Last night, we experienced efficient restaurant service in Russia for
the first time. We’d done a pre-order to make things easier, but we never
expected everything to go that smoothly. When we arrived, the salads Nell had
ordered for the table were already laid out, and within twenty minutes everyone’s
food had arrived – at the same time and everything. We were impressed.
The food was good, especially for the price (my fettuccine cost
only 130r (£2.60)) and the drinks were reasonable too (70r (£1.40) for a small glass
of white wine). We’d got so settled there it was looking like we’d never leave,
especially when Alexei’s dad turned up at 10 o’clock and started ordering
drinks for everyone, which we were more than happy to accept. He ordered in
Russian like a pro, and within minutes a bottle and a small carafe of vodka had
arrived along with shot glasses and tumblers. When the cranberry juice arrived
in a carton, he sent it straight back, outraged, requesting a decanter. Two and
a half shots and a pizza later, the restaurant was closing, so Alexei’s dad
said his goodbyes and the rest of us moved on to another bar. By 1am I decided
that since I was travelling to Petersburg the next day, it was probably time to
call it a night.
Today was another ordinary day: lessons followed by lunch. When I
returned to the flat, I packed my things for the trip and settled down to get
some work done, as I wouldn't be getting back until 5.30am on Monday morning so
would have no other chance to do it. After a few minutes there was a tentative
knock at my door and my babushka entered, smiling. She said she had a couple of
old books on Leningrad – Saint Petersburg, she quickly corrected herself (she
was always doing that, she said) – and thought they might help me plan my trip.
She searched the shelves, naming guide book after guide book until she found
two on Leningrad (written in the 1970s, when it was still called this) and one
on Kiev for my reading week trip.
She stood next to me and flicked through the books, explaining
worthwhile places to visit, before moving on to talk about the theatres there
and how she used to travel there on business trips and get the spare tickets
for the ballet and the opera for free. She seemed to show a real nostalgia for
those days and I could tell she was enjoying talking about it. She called it
Leningrad again by mistake and we started to talk about how there had been a
huge debate over whether it was right to rename it back to the German-sounding ‘Petersburg’,
when its other former name, Petrograd, would have been more appropriate. Many who
lost loved ones in the blockade in Leningrad even oppose this, calling it
sacrilege to the revolutionary past of the city. As we had talked about it in
class that same day, I was interested to know why the citizens of Petersburg
were also against the popular shortening of the name to Peter. Lyudmila couldn't be sure but thought, in accordance with what the grammar teacher had said, that
they found it offensive.
While I've been writing this Lyudmila has come in again, laden
with a huge bag of food to for me take to Petersburg – bread rolls, pies, biscuits,
nectarines and apples. She came and started flicking through the book again and
told me about a good excursion that I might be able to get on, and before we
knew it we were chatting again and she needed to sit down because she couldn't stand for that long. Last time we had talked for over half an hour. When I came
to sit down to dinner I was presented with an absolute feast: two pieces of
fish, stuffed peppers, bread, salad and marinated cabbage and carrot – enough for
two! I think we’re getting on pretty well after all.
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