate had recommended some good places to eat. I picked the one that was closest to the place where I was staying. It was a buffet-style restaurant facing Uprising Square. After barely managing to communicate with the people who worked there, I sat and ate, humiliated, hoping no one would try to talk to me. Right there I said to myself that I’d never again go to a country where I couldn’t speak the language. We’ll see how long that lasts.

I kept going down Nevsky Prospect, or however I’m choosing to transliterate it today, and the thoroughfare already seemed familiar to me after yesterday’s romp around the city. I made sure to look out for large icicles, one of the many safety and/or health hazards I had been warned about before leaving on my trip. The sidewalks, of course, were also icy. The day before, I had almost slipped a few times, and I had a hard time sleeping that night because I kept imagining myself walking, walking, walking… and slipping.

Now, to gain traction, I was twisting my legs a little more than usual as my feet touched the ground. I probably looked pretty ridiculous, but it kept me from slipping. But all that twisting made my left knee start to hurt. Quickly. In fact, it kept bothering me for weeks afterward, especially walking up stairs, and I was convinced that I was now the lifetime owner of a bum knee.

I’m fine now, but anyway, that’s not the point. I was walking down Nevsky, and since I was by myself, I was able to stop and take a look at some of St. Petersburg’s many frozen canals. From one bridge is a fantastic view of the Church of the Savior on Blood:

Finally, I got to my destination: the Winter Palace, the main residence of the State Hermitage Museum, one of the finest museums in the world, probably.

I love art museums, and since I was out by myself, nobody could stop me from spending as much time there as I wanted.

I made my way to the entrance, and at the ticket desk, I was somehow able to express my desire for a student ticket: “Один… университет”. Then, after checking my coat, I spent a few hours walking around, trying to cover as much as I could. About halfway through, I became exhausted, but I knew I knew I had to keep going since it was a rare opportunity to see some fantastic artwork.

Much of the museum was dedicated to classic art, or whatever they call the old stuff. A lot of famous artists were represented. There were a lot of works by Rubens, a sculpture by Michelangelo, and even a painting by Leonardo. On the higher floors were works by more recent artists like Van Gogh, Renoir, Monet, and Matisse. I was pleasantly surprised to see Matisse’s Red Room there. And the building itself, having once been a palace, was also a work of art. Some of the rooms were enormous, and one of them even had the imperial throne.

By the time I got out, I was tired and hungry and sore and it was dark, and I faced the daunting task of walking all the way back to my host’s apartment. I did it the same way I had come: one step at a time. (It was either that or try to take public transportation, and for that I might have had to… talk to people.)

Although I was extremely worn out, I decided to visit so-called John Lennon Street, tucked away in a courtyard near Uprising Square.

It was the perfect ending to a perfect day.