Many, Many Hours in a Bus

It is almost disturbing to add up the number of hours that I have spent in a bus over the last week. A week ago, nice and early on a Friday morning, the CIEE group boarded our double-decker bus and headed south to the Pskov region. Thankfully, new roads had been laid during the past twelve months so the seven-hour drive was reduced to about five. Very close to Estonia (so close that at one point over the weekend we were all getting text messages from our phone company welcoming us to Estonia), Pskov was once on the Russian border. Foundations have been found in the Kremlin (word for fortress, not just the one in Moscow) from the 10th century, and though there was a fire a mere two days before we arrived for our tour, it is an incredibly well-preserved structure as a whole. I think the guide said that the fortress we see is from the 17th century. The fire that occurred just before we got to Pskov was only in two of the towers, destroying the wooden roofs but not causing any serious damage that we could see from our tour. The weather was beautiful, and as we listened to the military and commercial history of the fortress – it played an important role in many battles with the Swedes and the Germans as well as served as the main trading center – we enjoyed the opportunity to walk around in the sunshine and the considerable warmth since Pskov is to the south. With high walls, a moat some 15 meters deep, and a position at the meeting point of two rivers, it was certainly a well-protected location. The church within the fortress walls was also incredibly beautiful, like nearly all churches of its age white on the outside and covered with icons on the inside. This one was particularly unusual because the iconostasis has seven levels of icons and stretches all the way to the ceiling of the cathedral. A very awesome sight. After our tour we had lunch – though we first had to jaywalk across quite the intersection, trusting the Russian drivers to notice us on the crosswalk – and then got back on the bus for a tour of the surrounding area, the highlight of which was a giant monument to Alexander Nevsky, a Russian Prince from some 500 years ago who defeated foreign armies not far from Pskov. The monument was quite impressive, a horseman and soldiers towering above one of the highest hills in the region. After an appropriately ridiculous amount of photography, we headed back to the bus and on towards the Pushkin Hills, to find our hotel.

Pskov is a small city, somewhere around 200,000 people call it home, but Pushkin Hills is a small town, famous for its beautiful landscapes and because Russia’s most famous literary figure spent much time there. Driving through the forest we realized how grateful we were for a weekend away from the city, a chance to relax in a quiet place where spring had come a little more than in St. Petersburg, and where we could see the stars at night and breathe the fresh air. Our hotel was adorable, a very new collection of buildings with a main lodge, small cottages, sauna building, playground, and lots of places to sit outside. The experience was made even more wonderful by the fact that the four group one girls – Megan, Sveta, Irina, and I – had been given our own cottage because there wasn’t enough space in the main lodge. Upon arrival, four of the group one guys – Jay, Brian, Jeremy, and Brent – were also given a cottage much to our delight. So we essentially had our own space for the whole weekend, could put our feet up on the furniture, speak English, watch the BBC on the satellite TV, eat chocolate and drink wine at one in the morning on our porch, and relax and enjoy each others company. We were very grateful to have been so spoiled.

Saturday began with breakfast (at which Megan and I were nearly giddy about the presence of a toaster) and a walk to Pushkin’s family estate about a half an hour down the road and through the forest. It is now situated in what is the equivalent of a national park, and I lost count of the number of times people said ‘its so nice to be outside like this’ over the course of the day. Pushkin, as the Russian saying goes, is ‘everything’ to the Russian people. Russian schoolchildren all know poems by heart (so, it should be noted, did our tour guide), and he is regarded as the country’s true literary genius. Seeing his family’s country property, you could almost imagine how he thought up some of the incredible things he did. We also got to see a working mill, as part of an example property of a wealthier peasant in the nineteenth century Russian countryside. Later in the day we went to the place that inspired his most famous work, Evgenii Ongegin, which was another beautiful property. Some of the scenes from the novel take place in the woods there, and in addition there is an absolutely gorgeous 24-hour sundial on the property, which was very impressive. Then we headed to the monastery where Pushkin is buried, though he died in St. Petersburg after a duel his body was moved to the monastery where he spent quite a bit of time. There was a service going on in the church, which is always a beautiful experience, to step into the dark and incense from the sunshine and fresh air is a unique sensation.

After that it was back to the hotel for dinner, relaxing, banya, and grilling sashlik (essentially shish-ka-bobs, many thanks to grill master Jay who put his expierence working at Chilis to good use) at about midnight. The dark sky and the smoke from the charcoal grill made me almost wish we were in tents – almost. Our beds were pretty comfortable, though we didn’t spend too much time in them.

Sunday we checked out and headed out on a series of excursions before turning towards St. Petersburg. First we went to a medieval fortress where mineral springs pour out the side of a canyon and into a lake where white swans live, the springs and the waterfalls they create each are said to give something to the people who drink the water, one gives youth, another love, another riches. Unfortunately, they weren’t exactly labeled so we’ll just have to wait and see! In my rain boots I filled up some water bottles for people, the water was so cold I could feel it through my boots, but no water got in. Then we hiked up and around some hills, got some snacks in the form of peroshki from the local baking grandmothers, and headed to a monastery where we were treated to a trip into the catacombs. I have been in some of the catacombs in Rome, and in Salzburg too, but this was unlike anything I have experienced. People were lined up outside the entrance, the monks (about 60 live in the monastery) don’t always let people in to the catacombs and so plenty of people were trying to blend into our group when they saw we were being let in. We were handed candles and told to light them immediately, and when we turned the corner it became immediately obvious that it was not just for dramatic effect. There is absolutely no electric lighting in the catacomb, and no outside light makes it inside when the door is shut. I ended up being right behind the monk who was leading us, and so other than his candle in front of me and the faint light it cast in combination with my own, I could see nothing but blackness. It was honestly a different darkness than I had ever experienced, and when you would occasionally hold your candle up to one of the walls and see the gravestones lining them the intensity would only increase. It was definitely an awesome 20 minutes, there in the darkness with only candles and the former leaders of the monastery. Outside the sun was shining, and we headed back to St. Petersburg with some incredible memories and feeling much more relaxed thanks to the beauty of the Pushkin hills.

We returned early enough for some of us to grab a beer at our local café at Primorskaya, and then I headed home to prepare for Finland the next day. Russians travel across the border to Finland for a couple of reasons. Mainly, to shop for fish. Secondly, to shop for other things. It was a fun experience to watch the Russians – I was the only foreigner on the bus which everyone realized when it took me about three times as long to get through passport control – struggling to carry bags full of whole fish and grabbing western brands of shampoo and toothpaste on their way to the checkout. After stopping at the fish stores on the other side of the border, we headed to Umatran (no idea how to spell in English since I only ever saw it in Finnish and Russian) for the next five hours, to walk around in the forest, do some more shopping, eat some delicious pizza, and get back on the bus for the long journey back to St. Petersburg. The city – which is just barely that, some 28,000 people live there – is situated on a canyon created by a man-made dam that is quite beautiful. Our guide explained that in June they open the dam a few times and its quite a sight, all of the water roaring down the canyon to the lake at the bottom. Might be worth a return visit! The ride back was even more entertaining, since the guide left people behind (after spending a weekend with CIEE where Katya and Jarlath count us literally every 20 minutes or so and twice before we head anywhere on the bus this was especially unbelievable) and we wasted multiple hours driving through seemingly backroads at breakneck speed to find them, picked up a couple of bike riders along the way, and then sped towards St. Petersburg but missed the metro. Which was fine, we caught a car from the drop-off spot and were dropped right at our door which was actually better, but unfortunately no one had gotten much sleep due to the rather crazy driving and I was already running on empty in terms of sleep. Regardless, I just closed my eyes and tried to drown out the running commentary and complaints being shouted by the passengers at the driver and guide. Whoever said Russians accept their lot hasn’t met these people. I understand that it was extremely inconvenient and that the guide could have worked a little harder at making sure we got back all together and on time, but I’m really not convinced that yelling and complaining is going to help you at all, or make you feel any better. Luckily my host mom is of the same opinion as I am, so we just curled up in our corner of the bus and waited until we saw the lights of the city. Quite an entertaining experience, not really one that I would wish on anyone but alls well that ends well.

So those are my hours on a bus, and the hours in between, over the past week. Luckily I don’t plan on any more long term bus trips, just plane trips in two weeks when I’m on my way home! All the best from – unfortunately – still chilly St. Petersburg – beth