Sushi Petersburg

I nearly did a faceplant today. Straight into a slushy cobblestone sidewalk. I threw out my hands just in time to save myself from actually eating slush. But it wasn't pretty.

All the people walking around me came to a dead stop until I stood back up. The second I was on my feet again, everyone picked up the pace as though nothing had happened. I wiped off my hands, astounded that nobody had offered me a hand, or the Russian version of "Are you OK?" To the ten people whose path I'd blocked, I was a brief obstacle, nothing more.

Either people fall here all the time, I'm used to people being really nice, or "Are you OK?" doesn't exist in Russian. I wish I could know for sure, but I don't speak the language, and here, that is a major barrier to knowing the culture.

I'd spent the day on a self-guided walking tour. The city is beautiful, it makes me think of Paris plopped atop Venetian canals. Colorful rows of Classical buildings flank the wide, frozen Neva river, with docked tourist boats and distant coal chimneys finishing the scene. Once in a while, you catch site of a golden cathedral dome or spire. Elegant trees add contrast to artful, snow-covered parks. The city is built on islands, so every once in a while, you cross an arching old bridge. The atmosphere is magical, romantic, and busy. This is definitely one of my new favorite cities.

Except for the slushy, puddly, icy sidewalks. How do Russian women walk them in narrow heels like it's nothing? They must have trained for years. I had at least two near-misses before the faceplant. Babushkas waddle them like ducks. I'm about ready for a sleigh.

Also before the faceplant, which is a climactic turning point in this tourist story, I visited the outrageous palace where Rasputin was killed, a delicate Russian Orthodox cathedral full of worshipping women, and the over-the-top Christ of the Savior Blood (I'm butchering the name, forgive me) cathedral. I took a good picture--you'll see it below--then faceplanted.

By the time I started walking again, I was tired, hungry, and humiliated.

I walked into the nearest cafe, a sushi restaurant. Fake sunflowers sprouted from the ceiling. Bird documentaries played on huge flatscreen TVs place around the restaurant. Five Russian men made sushi in front of a real-time airline arrivals/departures screen. Lounge music interspersed with soft rock played from ceiling speakers. The furniture was Japanese, but that was pretty much it.

So the place was weird. But it was busy--always a good sign. I ordered by pointing at pictures on the menu. I thought I was getting chicken and salmon kebabs, a Russian beer, and a sushi roll. I had to drink all the beer up when I saw that I had inadverdantly ordered beef tongue, liver, and pork kebabs.

I've never had tongue. The little tastebuds on the tongue pieces made me recoil. I kept thinking of French kissing a cow. I can see why people eat it--it's tender--but ick. The sushi, however, had amazing salmon and caviar. Best raw salmon I've ever eaten, hands down. It was buttery and melted on the tongue. The red caviar was also crispy and fresh. Delish!

A bitter wind started blowing on my way out of the restaurant, so I called it a day. The cold here is no worse than Colorado on a cold day--until the wind comes in. Its chill is dizzying, best avoided or vodka'd away.

After three days here in St. Petersburg, I'm entranced, but a little offput by how difficult it is to travel here when you don't know the language. It really helps to know people, or at least know how to talk to them. Otherwise things appear grim, hard to penetrate, distant. Might be me, might be the winter...but next time I visit Russia, it's going to be with an in-the-know friend.