A bit more than a week ago, I went to Saint Petersburg for the weekend with my two oldest friends. It was intense.
I’m in this thesis bubble right now, where the ups and downs of the thesis work rules my life. I sleep, eat, think only what and when the thesis allows. On the night before going to Russia, I couldn’t stop thinking about my thesis discussion and therefore I did not sleep more than four hours. In the morning, I first had a meeting with my supervisor, and then another West Africa meeting, incredibly inspiring both of them, requiring a cup of coffee each. Then, rushing to the airport, making calls about student magazine articles and summer plans on the bus. I was moving as if in a high-speed haze, and had we run into any trouble, I’m not sure if I would have understood what was going on. My brain just wouldn’t stop. Luckily, our entrance into Russia was smooth as a baby’s butt and in the taxi stereo they played Swedish House Mafia while we drove through the modernist suburbs into the imperial city center. Volvo ads, H&M, Burger King and McDonald’s lining the streets. Almost as if we hadn’t left the safety of Sweden at all.
Hanna had booked us a luxury room at an Art Nouveau boutique hotel called Vera. Beautiful room with Klimt paintings on the wall, friendly, English speaking staff and (as it turned out next morning) a proper, decent breakfast. Jackpot.
I could have collapsed on the bed right there and then. The coffee and adrenaline from the morning had turned into shaking hands and a headache. But, we were in Saint Petersburg for crying out loud! No time for sleeping in the middle of the day!
The pretty hotel stairwell.
I think Hanna and Kirke were in some kind of disconnected transit mood too, because we couldn’t stop laughing on the bus into town. A young man, just about to get off the bus, turned around and tripped on his own feet, almost falling out through the door while saying “You are sexy!”. Poor thing, what was meant to be flirty, turned into such an embarrassing slapstick sequence, and we exploded out laughing again. I pity the Saint Petersburg evening commuters.
The hotel receptionist had recommended a Georgian restaurant for us, and along the short walk from the bus stop to the restaurant, we walked past several spaced up bars and shops. Or what do you say about this:
The entrance to a club. You would not find those kinds of creepy creatures welcoming anyone into a Swedish club, I can tell you that. And the facades of the buildings! God, crazy stuff. The view from the taxi might have been rather bland, but here in the middle of things. Incredible. We were obviously not in Sweden anymore.
We had a really nice and unexpectedly delicious multiple course dinner at the Georgian restaurant, where the only disappointment was the waitresses poor photography skills. Right then, there was no place I’d rather be, and no other people I’d rather be there with. Our first evening in Saint Petersburg.
Katja Malmborg 