090908 – Spain, Madrid – Italy, Rome – Russia, St Petersberg

0300HR on September 9th, I stumbled through the hostel in a zombie like daze. Leaving a nasty odour in the toilet as a parting gift, I dragged my gear to the door and check-out.

The ride through Madrid at 330am was an interesting experience. People were lining up to get into clubs, the streets were crowded, the night-life was PUMPING!!! I was chauffeured through the streets in a particularly nice, brand-new BMW mini-van. Cruising the streets and then motor-ways, I arrived at the airport in a respectable state. Giving the driver the 28 Euro fee (it would have been GLORIOUSLY cheaper if there had of been more passengers..) and the padlock I'd mistakenly taken from the room (he promised to return it), I lurched into the terminal. The driver was kind enough to wait, making sure I had no immediate problems.

Shrink-wrapping my bags and a long wait in line, I made a mad dash to the toilet after getting an emergency-isle seat. I had checked in at an appropriate time, but now there was a long wait for boarding. Nothing was open, so rehydrating had to be with what was on offer at vending machine prices.

I really really really hope that the “Nasty Butt” doesn't persist... I took some doses to that effect. Emma and Josh had been kind enough to let me raid their Gastro-Kit, so I had a reasonable level of stocks. I'm trying to avoid more antibiotics until I really have to.

Finally the time had passed and I boarded my plane just as the shops started to open. All of the Cafes were still asleep, so breakfast consisted of a pack of Oreo's from a duty-free store. The plane meal offered by Al Atalia was excellent on the menu, but rivalled Air Ethiopia in appearance.

Fitful sleep was followed by another long wait in Rome. More security checks and then slumping against the wall. I managed to doze a bit on the 5 hour to Russia.

Landing in Saint Petersburg, the panic reared it's head...
What if it was like everyone said?
What if I got arrested at the airport?
or not let through customs?
or got mugged or abducted, trying to get to my hostel?
what if it was so expensive, that I couldn't finish my trip?

Mentally back-handing myself and a curt “Man up!” later, I was wandering through the airport. Looking like any other airport that I been through, there were no shops open and I had some difficultly spotting a toilet. Finally getting to passport control, I got a short-tempered female officer, who used some very short tones to tell me I had to fill out an immigration card. Pen-work in cramped spaces later, panicking that it was not neat enough, I recieved the relevant stamps and was off to get my back-pack.

By the time I got to the baggage carousel, the conveyor had stopped and my pack was sitting to the side, they really don't muck around here! Customs consisted of walking through a green archway and out the door.

St Petersburg airport is quite small and spartan, the main area is about the size of a tennis court and was crammed with security checks for the people trying to enter, one wall was filled with various ATMs, there were some closed money exchanges, a staircase leading upstairs and a small, unattended, tourism kiosk. Digging a couple of maps out of the tourist desk, locking my packs and withdrawing some currency, I braced myself and walked out the door.

ooooh, it was somewhat coolish, drizzling and windy. I was glad that I'd kept most of my warm-stuff in my hand-luggage!

I stood around looking like a tool for about 10 minutes, trying to spot some kind of directions for the “mini-bus to the metro station” that had been mentioned in the joining instructions.. I'd noticed something on a sign inside the terminal, but hadn't paid enough attention and didn't want to brave security to go and check...

“uhh.. Metro”
“K-29, there”
“thankyou”

Following the pointing through the drizzle, I immediately saw an ancient and dilapidated mini-bus with a yellow sign stating “K-29” in firm black characters.

“Metro”
“Da, ~russian I couldn't follow~"
*urgent pointing at a sign stating 22 Rubles*
nodding, I pushed my pack into the front seat and jumped in next to it.
*urgent pointing at the sign and holding up two fingers*
ahhhh... I was taking up two seats, so I'll have to pay for them both.. whatever...

Coughing up about $2AUD in russian currency, I sat and waited to depart, hugging my day-pack.

Having paid my fair, the flood-gates opened. It was as though, now that the minibus had one customer, it was okay to use. The bus seats quickly filled and the driver took off. For the next 5-10 minutes, as we picked up more passengers, notes of rubles were passed forwards and back. Either the driver kept a running tally of who had paid, or everyone was simply trusted to pay.

20 minutes later, I started to see signs that resembled the name of the station that I was looking for.
Pulling over and the majority of the passengers getting out, I asked.
“Metro?”
*nod* ~russian I couldn't follow~

I started walking through the drizzle in the vague direction that the driver had nodded, passing other pedestrians. Women carrying umbrellas that were either bright red or muted dark colours. Young men carrying flowers as a single rose or small bunches. The number of people wearing what we would consider “not quite enough for the weather”, but the hight of fashion, was astonishing. The vast majority of the people appeared to be late twenties through to thirties. Without exception, the young women were dressed extremely stylishly, the boys their age were dressed identically to every other European city or Perth (jeans and jacket, nothing remarkable).
It appeared that being noticed was particularly important here..

Reaching the end of the street, I looked around and then asked an ice-cream vendor (in this weather!!!!) for directions.
“Metro?”
*nod*
*hand motions indicating back the way I came and ~down~*
“Thankyou”

Descending the stairs that I had passed on exiting the mini-bus, following the crowd, I took a series of escalators and hit some turn-styles. Looking around, I tried to brave the automated terminals, but they did not display english. I walked over and joined the line for the ticket stall and wrote down the number of the stop that I needed.
Nodding and saying numbers I couldn't follow, I pushed a note through the slot. Receiving the handful of notes and mass of coins, I looked for a ticket and noticed a coin that wasn't like the others..
ahh.. no paper tickets here...
Rearranging my finances and disposing of my token, I was on an escalator that took me down into the bowels of the city.

Hostel Apricot had been the Intrepid Travel hostel for some time, but had been changed just a few weeks ago. This had two major implications that complicated my day. First was that I would have to change hostels tomorrow, as I'd booked this extra day of accommodation independently. Second, the trip notes described how to get to the new hostel, I hadn't printed out the notes that contained the detailed instructions for this hostel. I was pretty much on my own for finding my way...

The metro system in St Petersburg is unremarkable similar to the metro system in Madrid.. or Paris.. a little cleaner than Cairo.. For the duration of the trip, I was juggling backpacks, day-packs, maps and seats. I knew that I had to change lines to get to the hostel. The metro halls are typically a wide corridor that is flanked on either side by a platform. The hall is often decorated and you get from the main thoroughfare to the platform by passing through high and deep archways. There is almost always a stairway or escalator at each end of the hall. Suspended at intervals, only in the main corridor, are signs with a list of stations further down the line, a coloured arrow and number characteristic of that line and direction. The platforms themselves often have no form of identification.
On the trains themselves, there are very useful automated announcements that tell you what line you are on and the next station, using russian phrases and pronunciation that I couldn't follow.. The cars are of an older design, but functional and in reasonable condition.

Getting off at the wrong stop, directions, back on, off at the right station, swap lines, back on the train, count the stops, off again... The great thing about the metro network in Russia is that one ticket, any ticket, will take you anywhere and everywhere on the network until you exit the station. Essentially you purchase to get into the first station and they then promptly forget about you. No zones, no pricing structure.

I arrived at my stop and followed the arrow to Nevsky Prospect, up some stairs, through another corridor and to the escalator.

Two new things struck me at this point. St Petersburg has the deepest metro system in the world.
Seriously..
Taking the escalator to the surface, I looked back down about half-way.. Waaaaaay down...
On these escalators, you wouldn't want to be afraid of heights. The tunnels themselves could easily be 50 or even 100m deep.
They are profoundly, impossibly, unfathomably, deep. Yet open, airy and very spacious..

The second point may assist in describing the first.
At increasingly strategic intervals, at characteristic pedestrian tunnel junctions, there are steel arcs installed into the marble. Tracing them, they follow to the wall of the corridor which juts out and is strangely squared off (considering the tunnels themselves are arched, like a Nissan Hut). Following the retreating edge of the shiny steel curve, it leads to the wall with what appears to be a metal facade.. A square façade, mounted about a metre out from the wall and lined on the edge with a thick seam of rubber..

So, the metal line in the marble floor is to handle the steel castor that help support this giant blast door.. On closing at strategic points, up to probably 100m below the surface, you have an extensive tunnel network capable of housing a sizeable fraction of the population in the event of a nuclear strike... Impressive..
I managed to spot another type of “door”, concealed in an archway and hidden behind thin sheet-metal that had been spot-welded in place. This type appearing to descend from the ceiling or slide directly out of the wall. The entire network was internally segregated, in the event that one of the external doors was compromised..

Suitably impressed and still on the way up the escalator (*MIND-BOGGLINGLY DEEP*), I watched the Russian blue and white colour people on their way home..

One thing you should know about people on the street in Russia, you often get conflicting directions if you have a specific address. Following the directions of another icecream vendor (WHAT IS WITH THESE PEOPLE!!! IT'S FREEZING HERE!!!), I ended out having a nice tour of St Petersberg before my iPhone got a GPS lock and saved the day. I'd had the overwhelming suspicion that he'd been a false-prophet, but I hadn't been able to find enough street-signs to prove it.
Doubling back and closing in, two ladies tried to help me with the building number and I ended out going down a little alley on blind luck (there was a wall painted the same colour as the hostel website... and I vaguely remembered the old intrepid instructions saying “doorway before the sex-shop”). SUCCESS!!
Performing the convoluted steps of pressing buttons and saying “OPEN!” the door buzzed. Unsure of how to operate a soviet era (possibly Lenin era) elevator, I took the stairs and fell into the warm doorway of Hostel Apricot.

Hostel Apricot is small, almost to the point of cramped, but clean and comfortable. There are computers and free WiFi and you are able to buy personal hygiene essentials at astonishingly cheap prices. Making use of the facilities and showering after locking my things into place on my bunk, I felt I'd summoned the strength to seek out dinner.

Having previously come across a KFC on my convoluted expedition up and down Nevsky Prospect, I ventured back and stuck with what was “safe”. I didn't know what russian food to eat, hadn't seen any “cheap-eats” and didn't want to risk a massive bill on my first night. A pitiful attempt at a Zinger burger and fries that made MacDonalds look “awesome” would have to suffice.

Still exhausted from my day of travels, I shed the last pains of my final plane connection by watching Russian over-dubbed Scrubs (they leave the english and just speak russian louder over the dialogue :p ) while chatting to a local who was a “New-York style punk-rock guitarist”.
I noticed a guy reading an english travel book, he was an american who had been travelling for the last few months. We compared notes and he gave me some pointers. Particularly, that most travellers I would encounter would be russian, fewer people spoke english than I expected (ie. negative numbers of the population...) and that things were fairly safe within backpackers. I just had to be a little careful on the street.
I noticed some asian ladies and another guy, but figured they were locals and left them be.

Packing up and locking my gear in my pack while it charged, I had an early night.

I was in Russia.

WOW... I'm in Russia!