St. Petersburg, October 2002
Dear Friends and Family:
My day off in St. Petersburg (or St. Pete as it is known to locals) was both wonderful and fascinating. At the conference yesterday, I met a lovely English woman, Anne, and we agreed to spend the day being tourists in St. Pete. Our first stop was the Hermitage Museum.
Anne had arrived early and secured a spot at the front of the line, but when I arrived, she suggested we give up our place and start the day by walking across the bridge on the Neva River and looking at Catherine the Great’s winter palace (which houses the Hermitage) from across the river. I had left home on a warm autumn day and had to force myself to recognize that I was leaving for Russia in winter and needed more than a light jacket. I compromised on a spring raincoat.
But this was October in St. Pete and temperatures were just below freezing. Anne was dressed in a black lambskin coat with hat, gloves and boots. All I had was an unlined raincoat, a down jacket, and a Liberty scarf. It wasn’t much for a day of light snow and I cursed myself for not realizing that October weather in northern Russia might be more like Montreal than San Francisco.
Once into the Hermitage, we found cash registers with masses of people pushing and shoving to reach the wicket. Anne and I split up to see which line would move faster and finally we were able to buy our tickets. Anne paid the additional $4 to be allowed to take photographs but I figured that no one would ever ask to see the ticket and decided to take the risk of illegal photography. We searched out the nice ladies in the cloak room to leave our coats and finally tried to enter.
Anne had brought the Lonely Planet guidebook to St. Pete and had mapped out a route that took us immediately to the Reubens, past the Van Dykes, through some others of less interest to me, and then to a room of Matisses, another of Gauguins, a few Picassos, and more. Along the way, I took a photo of one of a security guards sleeping in her chair next to a painting and another of a Russian sailor looking at paintings. The signs below the paintings talked of their liberation from the German collectors, as if such paintings had internationally recognized human rights.
We had started viewing at 11:00 am and at 3:00 pm, it was finally time to find the internet café in the museum. I had told Anne that two hours was generally my limit for museums, but even after four hours, I was interested to see if the next room might be as fascinating as the one before. Just a couple of more rooms and it was time to see something of St. Pete. And yes, no one had asked to see Anne’s ticket allowing us to take photos.
Once outside, I negotiated with Anne to let me carry the heavy museum book that she had bought. I explained that I was looking for ways to stay warm and carrying a heavy book in my backpack would help me. She said that it was most creative excuse for doing something nice, but it was the truth and the book caused my body heat to rise a little.
We inadvertently walked into St. Isaac’s cathedral and then wandered through the church as we admired the wooden carvings on doors that looked like they had not been used in some years. Outside we climbed to the top of the Colonnade. Signs (and Anne’s guidebook) suggested that we were not to take pictures from the top. Security was the issue cited, as if tourist photos of the layout of the city’s streets posed a national security risk. The security guard in her little guard-house watched but didn’t complain as I stood on the ledge to take panoramic photos of St. Pete.
Anne and I then walked through the back streets of St. Pete, looking for the Church of Spilled Blood, which was actually called Church of the Blood of our Savior. I object to paying to visit a church and particularly where the price for foreigners is five times that of local residents. We wandered past the ineffective security guard who never asked for tickets. The church looked like a mosque, covered with blue and gold paintings to the ceiling. In many ways, the mosques of Istanbul are more attractive with abstract writing rather than the pictures of Jesus Christ and his disciples. But the paintings in the Church of Blood clearly told important religious stories.
Tea and apple-strudel back in the drafty tea-room of the Hotel Grand Europe and it was time for Anne to return to her own hotel and a soothing massage. For me, I put together some ideas in preparation for next week’s meetings. By the time I was finished, the hotel’s gym had closed and I was forced to choose between jogging in the cold and using the stairs of the hotel’s emergency exits for exercise. It raised the concern of the hotel’s security guards, who informed me in Russian that I was not to go above the fifth floor. (He looked upset, said “Pet” and spread his fingers wide to indicate the number five.) For the next 15 minutes, the hotel’s security officer kept checking on me. It seemed that he didn’t believe that someone might choose to run up and down hotel stairs as a form of exercise.
And now, I have finished my dinner of salmon and mashed potatoes and it is time to come to a close on this lovely day in St. Pete. Tomorrow night I will be back in Moscow.
You may have seen in the newspapers that one of the governors from Russia’s far eastern regions was shot yesterday in what was thought to be a contract killing. It was in a nice residential area in Moscow. Apparently he was trying to clean up corruption in what is a notoriously corrupt region. Also there was car bomb near one of the metro stations in south-west Moscow. Neither area is near my hotel or my meetings. But both incidents make me feel unsettled, particularly after a day of dealing with ineffective security guards.
But then there is wandering sniper in the suburbs of Washington D.C. and America is not entirely safe either.
Sue
Saturday, October 19, 2002
Sunday, June 2, 2002
Looking for Boredom in Bodrum: A few Days on the Coast in Turkey
May 30, 2002
Bodrum, Turkey
Dear Friends and Family:
24 hours in Bodrum and I feel as I am coming back to life. Turkey feels like such a different world from Russia. When I came into the airport last night, I asked the taxi dispatcher what was the fare to Bodrum. “48 million Lira,” she replied. About $35 with the tip was my calculation. “And how long does it take?” I asked. “About 30 minutes,” was her reply. It was exactly that--48 million Lira and 30 minutes. The taxi industry in Turkey is regulated, unlike that of Russia.
My hotel was also a delight. I had selected the Marmara Bodrum from a book of “small luxury hotels” to which the Guanahani in St. Bart’s (where I visited in March) is supposedly a member. I say supposedly because the book here refers to a different hotel in St. Bart’s that belongs to their chain of very expensive hotels worldwide.
Bodrum is nevertheless very beautiful. This evening at 10 pm, I am sitting in the outdoor restaurant, typing on a table of hand-painted tiles, overlooking a valley of lights and a 11th century castle. According to the hotel brochure, Herodotus was born in Bodrum and Caesar passed by. Bodrum today seems to be the holiday resort of very affluent. The highway from the airport was a divided four-lane highway with only one stop-light. As we approached, I noted a mansion on the hill. That mansion turned out to be my hotel.
Every corridor, every wall, every table, every umbrella seems to have been designed to be part of an Architecture’s Digest photo. One of the walls dates to 340 BC and I have an idea which one. The taste is none of European, or Asian or American but a combination of all. A dedicated D.J. provides music for the 12 speakers in three sizes around the pool.
I must be the only single person in the hotel. I feel surrounded my couples and groups of friends. My cute 18-something waiter seems to have decided to look after me, bringing me an outdoor heater, a shawl, two swinging candles and a pencil-flashlight with which to read themenu.
I haven’t decided which I should take of the 13 different types of massages the hotel [aka spa] offers. I can’t possibly do all of this, as you suggested, but one might be very nice.
Will have to stop here. I have moved down to the pool. I generally touch type but occasionally need to find keys that I rarely use and there isn’t much light by which to find them.
June 1, 2002
It’s my third night in Bodrum and I still haven’t moved more than a few hundred yards from my room to the pool to the dining room. Every corner seems to have been developed by my artist friend, Sunita, from the tiles on the patio tables to the figurines on the wall to the photographs that indicate the men’s room (a vested banker-like man with glasses and a French maid’s apron) and the ladies (super-senior women in a billiard hall in front of a sign that says You Must be At Least 18 to Play).
As I sit over a bowl of pasta, touch-typing in the evening light, my young man has brought me a second plate piled high with bread. The Turkish group downstairs is laughing at jokes that I can hear but don’t understand. And the D.J. continues with music that blends into the night.
I spent the day and into the evening writing my report on governance of the Russian banking system. “Still reports?” asked my young waiter as I type over the pasta. He must think that any work on a computer is work.
“You work for Bank?” he came back and asked. Our local office in Ankara had made my hotel reservation and he must have found out. “Turkish economy ok, or problems?” he asked. “Still problems but beautiful country,” I responded waving at the glittering valley below.
This hotel was meant to be party-central. On the schedule for room rates, there is a tariff called “Party Animal” which presumably is the largest suite. The music system feels as if it is prepared to belt out large volumes of sound. And yet the rooms next door barely hear the music. But the party animals aren’t here. I found a few quiet Turkish tourists, some Americans who talk about their doctor visits over dinnerbut feel quite lonely. This is a place built for romance but none is to be found.
Have been accumulating my emails on this trip. From Bodrum it is necessary to call Istanbul to obtain an internet connection. That costs $3.50 a minute (it seems that the telephone company is still a state monopoly). I have already run up a $100 charge and I am trying to keep my phone bills under control.
June 2
Just a note to say that I leave this afternoon for Ankara via Istanbul
on this clear sunny day. It’s been a lovely few days but now it’s time
to do some serious work.
With warm regards,
Sue
Bodrum, Turkey
Dear Friends and Family:
24 hours in Bodrum and I feel as I am coming back to life. Turkey feels like such a different world from Russia. When I came into the airport last night, I asked the taxi dispatcher what was the fare to Bodrum. “48 million Lira,” she replied. About $35 with the tip was my calculation. “And how long does it take?” I asked. “About 30 minutes,” was her reply. It was exactly that--48 million Lira and 30 minutes. The taxi industry in Turkey is regulated, unlike that of Russia.
My hotel was also a delight. I had selected the Marmara Bodrum from a book of “small luxury hotels” to which the Guanahani in St. Bart’s (where I visited in March) is supposedly a member. I say supposedly because the book here refers to a different hotel in St. Bart’s that belongs to their chain of very expensive hotels worldwide.
Bodrum is nevertheless very beautiful. This evening at 10 pm, I am sitting in the outdoor restaurant, typing on a table of hand-painted tiles, overlooking a valley of lights and a 11th century castle. According to the hotel brochure, Herodotus was born in Bodrum and Caesar passed by. Bodrum today seems to be the holiday resort of very affluent. The highway from the airport was a divided four-lane highway with only one stop-light. As we approached, I noted a mansion on the hill. That mansion turned out to be my hotel.
Every corridor, every wall, every table, every umbrella seems to have been designed to be part of an Architecture’s Digest photo. One of the walls dates to 340 BC and I have an idea which one. The taste is none of European, or Asian or American but a combination of all. A dedicated D.J. provides music for the 12 speakers in three sizes around the pool.
I must be the only single person in the hotel. I feel surrounded my couples and groups of friends. My cute 18-something waiter seems to have decided to look after me, bringing me an outdoor heater, a shawl, two swinging candles and a pencil-flashlight with which to read themenu.
I haven’t decided which I should take of the 13 different types of massages the hotel [aka spa] offers. I can’t possibly do all of this, as you suggested, but one might be very nice.
Will have to stop here. I have moved down to the pool. I generally touch type but occasionally need to find keys that I rarely use and there isn’t much light by which to find them.
June 1, 2002
It’s my third night in Bodrum and I still haven’t moved more than a few hundred yards from my room to the pool to the dining room. Every corner seems to have been developed by my artist friend, Sunita, from the tiles on the patio tables to the figurines on the wall to the photographs that indicate the men’s room (a vested banker-like man with glasses and a French maid’s apron) and the ladies (super-senior women in a billiard hall in front of a sign that says You Must be At Least 18 to Play).
As I sit over a bowl of pasta, touch-typing in the evening light, my young man has brought me a second plate piled high with bread. The Turkish group downstairs is laughing at jokes that I can hear but don’t understand. And the D.J. continues with music that blends into the night.
I spent the day and into the evening writing my report on governance of the Russian banking system. “Still reports?” asked my young waiter as I type over the pasta. He must think that any work on a computer is work.
“You work for Bank?” he came back and asked. Our local office in Ankara had made my hotel reservation and he must have found out. “Turkish economy ok, or problems?” he asked. “Still problems but beautiful country,” I responded waving at the glittering valley below.
This hotel was meant to be party-central. On the schedule for room rates, there is a tariff called “Party Animal” which presumably is the largest suite. The music system feels as if it is prepared to belt out large volumes of sound. And yet the rooms next door barely hear the music. But the party animals aren’t here. I found a few quiet Turkish tourists, some Americans who talk about their doctor visits over dinnerbut feel quite lonely. This is a place built for romance but none is to be found.
Have been accumulating my emails on this trip. From Bodrum it is necessary to call Istanbul to obtain an internet connection. That costs $3.50 a minute (it seems that the telephone company is still a state monopoly). I have already run up a $100 charge and I am trying to keep my phone bills under control.
June 2
Just a note to say that I leave this afternoon for Ankara via Istanbul
on this clear sunny day. It’s been a lovely few days but now it’s time
to do some serious work.
With warm regards,
Sue
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