Sy Explores Russia

I expected Russian hockey to be somewhat reminiscent of the hockey death-match scene from the film The Running Man…except with giant, emotionless Russians and Scandinavians ruthlessly shattering each others’ bodies for the right to leave the arena alive.

So naturally, I made my way to the Ледовый Дворец – lye-DOV-iy dvar-YETS – Ice Palace to check it out!

And, as you probably guessed, I was sorely disappointed to find out that there were actually rules and regulations to the game, just like in America. The players even had to wear helmets!  Ужас! – OO-zhus – Terrible, I know! But much to my delight there was a concession stand with hotdogs and coke to eat my disappointment away…and the cheerleaders didn’t hurt either.  In fact, they were quite successful at their job.  The palace rang out with cheers unlike any I’ve heard in an American arena.  It makes me laugh though, when the Peterbourgeoisie come together and scream in unison: “PEEEE-terrrrr!” It scared our enemy, Moscow (blech), into submissive defeat 4 – 2.  Ура! Hooray!

Джарлат, Катя, и Я в Ледовом Дворце - Jarlath, Katya, and I at the Ice Palace

Хоккей - KHOH-key - Hockey

Черлидинг в России - Russian Cheerleaders

Питер! Невские Армейцы! - Go Petersburg! The Nevksiyan Armymen! (Nevskiy is the main river in SPb)

I would have attended Church last Sunday, but God had other plans for me. (That was the day I went into the hospital with a ruptured appendix). But this week I came and expressed my gratitude to the Almighty who blessed me with life and an incredibly speedy recovery.

This Church may also be a point of interest to you because it is one of the few Churches here in Russia that is not adorned from wall to wall with extravagant golden decorations and Eastern Orthodox icons (See my post about the Church of Spilled Blood).  That’s because, yes, it is one of the few Baptist Churches here in St. Petersburg!  As you can see from the pictures it presents a very humble facade, both interior and exterior (complete with WWII bomb-raid scars).  And despite this rather strict church’s efforts to maintain its aura of austerity I couldn’t help but to smile when I noticed that the Pastors seemed to be wearing the full-collar shirts and neckbands that are quite common for Eastern Orthodox ministers, but not for Baptist Pastors (at least from my experiences in America).  But overall, my new Church is a wonderful place filled with more than gracious people, who would give you their house if you only asked for it.  Oh, and yes, they did manage to sneak one icon in there (behind the choir).  Это Россия – It’s Russia!

Вторая Половина Десяти Заповедей - The second half of the Ten Commandments

Внешние Церкви - Church Exterior

Пасторы Крестителя - Baptist Pastors

Пастор и Хор - Pastor and the Choir

Русские Дети Поют - Russian Children Singing Recitations

“The Poet’s dead! – a slave to honor -
He fell, by rumor slandered,
Lead in his breast and thirsting for revenge,
Hanging his proud head!”

These famous, emotionally-charged words by M.Y. Lermontov adorn a monument in the park dedicated to the site of Russia’s most romantic poet–both in his writing, and in his life (and death): Aleksandr Sergeyevich Pushkin.  And with the penetrating wounds from my surgery fresh on my body, I thought it would be fitting to reenact the mortal duel of an immortal poet, which took place almost 200 years ago on the 27th of January in 1837.

Pushkin’s duel had pitted him against his brother-in-law Georges d’Anthès amidst a desperate Russian-elite social drama involving an affair with Pushkin’s wife. And almost as an homage to his romantic writing, such as in Eugene Onegin, Pushkin died for love, bidding his wife to re-marry and to take care of the children. “Give the children my Dacha…” I could imagine him saying.

Смерть Поэта, Рождение Блоггера - Death of a Poet, Birth of a Blogger

Место Дуэли А.С. Пушкина - Location of the Duel of A.S. Pushkin

They call it “The Versailles of Russia.”

And since Versailles has thus far eluded my desirous gaze, I can not provide first-hand commentary on this comparison. But…I can grant you some limited visual access into the illustrious, French-inspired, Russian-built palace and gardens through the wonders of photography. The area is more often referred to as Peter’s Court, and it is located about 50km West of St. Petersburg. It was built by the francophilic Peter the Great, and is a large, artificially-forested area consisting of a main palace and numerous neatly-cropped gardens complete with sculptures, fountains, and a grand cascade and canal. Thus, I implore that you be taken in by the photographs and imprisoned by the court’s beauty…much like I was (see photos below)!

The court lies in a region called Peterhof, which is not too far from the line upon which the Nazis were stopped by the defenders of Leningrad in WWII.  Russians become pretty choked up about the history of the place, because millions of people died, on both sides, during that campaign in the 1940s.  The name Peterhof, meaning Peter’s Court, was bestowed upon the area during initial construction in the early 1700s — with the suffix “-hof”  being of Dutch origin.  After WWII, however, Teuto-phobia set in and the town was renamed to Петродворец “pyetro-dvor-YETS” — essentially meaning the same thing, just sounding more Russian.  Once again, I laugh.

Стою перед Большом Каскадом - Standing in front of the Grand Cascade.

Большой дворец и Морской канал - The Palace, Grande Cascade, and Canal

Джейм и я в тюрьме - Jaim and I, imprisoned in Peterhof

Фонтан и Морской Канал - The Fountain and Sea Canal

Я кормлю белки - Me, feeding the friendly Russian squirrels.

Конечно были Утки - Of Course, there were Ducks!

Twenty minutes before my surgery Jarlath said to me on the phone: “Oh, don’t worry, you’re in good hands. That’s where the president (of Russia) goes for surgery and medical care.”

I laughed—

The hospital we were talking about was the Medem International Hospital — the best private hospital in St. Petersburg (according to my jovial, but still collected, Russian surgeon).  And I laughed because I just can’t help myself when die-hard Soviets succumb to the forbidden fruits of capitalism.  I got mine, though… because it turns out laughing is extremely painful when your peritoneal cavity is filled with toxins from a ruptured appendix.

Not long after that My Mom called, quite worried, to ask me which hospital I was at, and what it looked like, and whether the doctors were wearing gloves, etc… You know, simple questions that any Mom would ask if her son’s appendix were to rupture while in Russia (and by the way, I always capitalize the word Mom because mothers are the most crucially awesome and important beings on the planet).  So I relayed to her Jarlath’s review of the hospital, and with a sigh of relief she revealed to me her mental image of where she thought I was: “in a barn with a bunch of Russian farmers pretending to be doctors.”  Oh, my goodness… Please…everyone!  Stop making me laugh!  It literally might kill me!

Short story shorter: I survived and spent a couple nights in a classy suite in the President’s own little capitalist getaway.  Thank You, Lord, and thank you, friends and family, for comforting me and visiting me!

Лицо Сая, несмотря на сильную боль - The Sy face reigns...despite extreme pain.

Джейм со мной в больнице. - Jaim and I at the hospital. Post-Op

Марго со мной в больнице. - Margo and I at the Hospital. Post-Op.

Как Президент - Presidential - Boiled Apple, Oatmeal, and I'm not sure...