From Russia with Love

Upon check-in for St. Petersburg, the registrant threatened to only let me carry one suitcase, or two that were a total of 20kg.  Of course my small one was already 19-something, and the larger 23 (paints and Christmas presents are heavy!).  However, since he couldn’t find any baggage specification on my ticket, he let me go.  Apparently, only one bag is allowed for European flights, and St. Petersburg is now part of Europe – although he did smile and shrug his shoulders when he told me that one…

 

The flight was great, especially from Paris to St. Petersburg since it was only half-full.  We flew over Luxembourg and Hamburg, but I couldn’t tell exactly where they were.  The coastline was so different from any other one I’ve flown over.  On the approach, I saw old trains and miles of traffic of trucks on two main highways.  I’m not describing this very well, but the scenes out my window just made me aware that I was headed into a different world than I’d ever experienced.  I panicked a bit, being alone, but I’d done this sort of thing hundreds of times before.  So what was my excuse when the passport control officer asked me where my Russian visa was?  Um, I don’t know.  I didn’t have one, and she asked where I was going.  Uh, only to the city center for 6 days to see the sights – see, here’s my hotel name.  I was escorted out of line and told to wait outside an office and began praying that this would work out.  A woman came out with my passport, said they’d called immigration who said I had to return to Paris, and told me I’d be on the same plane that I had just flown in on.  A bit incredulous, overwhelmed, tired, and confused, I wanted to cry but knew that wouldn’t have any effect on a female Russian immigration officer, so I tried to think my way out of this impending disaster.  (I mean really!  I had an opera ticket that night!)  She was already booking me back to Paris, and I said I wanted to go to Nice – otherwise I’d be in Paris with all my luggage for 6 days and then have to make my way up to Amsterdam for my flight to Tel Aviv (which was a flight I wasn’t looking forward to as it landed in Tel Aviv at 2:30 am, 12 hours before my church group arrived).  I’d have to figure out another way to get to Tel Aviv from Nice.

 

My “day” in St. Petersburg was a long one, but I had many things for which to be grateful.  First, I was able to immediately get a flight back to Paris and Nice and not have to spend a night on the bench outside the Russian immigration office.  Although I felt like an idiot – well, I was an idiot – everyone was very kind to me.  The return flight to Paris was also not full, so I cowered to the very back to be alone with my embarrassment, but the flight attendants joked with me and finally made me smile.  Upon landing, I was greeted by a French police officer who escorted me off the plane, through a few terminals, to the passport office, and finally through passport control before sending me on my way to Nice.  And the flight attendant on that flight who welcomed me aboard was amazed that I spoke French well.  All I’d asked was if he could throw my empty Perrier bottle in the trash…  (I realize that I should also clarify that I’m not trying to boast about my French, but I’m always amazed when native speakers compliment me because I still honestly feel that I stumble through it – and contrary to popular belief, speaking French after a glass of red wine does not help at all!)

 

After picking me up at Jackie’s to go to the airport before 5am, I called Gill to see if I could get a ride home at 11pm that night.  I was so grateful that she greeted me with a smile and a hug.  The big question was (is) what the heck happened?  I didn’t know I needed a visa for Russia.  I’d had the gall to ask one of my Russian escorts if this had changed this year, since I was quite sure I’d checked for all visas back in March before starting my trip.  Maybe because of the rough feelings against Russia after Georgia?  No, no (stupid American) – a visa has been required for the past 50 years!

 

Gill had me stay with her family for the week I was there, since Jackie was off to England.   I got to stay in one of their beautiful B&B suites and have their company.  James & Paula’s daughter, only 9 months old and adorable, got to know me and made me miss my niece Allie less.  Appearing at church after I’d “left” for St. Petersburg, my pastor told me to get the message – I suppose something along the lines of me staying in Cannes.  Paula and Gill drove me around to do a few errands, too.  Because of the scare of not being able to check 2 suitcases on the way to St. Petersburg, I sent a box home with all the “winter” clothes I’d brought, even though St. Petersburg only had a low of 40F!  But I’d bought a winter coat for 2 euro at the flea market and wanted to keep it – yes, for those of you quick at math, it did cost more – much more – to send home than the purchase price, but I suppose it averages out to about a $40 coat, so it was worth it.

 

Meanwhile, my French bank account had been drained of the grand sum of 250 euro to pay my 10500 euro tax bill, and although Intelsat paid it quickly when I found out the account had been impounded, the French are still slower than the States at getting things done (it takes some of us longer than others to get this).  So I still have the account, which will eventually have 250 euro in it again, and I guess sometime in the future, another pilgrimage to France will be in order.

 

St. Petersburg