Journey to the End of the World

We finally took the time, and the hydrofoil, to visit Peterhof on a trip to St. Petersburg. We disembarked at the pier and bought tickets at the booth before wandering down Water Avenue along the central canal to the Grand Palace building. From there, we explored the rest of the lower park and the many fountains. They have a cascading fountain that runs down a hill, and a whole collection of trick fountains which were a lot of fun for kids at the park—the fountains were set off by stepping on a certain rock on the road. The end of summer had arrived, and we could feel it. We have noticed that nobody appreciates nice weather quite like Russians. I suspect this has something to do with the long winters, but there always seem to be large crowds outside when the weather is nice (on a side note, regarding the crowds, I have noticed that snow also counts as nice weather here).

View down Water Avenue to the Grand Palace

Samson tearing open a lion's jaws, as fountain

View towards the water from Grand Palace

The fishery, where you could catch sturgeon, for a price

In front of the Cascades fountain

On day 2 in St. Petersburg, we boarded an electrichka, a commuter train, in the early morning at Finlandsky Railway Station for an excursion to Vyborg, located on the border with Finland. Vyborg used to be Finnish, and before that Swedish; all of which gave the town an interesting feel. The buildings looked different than in most cities in Russia. Here were lacking the drab concrete blocks of Soviet apartments found in most Russian cities. Instead the town center looked Scandinavian, many of the buildings dating to before World War II, when the Russians repossessed the town—a sign on a building near the river was marked 1898. Over all of this stood a small medieval Swedish castle—not much more than a defensive outpost—dating to the late 1200s.

We arrived in town to dripping weather and quickly wrapped ourselves in our raincoats before heading out to reconnoiter the town. We were hungry, but the town was yet sleeping—nothing seemed to open till ten. I cursed at myself for the early morning; a choice it now seemed rather than a necessity, and I wondered as I searched about for a caffeine fix if it would have been better after all to have slept a bit later. But after a short time we found, by the water and within sight of the little castle and its tower, an open café—wonder of wonders—with pastries and pirozhki and pretzels!

Building down on the water in Vyborg, dated 1898, with Viking statue on the square

Swedish castle in Vyborg behind a statue of a Russian admiral

Walking to the castle after, we discovered the tower would not open until eleven, and decided to explore further outside of town. There is a park on the outskirts of Vyborg, about two kilometers outside of town, called Monrepo (Монрепо), with bridges straight out of a Monet painting, curving picturesque wooden bridges reflected in dark, still pools of dimpled water. The air still misted, but the wet weather only added a magical element to the park’s atmosphere: the moss-covered boulders, cliffs topped with stone towers, statues of Greek philosophers in wooded glens. Here we dawdled for a couple hours; we could not stop ourselves from taking more pictures, the light just right: sun-dappled greens and crystal reflections in the water. Were we indeed still in Russia, or in the land of the elves, the nymphs, and the ents? The end of the trail was aptly called ‘The End of the World’ (Конец Света).

Bridges straight out of a Monet

Park Monrepo was a nice place to relax

The lighting and color made for some fabulous shots.

A statue in the woods near the 'End of the World', subject unknown

We returned to town and climbed the tower. There was indeed a nice view of the town from the top, and of the water stretching out to the Gulf of Finland. We found a memorial to all lost in the taking of Finland by Peter the Great, and took a picture of the memorial with the castle in the background. We also found a dark gravestone, much newer than its surroundings, in a clearing within some old Russian fortifications. The gravestone was dedicated to the town’s victims, some 200 residents, gunned down in 1918 by the Russians. This would have been during the Russian civil war, and most likely—though the gravestone did not specify—victims of the Bolsheviks as they tightened their grip on Russia. It seemed Vyborg, for such a sleepy town, had suffered its share of tragedies.

View of town from top of the tower

View of Russian fortifications from 1800s

 

Memorial to those who perished in the taking of Vyborg under Peter the Great, Vyborg Castle in background