Sunday 30 June 2013

St Petersburg: Beneath the facade

Next to our hostel in St Petersburg was a sunshine yellow, neoclassical building, which looked like a palace (not at all uncommon in St P). It had impossibly white windows sills and ornate decorations. We were walking past this building on our second day when, to our surprise, a breeze lifted the whole facade of the building, revealing a battered brown house, with peeling paint and smashed windows. The building was under construction, and whilst the work was being carried out, a false front had been put up so that the street still looked pretty. In the tedious way that writers do, I saw this as a metaphor for St Petersburg. On the surface, the city it stunning. Almost like a film set of 18th century Amsterdam or Venice, all neoclassical architecture and winding canals. But to accept this facade of St Petersburg is to do it a great disservice.


                                                             Peter the Great



    It was Peter the Great, who took the city from the Swedes in the early 1700s, and moved Russia's capital from Moscow to the newly named Sankt Pieter Burch. The ground which surrounded the Neva River was swampy and waterlogged, and, save for its location, the region was highly undesirable. In a frightening precursor to Stalin's determined industrialisation of the 1930s, Peter bullied, enslaved and coerced armies of peasants (it is still known as the city built on bones) to build a great city to rival its European counterparts. It was Peter who shunned traditional Russian architecture for the neoclassical style that is prevalent throughout St Petersburg. It is to the credit of the St Petersburg craftsmen, or the terror that Peter spread (he practiced dentistry on people who offended him) that the city was built within so few years, and it is said that the floods of migrants who moved here from all over Europe had to bring a stone to help lay the foundations. The incredible underground Metro train system is still one of the deepest in the world, because of the swampy ground. 

Peter was determined to defend his new capital, and one of his first buildings was the Peter and Paul fortress. It was never needed; the attacks did not come for overb200 years, and were from Germany, not Sweden. The fortress quickly became a prison, and in case anyone was undecided about the type of ruler Peter was, he imprisoned, tortured and executed his only son there. The fortress still stands, a sort of Russian Alcatraz. The prison in the north west corner echoes with the stories of repression: anti Tsarist prisoners were held up until 1917, when they were freed and the cells filled with former government officials and other anti revolutionary prisoners. From outside the fortress walls, the stunning buildings of the Winter Palace and Admiralty are close enough to touch, just a short swim across the Neva River, but they face into Palace Square and it feels as though regal St Petersburg has turned it's back on those it considers to be dissenters. 


                     Peter and Paul Fortress



    So, we have palaces, statues, a hero or tyrant depending on your view, a prison, a fortress, and some stunning neoclassical architecture. You see, not all it seems. Now let me throw in the events of 1941-1944. The Nazis surprised the Soviet Union in the summer of 1941, when they attacked, and marched towards our great northern city, renamed Leningrad in 1924, with remarkable speed. Hitler had issued a direct order to 'wipe the city of St Petersburg from the face of the earth'. It is said that he decreed that no person should survive, and he was so confident that he had already issued invitations to a victory party at the infamous Astoria hotel in the shadow of the city's St Isaac Cathedral. He did not bargain on Leningrad's determination to hold out. For 872 days its inhabitants were besieged and a million people died of starvation and disease (this is considerably more than the combined total UK and USA casualties from the whole of the Second World War.) It took 20 years for the city's population to recover to pre war numbers. 

    St Petersburg is a mass of contradictions, built to look European, but hidden away from 'western influences' during the Cold War years, making it one of the most adventurous and rewarding travelling adventures I have had since Asia. Many locals were born when the city had a different name, and belonged to a different country, so English is not spoken everywhere, and even getting a sandwich is satisfyingly challenging. One particularly memorable time four staff and two customers helped us to order a Big Mac. 

     Talking of contradictions, how about the weather, a sweltering 34 degrees Celsius whilst we were there, whilst the cruel winters can see temperatures drop to below -20. And then there's the daylight hours, we were there during the White Nights, when the sun never sets, but in winter it can feel like it never rises. 

    And so we return to our pretty street, with the derelict buildings hidden by painted fabric fronts, keeping up appearances. This stunning city, evocative of Europe of the past, hides another dark secret. It's pollution levels are out of this world, life expectancy is embarrassingly low (63 for men), and, just as local son Tchaikovsky found over 100 years ago, drink the water at your peril. Whilst today's traveller might not die of cholera as Tchaikovsky did, a very uncomfortable few days will follow!



            Views from St Isaac's Cathedral


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