Traveling to Europe is challenging for me because personally, I find the old continent boring. Especially the big cities all look, sound and behave too similar and white and religious. In my opinion, if one visits one large European city, they’ve seen them all. I realize that each place has its own culture and is unique, however I choose to keep my Europe traveling days for when I’m older and hopefully my taste for adventure will have wound down.
(There is no escaping the fun-times-by-the-river in Europe)
This summer, and as a compromise, I chose a destination that combines my itch for a novel experience, a great deal of adventure, and living out a wild fantasy: Russia.
When presented with my options, I chose to fly from the US to Estonia, spend a couple of nights at the old city of Tallinn, and then cross the border to Russia by bus. A way cheaper and simpler alternative to flying directly to St. Petersburg, it also proved painstakingly time-consuming, despite the bus operator’s confirmations that the whole border-crossing process would take about 30’. But fear not, for yours truly’s signature move is making even the most boring traveling stories interesting. This time around, my accomplice was the North’s unpredictable weather.
(Estonia and I have something in common – our love for Swallows)
Waiting in line for the border police to check my documents, I found myself surrounded by an ocean of colorful umbrellas a nanosecond after the first raindrop hit the pavement, and I started feeling like an inexperienced fool for not packing a waterproof jacket – I guess my Greekness superimposed my international experiences and I honestly thought that traveling in North Europe in July would be safe. In mere moments, the top of my head started dripping rainwater. I must have been looking quite miserable when a hand surfaced from underneath the waves of slowly moving umbrellas, offering me a plastic cover. Unable to decipher who the owner of the blessed hand was, I nodded a courteous thank you and covered myself with a shy smile. The face of a woman smiled back and denying my money, she proceeded to continue her conversation with her family. The sun appeared ten minutes later, and the people hid the umbrellas with equal easiness as when they propped them up against the rain.
Four hours later I was standing in front of an ATM, discovering in terror that my bank cards are useless in Russia, a piece of information that somehow escaped me despite the extensive research I did. Beside me stood the woman who offered me the rain cover earlier, with a kind, smiling face having a “I told you so” expression written all over it. With her broken English she offered me rubles in exchange to my euros, saved her phone number on my phone in case I need it, and she went home.
(Savior on the Spilled Blood church, or yet another excuse to use every color on the pallet)
My time in Saint Petersburg was spent in awe of the elegant buildings, and the architecture and beauty of a city so old and yet so alive. Per usual, I walked and walked until my feet were sore and my eyes satisfied with taking it all in. Every single detail was adorned with art, from crosswalks to bridges to restaurants and cafes. The souvenir shops were filled with babushkas of all sizes and designs, hand-painted nutcracker dolls, and handmade porcelain figurines. The city is meant for the tourists’ pleasure and the locals’ alike, and at night it lights up beautifully, obliging Saint Petersburg’s magnificent old buildings, squares, streets and monuments to cast all shadows away.
(Souvenir shopping – expert level)
A short, four hour bullet train ride later I arrived in Moscow, fulfilling one of my travel wishes. Definitely a more rough-edged city, it caught me off guard with how direct and raw it behaved to its own people and to those just passing through. There have been times in my travels where I have felt unsafe, however Moscow did not feel like one of those places. Catching the end of the region’s white nights, the sun did not set until much later, making it easy to explore Moscow’s nighttime affairs. By day, my eyes softened on Saint Basil’s strange and unexpected colors, its nine domes pointing defyingly to the sky. I walked on the Red Square and wandered around the Kremlin, reminiscing all the books and stories I have read throughout my life about the very grounds I was stepping upon. Life has never been more joyful other than the times that I offer myself the things that I love most.
(Saint Basil in all it’s glory)
I am well aware that our world is not a peaceful place; it never has been, and it never will be, if history has taught us anything. However, the world is also filled with kind, open hearted humans, and I can attest to this from my own experiences on the road. Living in fear or even hatred of anyone, allowing these feelings to stop people from experiencing life and its multifaceted aspects, does not serve anyone, but those in power. This roving gambler is choosing over and over again to live life in awe and inspiration, and love.