Friday 22 July 2016

Some things never change.


Although I would say that I am a fairly-experienced traveller, that still doesn’t seem to ever prevent my baggage from being overweight, and the threat of paying extra is always a very real worry at the check-in desk. I remember the day I bought my huge, bright purple suitcase, thinking it was wonderful that it was so big as it meant that I would always be able to bring everything I wanted with me…. What a silly mistake that was, and little did I know that at the time. Cue countless memories of dragging its heavy, large bottom behind me as I trudge through airports, train stations and cities just trying to find a place to rest my head. 

This summer was no different. Having stayed a extra week in St. Petersburg to enjoy the city as a tourist before joining my family in Canada, I was completely on my own as the unsympathetic lady at the check-in desk in St. Petersburg said there was no way I was getting on the plane with hand luggage that was twice the weight limit and checked baggage that was already too heavy unless I coughed up £60 worth of my hard-earned roubles. Neither my smile or explanations that I am a poor, travelling musician did anything to soften that well-known Russian scowl. I would not be beaten. Thinking quickly after a frustrated walk around the terminal, I came up with the solution of taking out my heaviest books and hiding them with a lovely-looking old lady (who was so early that she was still waiting for her check-in to open) before returning to the check-in desk and lying though a gritted smile that I had called my mum and she had turned around in the car to come back and take the books. The lady at the desk begrudgingly handed over my ticket and I made the plane with a few minutes to spare. [I thanked the old lady profusely and she looked on bewildered as I tried to cram everything back into my suitcase that would barely close].

Running out of money during my last week in St. Petersburg, I did a search for anything free I could do to fill my time. I enjoyed a wealth of free music festivals the city had to offer but was struck by the difference between what I was experiencing and previous experiences of festivals in the UK. Turns out that Russians don't dance. At all. I do and indeed I did, but even to the liveliest and funnest of music, spotting a tapping foot in the crowd was like searching for a needle in a haystack. They also don't drink or smoke. An outdoor festival in England seems to be a great excuse for people to enjoy beer or Pimm's in the sunshine, often with a cigarette in hand. There was not a drink or cigarette to be seen and the most wild drink available for sale was квас (kvas), a popular drink made out of rye bread and so low in alcohol (around 1%) that it is considered non-alcoholic. Although, this probably explains why they don't dance. 

I decided to spend a week in London catching up with old friends before returning to the west coast of Canada for the summer. Coming from the sad lack of multiculturalism in St. Petersburg (unless you count the swarms of tourists who appear to bath in the endless sunlight of ‘white nights’) I was particularly struck by the beauty of the array of languages and cultures one encounters day-to-day in London. I LOVE that the barman can be Spanish, while another one is Italian and the barista is French. Outside you can meet someone from Prague one minute and an Aussie the next. From the girl from Brussels who met an English boy and decided to stay, to the Italian girl in Pret (A Manger) who gave us sandwiches after closing time to Sheila Anne the Londoner who was born in Pakistan and had unbelievably quick wit. All working in London and all there to embrace the culture, learn the language and enjoy the wonderful choice of activity and opportunities the city has to offer.  Over-excited to finally be in the capital for a descent amount of time, my friend and I explored just about the entire city by foot but this didn't mean I was immune to the usual public transport predicament that tends to happen in cities I am less familiar with. Although not entirely my fault, I accompanied my friend to catch her bus up north - having carefully chosen the train times that would get us to the bus station with plenty of time to spare - and we arrived to the bus station without a hitch only to be informed that we were at the wrong bus station. Ironically, straight after a conversation we had had about growing up and maturing and becoming more sensible and organised. Turns out, some things never change - a cheerful note for the day before I turn 23 on the 23rd.


Happy Summering,

A xxx



'Realism' - an interesting take on modern day society

7am post-dancing walks with friends

The view that steals my heart every time

The iconic beach in the middle of St P that has changed since my mother was a child

And the view very close-up



London walks and London talks