We got up, on our second day in Petersburg, not too early, and Pamela got a nice good-morning kiss from me, because it was her Birthday. (No... not "Because"; She got a good-morning kiss because she's Pamela. It just happened to be her Birthday as well.) The buffet breakfast in the hotel was... a bit interesting. We both tried a bit of many things, but mainly ate mini-pancakes. What completed the experience, was the Russian Cartoons, which were playing on the TV in there. (Have you ever heard of Russian Cartoons? They are the most foreign thing imaginable. The way they are put together can be so, SO different. And the voices... Also different. You know how when watching TV, you can just TELL when a show was made in the 70s, or 80s? Just because of the style of filming? Well, you can TELL that these were made in a place that had no contact at all with western Culture. They are So... different.

After Breakfast, there was the required Telephone call with Pamela's Parents, (Because it WAS her birthday... and we didn't know exactly what times we would be in the hotel later on.) Then we were meeting Anton. He's an old friend of mine, from the first year that I was in Estonia; We were living together, dancing together, and eventually, playing cards together every day. He later even came to Tartu, when I was working there, so we could continue our acquaintance. Anyhow... he grew up in Saint Petersburg, so we were glad to have someone who could show us some things properly. (and of course, glad to see an old friend.) We had decided to spend this day at one of the (three) Russian Palaces near the city. We had actually thought to go to Katharine's Palace, but when we met Anton, he said it could be a little boring, and suggested Peterhof, as a more interesting alternative. So, we went to the center, and picked out one of the tours going there. It's not exactly a pleasant experience, picking out one of the tours. There's a number of them, and they all have people on the street, trying to tell tourists that theirs is the best, or only one. We took one of the first then, even though it was an organised tour group, with a Russian Guide. At least we got to pay only about three quarters of the price, because we had no intention of actually being part of the tour. We still payed them to get into the grounds though, and into the palace.

So, we were on this bus, and driving off to Peterhof. Anton was helping us, by translating some of the things the guide was telling about the city, as well as pointing out private points of interest: "There is the Kirov School. There's a good store for dance clothing..." -And then we were told to shut up, or move to the back of the bus. -We chose the later, but soon were driving through the countryside, and ... well, I can't say more, because I fell asleep. When I woke, I saw that we were pulling into the huge parking lot outside the Palace grounds.

We stuck with the group, which got the entrance tickets for us, and then thought we'd leave them to go their silly way. But I saw that they were all cuing up, and going into something, so I suggested that we go and see what was going on. Then we got told off by our Tour guide, because we weren't there when she was getting tickets for this part of the tour. So everyone had to wait, while she went and bought these ones. And then we went into the Palace.

Or at least, we THOUGHT we were entering the Palace.

But instead, we went under it. Somehow, they'd decided not to go inside of it. So we got to see the pipes, and other water-work things, which power the endless fountains of this palace. There were also a few... sort of rooms too. And it WAS interesting... but I was disappointed, to say the least, when it was over and we found out that we weren't going into the palace at all. If it was so important to us, we could pay another three hundred roubles (or so,) and go in ourselves. Great. Now, what if we hadn't run and caught up with the group at all? Would they have given us back our money, that we'd given them, to get us tickets into the palace? I kind of doubt it. So, that was a bloody nuisance.

Then we split with the group for good, and headed in exactly the other direction from them. Now... should I say something for those people who have never heard of Peterhof? Which-ever Russian Tzar, (or the equivalent,) -probably a Peter, thought that Russia should have it's own beautiful Palace with fountains all over. -Something like Versailles. So, they (I'm making this up now,) raised taxes, and got hundreds or thousands of workers and craftsmen to come, and create this gigantic, splendid palace. But... we were just walking around the grounds of it. (In truth though, that is enough for an afternoon. The grounds are about the right amount to see, in four hours or so.)

What do I remember seeing? Well... more things than could be told, but I've also forgotten about some things that I jotted down in my notebook. So... "Montplaisir" -which Pamela assures me we saw. I haven't really a clue which fountain that was though. We also saw children playing in part of it. It was the... "fun" part. There would be certain stones along a path-way, which were rigged, so that if you stepped on them, water would start coming out of fountains all around and under you. There were a number of places like that, and there were a good number of children in their bathing suites, running over and through the unpredictable fountains. Then there was a small building, right down against the sea, (this castle was built beside the sea, and all the water ends up running out of a central canal into it.) This building was turned into a museum of art works... with another additional entrance fee. But we had enough other things to look at, so we didn't really think of going in there. Ah! There was one thing we did see by that building; at the edge of the sea there was an otter, or mink, or some furry little thing, hiding amid the rocks. I then waited ten minutes, (or until Anton and Pamela were too tired of waiting,) hoping to get a picture of it, (I had to change my lenses... and then it didn't feel like coming out any more.)

We then saw another... (and another, and another,) fountain. At one particular fountain, there were two ladies, (in nice, summery dresses,) also taking pictures. One of them took off her shoes, and waded into the pool of one of the fountains. (and there I was, furiously changing my lenses, to get a picture of this!) But they took their picture... and then might have taken more too, but someone from security came up and spoke with them. -And she put her shoes back on, and didn't go into the fountain any more. What a pity. We also saw the "Chess Fountain," which was a disappointment to me; I was expecting... a big fountain, based on the theme of Chess. So there would be figures all over and through it, right? Wrong. It only had a black and white checker-board pattern on it. It wasn't even eight by eight, but was made diagonally. For that matter, I wouldn't even really call it a "fountain" because no water was going up at all, it was just the water coming down the inclined plane, (or was it two, or three inclined planes,) which were coloured in a Checkerboard pattern. Oh deary, deary goodness. It wasn't really a bad fountain, but my expectations were so high... in the totally wrong direction. We also saw the "Lion Fountain," which we felt was one of the loveliest there. It formed something like a square of pillars, (as though it were a Greek temple,) with a single statue in the middle of it. And of course, water all over, (including fountains between the pillars, complementing their form.)

Then we continued on towards one edge of the palace grounds, along an avenue of conifers. Pamela insists that this is absolutely atypical, and that it's really remarkable. I am unable to argue with her knowledge and experience. But, there they were; the second double row of larch trees we'd seen in Russia. There was a house, after that, in the middle of a number of pools, (Or was it on an island, with many bridges going to it?) In one of the pools, there was a great deal of raised fish. They were all a good size, and really, too many for that small pool, (two or three in each cubic meter.) Well... the deal was, that you could pay, (no doubt, an exorbitant amount,) to rent a fishing rod, and catch one of those fish. And then they would grill it for you, and you could have a nice little lunch there. Is this not a bit of a strange idea? When they're so closely packed, you could go spear-fishing with a butter-knife? But... I guess it must have made them money. And then, why would they stop doing it? It... seemed too odd to us though. And then, the water didn't look all that clean. It made us think of the men we saw fishing in the city. They would be standing at which ever canal, or bridge, or river-side place, and have their fishing rod, and a little stool. But would one really want to eat something that was swimming in the Neva? This is a river that has passed through cities with a collected population of how many tens of millions? With how much industry and all? OK... but that's not all. In the city, we saw at least once, someone standing there with fishing poles for the tourists to rent. I could understand that in the country. I could understand that on a lake. But who the heck would go to one of the largest cities in Europe, with a desire to fish in it's river?

We saw one more fountain after that: the "Golden Mountain." It again, had a sort of water-fall effect. Then, "Clever Matthew" thought he knew exactly where to go, because it was nearly time to head back to the bus, (which we were sure would gladly leave without us.) And I knew in just which direction the bus lay. So, I lead in that direction. And got half lost, on a deer-trail, which DID take us to the parking lot... but on the other side of a strong, high metal fence from it. So... we walked along the fence, and eventually, ended up back at the main path, which we had turned off of. So... I'd like to think it was an interesting little detour... but it was more just something that took up some five minutes of our time. We still had about ten minutes before we had to be back at the bus though, so we decided to take a look at the gardens which lay in Front of the castle. It was a bit of a walk to get around to the front however, so once we were there, there remained only time for a brisk walk through them, on our way to the parking lot. I'm still quite glad we DID go, because it was there that I took the picture I like best of Saint Petersburg; A highly ornamented dome, of white, with a golden spire shaped as the multi-headed eagle. And that's perched behind a couple of nicely shaped tree tops. -I think I just need to get a digital copy of it, and put in directly on this website.

So, we headed back to Saint Petersburg, and had lunch. -It was probably at least four in the afternoon, but it was still "lunch" to us. It was in a nice, central, and busy bistro, off of Nevsky Prospect. To my disappointment, again, there were No Pelmenid. (My search for them went on.) Anton was still with us, but he didn't eat anything at all, (we did our best to force him to join us, but he was going home just after that, to have dinner with his family. I guess his mother might have been disappointed if the son she saw one month a year wasn't eating the food she'd prepared.)

Ah-ha! I remember now what I was going to write about the fishes! My notes said "(Reminded of Dirty Neva Fish) : Renting a fishing pole? (German... You Know.)" -However, I hadn't the slightest clue, now, what I meant by that. Only after much further thought, do I think I know what I was referring to: The fact that Never in Germany could such renting of Fishing equipment happen. It just wouldn't work at all, to stop tourists on the street, and ask if they'd like to try fishing the river. Why not? Well... it's Germany.

For such an idea to work in Germany, the people would have to know before-hand, that they wanted to stop, and try fishing in the river. Then they could bring their Fish licence with them. (You can NOT fish without a fish licence. Not a chance.) But could the vender not use his own licence some how? Not in Germany. I feel sure that the one who's actually Fishing would needed to have done all the courses, the studying, and the tests. (Yes... that was the point of this sentence: to tell the fact that it's as month long process here, to get a Fishing Permit.) So... I just can't imagine a Tourist getting stopped in Germany, and asked if he'd like to take a month-long course, so that he could rent a fishing pole, and see if he catches anything in the river. (That's what I meant by the "German... You Know.")

Anton left to go home, and we were making up our mind about what to do in the evening, (For Pamela's birthday.) We'd had the idea to go to the Theater, which sounded like a great thing to do... except that I'd made reservations for us to eat at a special restaurant. It was meant to be a surprise... but as we were making plans for the evening, I had to tell it to Pamela and see if there was, in fact, something she'd like to do more. In the end we decided to go with my plan, and skip the theaters. (There were only operas playing there, and not ones which were special to us.) But we still wanted to have a look at the theaters, so we walked towards them... sort of. The path I meant to take to them didn't work out, and we ended up coming to Saint Isak Cathedral instead. So, we looked at that, and considered paying the entrance fee, but decided we had enough other things to do with our evening. We got to the theaters just after that, and looked at their facades. ("theaterS" you ask? Well, the Kirov/Mariensky is just across the street from the "Conservatoire." -Which is also a good sized, respectable theater.) We were a little tired, and there were no subway station very near, so we decided to take a bus.

We found a bus stop, after only five minutes of searching, and then we waited. On the map we had, it was obvious that busses number 11, 15, 33 or 42 would take us to within a couple blocks of our hotel. And we waited. There were little van-busses, with numbers like 614, but we didn't get on to those; we were waiting for the regular city transit busses. We saw some big busses too, but with numbers like 962. So we didn't get on any of those ones. After nearly half an hour, we were getting rather frustrated, and at last, saw a bus pull in with the number 15 on it. YES! At last! It was the first bus with a number less than 150, and it happened to be one that we could take too! So we got on. And then tried to find out how to pay for it. The bus was nearly deserted, but one man was near us, so I went to him, and asked... -but what this? shouldn't it have turned onto that street to go over the bridge?

I went to the man, and pointed on the map, and asked if the bus went there, or not. His answer was "Fifteen roubles for a ticket." -"yes, yes," I said, "But is this going to that part of town?"

"Fifteen roubles for a TICKET!!" -Hmmm... So, you had to buy the tickets from a person on the bus. That's One of my questions answered. But...

"Does... IT... GO... HERE???" -I'd noticed that we were getting further and further from anywhere I recognised.

At last, he jabbed a finger at the map, "No. Here. NOW FIFTEEN ROUBLES!!! BUSSES ARE NOT FREE IN THIS CITY!!! YOU PAY. NOW!" He'd pointed somewhere off into the middle of the map. In the opposite direction of our hotel. Bloody bloody bloody hell... -And I saw the mistake:

It was bus number 628 or some such thing... and in big red numbers, it said "15"... and then two small Russian letters, standing for Roubles. So... it wasn't exactly bus 15, was it? I started trying to explain to the conductor our problem... but what do you think his response was? "If you don't pay, you go to Prison!" He was rather angry at us, (or indifferent, and it's just that his every word and gesture seemed angry and aggressive to us.) -And I can't say that I looked on him fondly. I started to panic, because all this time, we were heading further off into we-didn't-know-where. I really got rather angry myself. I was so, SO frustrated, and he would not even think of telling us where we were, much less something considerate like "ah... then get off at the next stop, go around the corner, and get on bus number so-and-so." Being in a blind, frustrated rage, all I could see to do, was get off of this stupid bus, and away from that aggressive %@*%#ing bugger as soon a possible. So I gave him the money, we got two little paper tickets, and I dropped them on the seats, and we left.

(Not exactly going mad in a passionate rage, I know. I'm not good at passionate Rages.) What I really would have liked to do, as soon as I had gone over the horrible experience once or twice in my mind, was to have taken out the money, crumpled it in my hand, and thrown it at his feet, as the bus stopped, and left with the words "Take your blasted money, this was the WRONG BUS! you Unhelpful clod!" (Breath... Breath... Breath...)

That's what I really wish I had done. But... I was too shocked and... frustrated, (with the situation And my anger,) to do anything of the sort.

So, we were off the bus, I was steaming mad, and we didn't know where we were... and there were no street-signs near us. Thankfully, someone waiting at the bus station could tell me which direction the bridge we wanted was in, so we set off on foot. (I think I absolutely refused to take any sort of Bloody Petersburg Public Transport at that point. There may have been a Subway station near by, but I really didn't want to go near it.) Oh ho HO was I worked up. It must have taken at least thirty minutes of our forty minute walk to the hotel for me to get calm enough to truly think of anything else. (I was able to talk of some other things before then, but the thoughts wouldn't stay in my mind for longer than it took to say them. Then it was back to dwelling on what a useless bastard he was.)

If it doesn't disturb you, the reader, too much, I'd like to go on examining my state at that time. My anger. My hatred. The control it took, (and still takes,) not to call him every dirty word in every language that I know bad words in, (And I DO know quite a few strong Russian ones.) I am nearly always, so cool and collected. I take everything as it comes, and none of it, NONE of it is personal. I am so ready to understand that from other people's view-points, what they say and do is "normal," and always has valid reasons. In this case though, I just... Hated him. The frustration was extreme. To the extremity. And afterwards, I could NOT stop obsessing about it. The situation, with all my... powerlessness, (I was trying not to use the word Frustration AGAIN... but it's the word that should be used,) this situation played itself again, and again in my mind. I couldn't get over it.

And then, I had the strange, strange sensation, of feeling two extremes, opposing extremes, at the same time; Hatred for that stupid bastard... and the greatest love for Pamela. Who was there with me the whole time. Who wanted nothing but for the problem to be resolved, and for me to be glad again. She would have done whatever she could, to give my mind and troubled soul peace then. And I wanted her to be happy. And I wanted to be happy. But How could I forget this scene in my mind, burning with rage? (And now, with the distance I have from that day, I wonder, "Would it have been good if I could just ignore it?" -That would be exactly... denying the anger. Bottling the rage. -And I know that this can be a disastrous thing to do. But what DID I do with it then?

I didn't explode, kick the walls, and verbally abuse Pamela. I also didn't forget it, and pretend that everything was fine. I had... some sort of middle road. -But I can't define what happened inside me. Perhaps... thinking it over, and over, and over again... I changed my feeling from futility... to exasperation. (And beyond a doubt, I'm better at dealing with the second one of those feelings.) For me, Futility leads to the darkest gloom, and depression. Exasperation leads to thinking how Silly, and undeveloped other people are. Or...

Perhaps it was just a matter of feeling pissed off for some time, and letting the feeling wear itself out. Is that a possibility? Whatever it was, when we were back at the hotel, I was nearer to a sane mind-set, and able to take comfort from Pamela's compassion and love. (It was very bad for her, And for me before that; Because her kind words and cuddling wouldn't have helped. I was too Irate. Is that normal? I still loved her... but that meant that I wanted to protect her from... my anger. And from my cold, bitter, and irritated self. Hmmm... we must discuss this, and see if we can find some sort of solution, in case such a situation will arise again.)

It also was surely a help to my mood that we had a nap. (Being irritated And tired work well together... to make one miserable.) A bit too much of a nap though. We had time to get dressed nicely before our dinner reservation, but it was a little late to find a place where we could exchange money. The hotel wouldn't do it, (I don't think... They might have I guess, if I asked nicely, and offered them a good rate -good for them I mean, not for me.) The three places we'd seen on the big street by the hotel were already closed. And we got to the restaurant about fifteen minutes before our reservation. I desperately asked them... if there was any place nearby to change money... or if they could take part of the bill in Euros. And they would! I didn't have to go dashing off to some exchange place... and risk missing dinner. There actually was some risk of that, as you'll soon understand.

I wanted... I insisted to myself, that Pamela's birthday had to be as perfect and special as possible. So, I had taken quite some thought to what would be a good -no, better -no, best, romantic, beautiful evening. And after at least an hour on the internet, I found something that seemed right to me; A small, luxurious boat, which was a floating restaurant, of high-end, classy meals, which takes you on a cruise up the Neva River, so you can see the city while you dine, and drink the finest wines, ("with candle light, and the one you love," I added in my head when I read it.) So, that's where I'd made reservations. And that's where I was lucky enough, that they accepted Euros too, otherwise, we would have been constrained to only one dish each, no dessert, and a small bottle of wine. And now, you see, why we couldn't just take longer, until we found an exchange place that was open. The Restaurant left the dock at 9:00. (Ah right... that was the other part of my plan for a perfect Evening: to eat from a ship, in the beautiful Neva, AND see the sun set over the city!!! How much better could it be than that?) This ended up being the only possible disappointment of the evening, because it was over-cast. So we Pamela had for dinner the Caramelised Chicken, and I had a Trout steak. They were both of good quality, and fine culinary expertise. I personally was more impressed by the bread though. Just the basket of bread, with butter. It was fresh, moist, perfect in every just saw the monochrome sky slowly darkening to deeper shades of grey. Oh well. I pointed out to Pamela that behind all the clouds, there was a beautiful sunset happening, And we were so glad to be together, and so in love, that we felt the wonderful sunset happening... even if we couldn't see it.

way. It was an absolute delight to eat. Ahhh...

And the wine we chose was an Italian Orvieto, (Yes, that's redundant, because Orvieto only comes from Italy, but I don't know how many people would realize that fact right away.) It was just... right. I felt it was rather Neutral, in that it was not a strong Alcoholic taste, nor very fruity, nor very... other things. It was pure... WINE. We both enjoyed the wine. Mmmm, yes. Afterwards, (And we both took our time eating and drinking, enjoying each mouthful on this luxurious little cruise,) Pamela had a cappuccino, (Which she assures me was very nice,) and I ordered a Chocolate and Orange desert, which we both had some of. (And that, I can tell you first hand, was a fine piece of culinary sweetness.) It was a lovely, nice, (And accordingly priced,) meal. But that's not all that there is to tell about.

Once we were seated, I presented Pamela with her present proper: ear-rings and a broach, both amber set in silver. They both met my picky tastes, and (thankfully,) Pamela's too. (I think I said earlier, that I'd gotten them in Tallinn, after being in there a long time with Pamela, discussing what ones would be good for her grandmother's Birthday... and which ones suited Pamela's tastes in Jewellery.) She liked them. I like to feel that... she loved them. (Warm bubble through my body, as I think that now.) She changed her ear-rings right there and then... and I've rarely seen her wearing other earrings since. That means something too me. I hadn't been expecting it, and really only thought she'd wear them... perhaps once a month... if they suited the clothes she was wearing. But... She makes me feel that they're really, Really special to her. And that makes me feel so good! Ahhh... Has this been much too much personal rolling-about-in-self-congratulations for you, the reader, to stand? Sorry.

The other things on the trip worth noting: In the menu, this boat has a bit of self-advertising, and self-congratulations, (not unlike what I was just doing.) It told about how famous people are always coming to eat there, be it international opera singers, rock-stars, sports stars, ambassadors, heads of state, presidents, (Yes, Clinton the Destructive has been there, but I tried not to think about that fact,) and assorted other famous people. Also, the boat went far enough along the Neva, that we got to the out-skirts of the city, (or... well... at least to it's suburbs.) And in that, I saw the evolution of the Soviet style Concrete housing.

Pamela had argued with me that every huge city, in the whole world, has it's Housing Projects; eight to twelve stories high, made of concrete, and every one exactly the same. In English, it's sometime called "high-density residences." -Meaning squashed up together. I felt though, that the Stalinist ones had a special feeling to them. They had a character... grayer, more depressing, and just... something other than the rest of the world. What interested me then, was to see how this... developed; How it evolved. As we went further up the river, we got further away from the ancient center of the city. So, the buildings that we saw, were progressively newer, going from the eighteen-hundreds, up to the 1990s. Well... not really. We only got up to the mid-twentieth century. But that's when the building of Concrete Blocks was at it's peak. So, because the buildings got steadily newer, we got to see exactly how the style was changing: 150 years ago, it was highly decorated, high ceiling, town-houses. Then the windows got smaller. And the floors were closer together. And there was a very steady decrease in facade decoration. We could actually see the style going step by step, to end up as concrete blocks, with rusted iron rails on the uniform balconies. It WAS interesting, (and perhaps depressing too, but we were so happy, and in love, that that part didn't touch us.)

Hmmm... after the cruise was over, we had a leisurely walk back to the hotel, enjoying the strolling-pace, and the night air, and each other's beloved company. But, as slow as our walk was, we still ended up at the hotel, and had to admit that the day was over. So, off to sleep for these young lovers.