I stuck around St Petersburg...

...when I thought it was time for a change. And what a change it was. Massive, beautiful, vibrant and a little bit scary all at the same time, St Petersburg is simply breathtaking, and has proved to be a pretty good place to kick off our year-long jaunt round the world.

We arrived last Tuesday into a drizzly St Petersburg, and no sooner had we landed on Russian soil that I spotted the first celeb of the trip. Somewhat depressingly, the celeb in question was Lawrence Llewellyn-Bowen, flouncing the wrong way through immigration. On the plus side, we didn't see him again as we ground our way through the visa check, so perhaps the FSB have him in a cage somewhere as I type, torturing him to shit and back for a lifetime spent annoying BBC viewers and ruining the front rooms of chavs across the UK. But enough of which.

We scored our first small victory on Russian soil by bravely eschewing a pricey taxi into town, instead locating and boarding a deliciously rusty minibus that took us to our destination for next to sod all. Throughout the journey, I hid behind our rucksacks as Lou took on the role of conductor, passing wads of roubles from passengers to the driver. Rock and roll. We arrived at Sasha and Andrey's homestay - our home for the next week - an hour early, but were let in by a kindly, if confused, elderly Canadian couple. Due to a power cut that had brought the city centre to a halt, Lou and I sat in darkness in a strange room for an hour before - out of nowhere - power was restored, jazz suddenly filled the room and lights flickered into action. When Andrey arrived, full of apologies for his late arrival, he looked at once like the perfect Russian host. "Please have a vodka" he announced, before adding proudly "It was once simply vodka, but I added ginger... now it is ginger vodka". With his swept back hair and artist's shirt, he explained that there was "a problem that was not really a problem" - there was no room for us in the apartment, but for us not to worry as they had another, better apartment for us to stay in. And so it proved, as a few moments later, Sasha burst in, replete with bleached hair, and delightfully clipped accent and no more than 5ft2 in height to her name. She loaded us all into their car (Andre, Lou, me and her mother), before depositing us all in apartment number two, even more fantastic than the first, all tiled floors, open fires, battered leather couches and homely chaos. And so while Sasha made up our beds, Andre marked out places to eat, drink and learn on a map lit by a wobbly candelabra. We availed ourselves to our first - and only - meal out that night at the trendy Crocodile, where we were served the best stroganoff I have eaten since a weekend break in Bewdley (a story in itself.) As my dad's pal Phil Tufnell would no doubt say, happy days.

Wednesday brought with it our first full day here, and an obligatory bout of the "what in the name of shit am I doing in Russia?" wobbles from me. Duly calmed by Lou, we set out on a walk around most of the historic heart of the city, and were duly blown away by the sheer scale and beauty of the place. We lunched on the best pies in town at the superb Stolle, then walked ourselves silly taking in from afar the many sites we planned to visit later during our stay. Almost every park, bridge, palace and building shared a common feature - beauty on a truly massive scale. The city really is so vast and so uniformly dazzling, you need to pinch yourself regularly to stop yourself becoming blinded to their many charms. After noodles for tea (a phrase I fear I'll type, write and say far too often over the next year), we crossed over to Vasilevsky Island and watched a late-night water display set to music. A walk back past the Hermitage at night, then to bed.

Thursday brought with it more sun, but also a return of the sodding cold that had lingered before we left the UK. Suitably drugged-up, we walked through the summer gardens, which (somewhat bizarrely) seemed to be at their best in Autumn. Brides had pictures taken while children played in mounds of leaves, while the traffic that clogs the roads around the park seemed to simply disappear. Next was the Blockade Museum, the only narrative (as opposed to memorial) reminder that we could find of the 900 day siege that so scarred what was then Leningrad during the Great Patriotic War. Stalin, on one of his many whims, had closed the original Blockade Museum, which opened months after the siege ended, in the early 1950s. While today's version may be a humbler affair, it is still incredibly moving, even though none of the exhibits have English explanations. Two things stayed with me. One, the solitary sliver of sawdust bread that Petersburgers had to eat each each day throughout the siege. Two, the small group of babushkas who staff the place, almost every one of whom must have lived through the siege. Their bravery in reliving the horrors of sixty years ago so others might learn - and remember - is truly something.

From the ridiculous to the sublime, we headed over to the St Peter and St Paul fortress on foot, stopping en route for some delightful cabbage bread (really.) As we walked, we spotted two Russians hiring out three monkeys dressed as children for snaps with smiling families. No sooner had I cursed the monkeys and their owners, than one of the three chimps started a fight with a stray dog that had attached himself to us. Truly bizarre. All this took place within spitting distance of the city zoo. It would seem that people travel to the zoo from far around to abuse whatever animal they can lay their hands on, be it monkey, dog, horse. More worryingly, a glimpse through the gates suggested that conditions inside were not much better...

Spent almost all of Friday in the Hermitage, which is beautiful, wonderful and vast in such a way that it could only really be housed in this place. It makes the Ufizi look like the Welsh Woolen Museum (which is, for those who haven't visited, massively subsidised and utterly shite.) My highlight? Reading an info board the explained how there were only Michaelangelo canvasses in existence, then realising Lou and I were stood in between two of them. That night, we took a boat cruise on the cities canals and river, all bathed in a sunset that would have graced any room in the Hermitage and held its own. We got home, and spent the night drinking with our flatmate for two nights Martin, a (as it turns out, very well regarded) photographer. A German by birth, he now lives in the United Arab Emirates with his Russian wife. We touched on football, politics, travel, the monarchy (Lou tried the whole "Luke loves the Queen" shtick) and 101 ways to get robbed in Moscow. I recommend anyone with a taste for top-notch photography and / or Russia to check out his book "Roll over, Lenin" - it's ace.

Yesterday was spent, for the largest part, in the Railway Museum. Possibly not on every visitors To Do list when they rock up in Russia's window to the West, it was nevertheless a fascinatingly quirky gem. Lou and I spent a very happy hour or so looking through the replicas and info boards and were just about to leave when one of the (Russian speaking) female staff insisted we join a tour group being led (in Russian) by a mad professor style tutor. When we tried to explain that we only spoke English, he explained - with his arms - that we would be able to see things move if we followed. He was as good as his word, and as we followed the group round, he flicked hidden switches and brought every exhibit to life. He even beckoned me over at one point to explain, again without words, how one exhibit worked after seeing my puzzled expression. Little things, maybe, but strangely moving all the same. Later, we took our first journey on the metro and through a few of the cities historic train stations. They are larger, grander, deeper and simply cooler than anything I have ever travelled on - or waited in - before. And not a single sodding Upper Crust in site. Magic. We ended the day watching the nightly raising of the bridges, drinking brandy coffee and feeling rather Russian.

For our last day here, we caught the Metro out to the Defenders of Leningrad memorial on the edge of the city. Like the surrounding area, it is far more Soviet in style than the rest of the city, but the memorial itself is as gigantic as it is haunting, as overpowering as it is moving. Flames burn in the centre while a huge obelisk towers above, while haunting music draws you underground where simple exhibits tell a story to the soundtrack of a metronome. It was, in many ways, a fitting end to our time here. And, as I have 14 minutes left to finish this thing up, I'll sign off. We catch an overnight train for Moscow tonight, where I think our Russian adventure will really start with a bang. Top tip for St Pete? If you come, take your time, and stay with Sasha and Andrey!

We'll try and post some pics on Flickr soon, so you can actually see what we're doing. Which will be more informative, and less tiresome, than reading this.

Stay warm

Luke and Louise
xx

(Posted by Luke)