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Helium.com - Lite Guide to St Petersburg

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Atop its waters bridges hover/Between its channels gardens cover/The river isles with darkling green./Outshone, old Moscow had to render/The younger sister pride of place,/As by a new queen’s fresh-blown splendour/In purple fades her Dowager Grace.

The poet Aleksandr Pushkin wrote these words about Moscow’s “younger sister,” Saint Petersburg in the 19^thThe Bronze Horseman. Petersburg has been through much since then – the 70-year reign of communism resulting in its name change to Leningrad, for instance – but the stark beauty of this “Window to the West” has yet to fade. century in his epic poem,

Evidence of the former capital status of Petersburg is apparent, (and has been showcased already on the big screen. Fans of James Bond will note that GoldenEye was filmed here). One just has to take a stroll along the banks of the Neva to find the majestic Winter Palace. This Palace was once home to the Romanovs tsars and their families. Now it houses one of the most impressive collections of art in Europe at the Hermitage Museum. The Hermitage is more than simply the collected works of various artists; the building itself could be counted among its artistic treasures. From the polished parquet floors to the ceiling frescoes and the paintings on the walls, visitors are completely surrounded by works of art. It can be an exhausting, yet exhilarating experience.

While the Winter Palace lets its visitors see how luxuriously the Romanovs lived, this wealth was also evident in their untimely deaths at the order of Communist leader Vladimir Lenin. The sad fate of the tsarina and her daughters was to be executed by firing squad. Whether they were aware of their destiny is uncertain, however, their deaths were not as quick as might be expected by such a form of execution. The women had stuffed their corsets with diamonds and other fine jewels, which caused the bullets to ricochet off of them and around the room before they hit their marks. Their remains are currently housed in the cathedral at the Peter and Paul Fortress.

Before Lenin made his mark on - and gave his name to - St Pete, there was another man who stood head and shoulders above the rest, both literally (at seven feet tall) and figuratively. This was of course Peter the Great, the man whose vision turned the swampy backwater into a classy European capital. Peter used the city’s proximity to the Baltic Sea to carve out his “Window to the West” and from where he planned to attack the Swedes and enlarge his empire. Peter was a great lover of the West and it was his mission to bring his “backwards” country – kicking and screaming if necessary – into modernity.

There is a touching statue dedicated to this man, the aforementioned Bronze Horseman of Pushkin’s poem, as the statue is now known (Medny Vsadnik in Russian). It is a popular place for Petersburg’s newlyweds to visit for both wedding pictures, and for good luck. Those interested in literature would do well to read the original, in which a young, downtrodden man, Evgeny, who has lost his love, curses the statue (and Peter) for building his capital in an area prone to flooding. In answer to his taunts, the statue comes alive and chases Evgeny around the streets of Peter’s city.

Among the most famous of these streets, is Nevsky Prospekt, from which most of the tourist attractions can be reached. There is the Admiralty, a lovely spire-d building that can only be viewed from the outside. The Kazan Cathedral is an important site of Russian Orthodoxy and can be visited for a small fee. But the true highlight of this street, along the Griboedov Canal, is the first view of St Petersburg’s most decorative church, the Church of Savior on Blood, or Spilled Blood. The macabre name comes from the location of the church, which was built on the site of the assassination of Tsar Aleksandr II. The impressive exterior of it brings to mind a gingerbread house covered in candied mosaics. And the inside is perhaps even more jaw-dropping with its ceiling-to-floor collection of colorful mosaics and frescoes. During the anti-religious communist times, this masterpiece of Russian architecture was used as a horse stable.

There are some excellent shopping opportunities for souvenirs around the Spilled Blood church. They offer the ubiquitous matryoshka nesting dolls, which can be bought in a dizzying variety of characters, everyone from Russian and Western politicians to Winnie the Pooh. Also worth shopping for are Soviet-style znachki (small pins to wear on a jacket), beautiful wool scarves (not only great for their appearance but also the warmth they provide in the frigid temperatures) and various other Russian and Soviet memorabilia like KGB and McLenin t-shirts or the typical big wooly hat. One of the main shopping center of St Petersburg is located along Nevsky, which showcases some posh designer stores in addition to the fun souvenir shops.

A visit in St Petersburg is the perfect time to try some traditional and delicious Russian food. The Russians are well-known for their vodka and a trip to Russia isn’t complete without a taste. Some restaurants will even offer meals based around the drink (e.g., vodka with salmon). The vodka is a nice way to warm up after a cold day, but be warned! To say the vodka is simply potent is a bit of an understatement. It is best drunk to the words of the traditional Russian toast, Na zdorovye! (To your health)! The Russians also specialize in dumplings filled with cheese or meat (pirozki), caviar and borscht (hot or cold beet soup.)

Another Russian tradition – for men and women alike - is going to the theatre. And St Petersburg is home to one of the finest – the world-famous Mariinsky Theatre. The name of the theatre has changed at least three times, in response to various political and social forces. It was perhaps best remembered as the Kirov Theatre during communist times, named after the assassinated politician Sergei Kirov. Here it is possible to see both ballet and opera, including Russian classics like Swan Lake. The theatre is worth a view in and of itself, but seeing Tchaikovsky performed at the preeminent Russian theatre is certainly an unforgettable experience. Most performances will include a program to give the viewer some idea of the story and plot, so no knowledge of Russian is necessary to enjoy the show.

For those for whom the ballet and opera holds little interest, there is plenty of sport to be found in Petersburg. This city has a long history with sports, beginning again with Peter the Great in 1703, when he held a rowing competition to celebrate his defeat of the Swedish fleet. The local football club is FC Zenit, which was begun in the early days of the First World War. Their new stadium is still under construction and due to be completed some time in 2009. Until then, one can see a match at the Petrovsky Stadium. The other Russian sports passion is chess, or shakhmati. There is the opportunity to see the famous Russian chess masters at work in many of Petersburg’s parks and gardens. Some that should not be missed are Peterhof or Pavlovsk, located a few kilometers outside the city centre.

From sportsmen to politicians to artists and writers, there is no lack of famous personae who have called St. Petersburg their home. The national poet, Pushkin, has all the acclaim of a William Shakespeare combined with the adoration of a J.K. Rowling. He is a Russian hero. The tsar was Pushkin’s personal censor and kept a close eye on him. And so the young man was not allowed to travel and often felt like a prisoner of Petersburg. One can visit Pushkin’s House-Museum to see how the patron writer of Russia spent his time. Tours and information are usually in Russian, but it is possible to get an English-speaking guide. The other giant of literature, Fyodor Dostoevsky, was also a resident of the town. The Dostoevsky House-Museum is open for visitors as well.

Russia’s father of communism, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, also hailed from Petersburg. It was here that his infamous Revolution began. Contrary to the popular thought about it, Lenin was nowhere to be found at its inception. A devoted revolutionary, Lenin had been banished to Switzerland. When news of nascent revolt reached him, Lenin knew he had to rush back to Russia, but how could an exile travel to the country which no longer wanted him? The answer was through the enemy of his enemy. Germany, Russia’s sparring partner in the raging First World War, hoped to weaken Russia from the inside by allowing Lenin and his cronies to pass through and arrive in Petersburg’s Finland Station. It is perhaps one of the 20^th century’s greatest ironies that this action ultimately led to the creation of a super-powered USSR rather than a weakened Russia. Those looking for the remnants of communism can get a sense of Lenin’s cult of personality at Finland Station with its larger-than-life statue of this larger-than-life historical figure.

Before Lenin’s time there was another feared Russian man who caused a great deal of scandal with his close ties to the Tsarina and his apparent connection to the dark world of the occult. The story of the mystic Grigori Rasputin is legendary. He was brought to the Russian court to treat the ailing tsarevich, son of Nicholas and Alexandra. Tsarevich Alexei suffered from hemophilia, and through his “healing.” Rasputin was able to wield considerable influence over the fading Russian monarchy, especially the Tsarina. Some details of the Mad Monk’s life may be murky but the circumstances of his death(s) are perhaps better known and have certainly added to his mysteriousness. Rasputin became a convenient scapegoat for those looking to diminish the tsar’s power. As a result of his controversial lifestyle (children out of wedlock, accusations of rape and public fighting with members of the clergy), it was decided that Russia would be better off without him.

Several assassinations were attempted – and believed to be successful – but ultimately this giant of a man survived. He was attacked by a knife-wielding former prostitute, then poisoned by members of the Royal Family, but to no avail. He was eventually done in by four shots to his back and a severe beating, followed by a plunge into the icy Moika river, just outside the Moika Palace. But the official autopsy lists his cause of death as hypothermia. The saddened Tsarina buried his remains in the Romanov’s summer palace, Catherine Palace at Tsarskoye Selo (today known as Pushkin) but there were some who still believed this wasn’t enough. Following the Revolution, some citizens dug him up to cremate the body. What resulted was at the heart of the Rasputin legend: as he burned, the body could be seen apparently attempting to rise from the pyre. While the onlookers were rightly terrified, this phenomenon can actually be explained by improper treatment of his body prior to cremation. His tendons shrunk, which caused his legs and ultimately his waist to bend, giving the appearance of a rising-from-the-flames demon-monk.

The most recent man demonized-by-foreigners but deified-by-Russians is the enigmatic Prime Minister Vladimir Putin. Rumors abound that he was somehow responsible for the death of Alexander Litvinenko, which most Russians will acknowledge as hogwash. Another popular rumor is regarding his alleged status as the richest man in Europe. His response was to dismiss the charge of possessing actual wealth, but that governing the nation of Russia did indeed make him rich.

St Petersburg surely offers something for everyone: the religiously devout, lovers of art and architecture, history buffs, opera aficionados, bookworms, followers of football (and their wives), nature enthusiasts. It is entirely up to you on how to enjoy this world-class capital of Peter’s Russia.

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The Chronicle - Santa Run

It’s Saturday morning in a quiet Cromwell neighborhood when suddenly, the sound of fire engine sirens rings through the street. Parents and children come running out of their houses but there’s no fire or smoke to be seen. The children are jumping up and down with excitement and the adults are outside with their digital cameras. A fire engine pulls up to the house and Santa Claus waves from atop the engine. What’s going on here? It’s that time of year again – time for the Cromwell Fire Department’s Annual Santa Run, which collects donations for Cromwell Human Services, and this writer was fortunate enough to come along for the ride. I arrived at the Department at 9:30 am to witness all the pre-Santa planning. After their morning coffee, the fire department employees get to serious work, which includes decorating the trucks, loading the huge boxes of candy canes that will be distributed during the day onto the trucks, designating Santa roles and handing out the routes which the engines will follow. Some of the engines also need to be on-call for any emergencies that should arise during the Run. Luckily, the weather was clear and uncharacteristically warm, unlike last year, when the Department had to contend with snowy road conditions, in addition to the ensuring that the Santa Run could still take place. In the staff truck with Assistant Chief Donald Quick, I was able to get a good feel of the hectic pace of this special day. It involved a lot of driving around, looking for houses that may have been missed and unloading the fire trucks to make room for more donations (after only an hour, the staff truck was already filled to the brim), not to mention responding to the little incidents that occur during the day. After dropping off some toys at the Coles Road station, Quick had to stop at Town Hall to re-set their security alarm and then to catch up with the Santa and the engines again. And if this wasn’t enough, after the Santa Run (which lasted from 11 am until 3 pm), the Department is off to deliver a Christmas tree and presents to a needy family for their Adopt-a-Family program, followed by a children’s Christmas party before they could relax at another party for the adults. Besides the cheer that Santa in his upgraded sleigh brought to the local kids, all of whom were elated at the sight of him in front of their house, the Santa Run also showcased the generosity of the Cromwell community. Residents who wouldn’t be around for the Run dropped their gifts off. Those residents who missed the sirens’ warning sounds announcing their presence would call the station to arrange for another Santa drive-by. This year, the support of the Santa Run grew so much that two places warranted special stops because of the amount of donations collected. The Rook Retirement Community, which had two large tables filled with toys and Rookies Sports Bar and Grille. After one of Rookies’ owners, Annette Polizonis, read about the Run in last month’s Chronicle, she, along with co-owners Bill Fox, Tim Howley and Jeff Boynton, wanted to do something to help. Polizonis realized that with Rookies’ sixty-odd employees, they had the ability to make a significant donation. “Everyone brought something in,” she said. “[The employees] definitely shined.” With each employee bringing two gifts a piece, Rookies was able to collect an impressive 120 donations, helping to make this year’s Santa Run the most successful yet.

The Chronicle - Culture Shock

"There is nothing in life so cruel as being blind in Granada”

Granada, Spain is a quintessential Andalucian town with its pueblos blancos, those quaint, white-washed houses climbing up the hillsides, and the obligatory castle - no city in Andalucia is complete without one. Granada’s just happens to be Spain’s biggest tourist attraction, the legendary and breath-taking old palace of the Moors, the Alhambra. When I decided to quit my steady job at a mortgage company for adventure, excitement and teaching English in Europe, I unquestionably chose Granada. I had had just a taste of Granada the previous year while on a whirlwind tour of Spain. Determined to see as much of the south as possible, we had rushed through Malaga, Benalmadena, Seville, and Granada in five days. We had only enough time in Granada for a quick tour of the Alhambra and whatever we could see out the window on the bus ride between the Alhambra and the bus station. Apart from the palace and gardens, which was forever burned in my memory (and in 200 + pictures on my digital camera) as a spectacularly beautiful place especially considering it was still the winter, I only remember a sense of loss at everything else I was missing through the bus window. It was obvious that I would have to return to the city one day. I arrived for my TEFL (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) course in February and was taken to my apartment for the next four weeks. After trudging up a seemingly endless hill, I arrived at a small white house that was only a few hundred feet from one of the gates of the Alhambra. From my balcony, I could see one of its towers as well as a stunning view of the Cathedral. Although I was a little apprehensive at living alone with my Spanish landlady (most of the other students had shared apartments), the location was certainly a consolation. Every morning while brushing my teeth, I could look out at one of the wonders of the world. It was definitely an improvement over the old 9 to 5 grind. Before leaving Connecticut, I often spoke to my co-workers about my plans in Spain. They were stories filled with Mediterranean beaches, tapas bars and siestas. I showed them pictures of my time there – views of the pueblos blancos from the tower of the Alhambra, the peaceful courtyards filled with intricate Islamic tiles and fountains, and the sunsets over the Mediterranean. Every day on the job, we experienced the “3 o’clock slump” when we would need a coffee break or quick walk outside to wake up. After years of struggling through this time of the day, I was looking forward to siesta the most. The idea of a country that institutionalized the mid-afternoon nap couldn’t be anymore appealing. Of course, the novelty can only last so long. My time on the TEFL course was stressful and I had limited amounts of time for beaches and siestas. Lesson planning was usually three hours a day, in addition to daily classes on various teaching methodologies. My apartment was a ten-minute walk from the school, so with only an hour-long break during the day, it seemed pointless to walk home, sleep for thirty minutes and run back. So siestas were few and far between. Granada, although certainly warmer than Connecticut is in February, was rainy and didn’t inspire much desire to take an hour long bus ride to the coast. Spanish homes also aren’t equipped with the kind of heating that we are used to in the States. Because it doesn’t get very cold, most Spaniards in the south will have limited, if any, heat at all. The heat in my apartment was regulated by my landlady. Every couple of days, she would come into my room and ask kindly, “Tienes frio?” When I responded with a yes, hoping she would turn on the as-yet-unseen-and-unfelt heating system, she would open a large trunk and hand me an extra blanket. As someone who has lived in the Northeast United States for all of her life, the cold wasn’t unbearable as much as a nuisance. I had expected temperatures in the 60s but in reality, it never made it much higher than the 50s. But of course, 50 degree weather in February in Connecticut is considered a heat wave! No, the hardest thing with the weather was washing clothes. Although I had been to Europe several times, I was entirely unprepared for this reality. In contrast to the United States, almost every Spanish house or apartment is equipped with its own washing machine. However, from what I could see, there were no more than two dryers in all of southern Spain. In the hot, sunny summers of Andalucia, it is easy to see why they are unneeded. But in the damp cold of the winter months, it becomes much more problematic. I had socks that hung up in my room for days without ever getting really dry. And there is nothing worse than waking up cold, putting on a not-entirely-dry pair of underwear and venturing outside into the rain. My American classmates and I would commiserate and talk longingly of putting on a nice warm pair of socks, fresh out of the dryer. If you needed to buy laundry detergent or anything else, the siesta made this very difficult. On my walk to the school every day, I passed some stores that were literally never open. I don’t know if they went out of business and no one had bothered to take down the signs, or if it was just that I was never there at the right time of day. Siesta could last from anytime between 1:00 and 5:30. With our busy class and teaching schedules, the simple act of buying groceries became almost impossible. We had a break between 1:30 and 3:00 but we couldn’t go during that time since the stores were closed. We finished teaching at 10:00 most nights, which was after the stores had closed for the day. As for the weekends, you could get lucky on a Saturday but it became impossible on a Sunday. Everything in the city was closed, except for the McDonalds and kebab stands. I had never fully appreciated American capitalism and convenience as much as I did on those days. These are small inconveniences that one can deal with and make allowances for. As I brushed my teeth and washed my face every morning while gazing at the Alhambra, the damp socks I was wearing bothered me just a little less. I missed home but was still generally happy until about halfway through the course. One Friday, while in the beautiful Plaza Nueva, just a five minute walk from my apartment, my wallet was stolen. I didn’t even know it had happened until I went for a coffee and noticed that my purse seemed awfully light. I was very close with the other students on the course and they did everything they could to help. A few offered to go back to Plaza Nueva to see if they could find it, while others stayed with me and tried to calm me down. When it became apparent that it was pick pocketed, we immediately went to the police office. My classmate Amy, proficient in Spanish, began speaking to an officer just outside of the building. My Spanish was shaky in the best circumstances and in my panicked state, I couldn’t understand a word that was said. When I asked what he had said, she said, “Well, um, actually he said he can’t do anything because the station is closed for siesta.” I was distraught. Having gone to college just outside New York City and being so accustomed to 24-hour services, this was completely shocking. I began ranting everyone that if they felt the urge to commit a crime, now was the time to do it since the police were closed. It was a terrible day, one of the worst I’ve ever experienced. Yet I still consider this month in Granada as one of the best times of my life. The people I met on the course and in the English classes, the teaching experience I gained and the travels in and around Granada were simply unforgettable. My decision to go abroad was undoubtedly one of the best choices I had ever made. However, I had arranged to go home for a few weeks before I began working as a teacher in Madrid to visit family and friends. I couldn’t wait to do a load of laundry and then put my clothes dryer. I had dreams about walking through the 24-hour Super Wal-Mart on a Sunday afternoon, which filled me with happiness. When I finally did make it home, one of my first orders of business was reclaiming my identity after the stolen wallet. I needed to hit the Social Security office for a replacement card, the CCSU campus for a new student ID card and most importantly, the DMV to reissue my driver’s license. As I drove in my car, elated at being back home in the land of conveniences and home of normal opening hours, I pulled up to the DMV office in New Britain. The parking lot was strangely empty. I got out of the car and went up to the door and remembered what day it was and for a moment, felt like I was back in Spain. The sign in the window said “Closed on Mondays.”