Hi everyone and welcome from Russia! I’m going to give you the hard news first: a few days ago, our jovial, voluble, highly experienced and courteous Captain Kritikos had a massive heart attack and died. It was devastating to nearly everyone, but especially for the crew members who had worked with him for so long. We were having a “cultural pre-port” meeting when the first mate got on the loudspeaker and said, “This is not a drill! Code Blue! Code Blue! Code Blue! Captain’s quarters!” The medical team leaped to their feet and rushed out of the room, and we continued having our meeting. Later in the evening (after much speculation: who was it? what happened?) the entire shipboard community was summoned to the union (large meeting room) for the announcement. A number of us (including myself) burst into tears, and there were meetings afterward for people to talk. At the meeting for faculty and staff, many of us were continually wiping away tears. The deans decided to hold classes and exams as usual the next day, because the captain was evidently a huge fan of the concept of Semester at Sea, and would have been furious if we’d sat around for a day at sea when we could have been having classes. By the next evening, when we were off the coast of Estonia with lovely little islands to the left and right and interesting ships passing here and there, the atmosphere had mostly returned to normal, and of course St. Petersburg itself has been an enormous distraction for everyone.

Just as we were leaving spectacular Bergen, our academic dean, Ron Linden, called a faculty meeting, but there we all were, out on deck in the sunshine (NOT in the meeting), marveling at the sights at 10 pm as we pulled out into the fjords, instead of sitting through another meeting. It was definitely a moment of disobedience and disarray; we rushed through the meeting as fast as we could and then flew out on deck immediately. What beautiful scenery we passed through in just a couple of hours: many small villages with cottages near the water, small boats, and plenty of pine trees. We spotted a man and his border collie standing way out on the point of a flat promontory, watching our ship pass at about 11:30 pm. It was still bright outside, of course. We waved, and he waved back. 90% of Norwegians live within ten miles of the sea, and many of them seem to have boats. The day after we left Norway, we actually kept several small islands in sight (they appeared flat); at noon we were only ten nautical miles from land, and by evening you could see plenty of land far off on the horizon. And so many boats and ships! The sea was almost entirely calm. By the way we still have no internet capability, so I have no idea if any of you have responded to any of my messages. Did I mention that Norway was so expensive that the toilets at the top of the funicular ride cost $2.50 to use?

Teaching seems to be going well. I had three days to teach my students about Russia and Russian music this week, so the first day we talked about their experiences in Bergen, then I taught them some Russian words and short phrases that they had to memorize before going ashore in Russia. We continued to spend part of each class working on our Russian language skills. I also taught them some things about what to expect in St. Petersburg and how to dress “respectfully” (I told them to dress as if they were going to dinner with their grandmothers, and I think they all got it). My students don’t seem to do this, but many of the young women on the ship dress like prostitutes (the tight t-shirts revealing way too much breast, belly shirts, extra-tight pants, etc.). Aargh! But we’ll just see how it goes. St. Petersburg is the top tourist destination in Russia, so it’s not like they (the local residents) were surprised by anything we’ve done during our visit. And there are plenty of young women in Russia who dress daringly. Morgan and I were stunned by the sight of women stumping and staggering along in their stiletto heels in the Hermitage! Who could walk in those?

But the exciting thing in my classes has been having the chance to talk about Russian classical music. Fantastic! I played four minutes from Scheherazade (The Sea and Sinbad’s Ship), and not only did they appear to listen in rapt attention to the solo-violin-as-ship-on-the-stormy-ocean-of-the-orchestra, but as I stood up there in front of the entire shipboard community feeling the movement of the waves under my feet and keeping my balance by shifting from right to left to right, I suddenly knew that I would never experience this piece the same way again. It was unbelievably powerful for me, and many people commented about how it made them feel the ship and the sea. Whew. Lovely. And visiting St. Petersburg (which is so very European and not so very Russian) reminds me that people often define themselves by identifying what they are not. In the case of the composers, they were often exotifying the Arabs in an effort to create “Russian” music. Hmmm.

Hey, it’s me (Sean) again. Monday was the 4th of July! The day started out cloudy, but then became brighter and brighter as the day went on until by late afternoon it was gorgeous and warm outside. We knew there would be a “barbecue” outside in honor of the occasion, so we weren’t surprised to smell grilling when we came out on the deck. What we were not prepared for, however, was a dazzling array of foods! There were grilled bratwursts, salmon (delicious), chicken, and other meats, there were baked beans and corn, potato salad, potato wedges, cole slaw, a dark mixed green salad (not a piece of iceberg lettuce), fresh steamed broccoli (the best we’ve had on the voyage) and stacks of “artisan breads” that had been baked fresh that afternoon. It may not seem like much more than very basic food, but it was fantastic! We were delighted. We found a place on the 6th deck in the sun but out of the wind and had a terrific and festive meal. The students were all dressed in red, white and blue, the kitchen staff were cheery (and obviously proud of their work), and the dining captain was taking pictures.

After we finished the main meal, we went for the dessert buffet, which was the first we’ve had. It really WAS like a cruise-line dessert buffet! Fresh fruit, flan, chocolate cake, mini-eclairs, various little confections with almond or strawberry or some other flavor. PLUS ice cream!! Everyone had a full plate of desserts after a full plate of dinner, and there was always more. Cary reminded me that if this had been a cruise ship, there would be a fabulous buffet like this at every single meal instead of just once for the 4th of July! Having the weather be so clear and lovely and warm made people giddy. Some students got out drums and had a “drum circle” (we didn’t hear it; I can’t stand those), and halfway through dessert Morgan passed through the dining area marching with the Children’s Parade in honor of the holiday. It was simply delightful.

We arrived at St. Petersburg first thing Wednesday morning, and after a surprisingly interesting diplomatic briefing we got in line to go out on our first tour. Well, as it turns out, someone had made the decision to allow a bunch of parents and all their luggage on board the ship just as at least 200 people were trying to get OFF the ship to get on buses! It was awkward, frayed many nerves, and delayed all the buses by at least half an hour. The tour guides were frantic. Stepping off the ship onto the dock was funny, though; there was a brass band with about eight musicians serenading us all with “New York, New York,” “Blueberry Hill,” and other American tunes. My students were looking at me with raised eyebrows, as I had just made a big deal in class about how the military brass band was often the first music encountered during a time of conquest (the Ottomans, the British, the Americans, etc.) I was a bus leader (hey, it gets me a discount on the tours!) and there were 30 of us, so as soon as we could all get ourselves on board, we took off. We drove through part of the city, ending at St. Isaac’s Square (with its dazzlingly restored very large cathedral, rather like St. Peter’s in Rome and St. Paul’s in London in size and design). And by St. Isaac’s was the Astoria Hotel, which Hitler spared during the war because he was planning to have his celebratory party there after taking St. Petersburg (evidently he’d drawn up the guest list, printed invitations and arranged menus). Of course, he never actually took St. Petersburg. At that point we got off the bus and got onto long flat boats, sitting outside in the glorious sun. We went along some of St. Petersburg’s many canals, barely making it underneath the low bridges and marveling at the beautiful buildings. We went briefly out onto the broad and busy Neva River, which fronts onto the Hermitage and St. Peter and Paul fortress and other major buildings, but most of the trip was lovely and relatively quiet and very enjoyable. For the most part, the students behaved well, and the young and stylishly dressed guide spoke excellent English with only a minor accent.

After getting off the ship we hot-footed it all the way back to the Hermitage (about a half hour walk when out of breath; 45 minutes of normal walking) because Ilya, our interport lecturer, was going to give us a private, small-group tour of the Hermitage with a guide. We were supposed to show up at 1, but we didn’t get there until 2, and we despaired of connecting with them until Cary (taller than most Russians) looked over the crowd and spotted Ron Linden, the academic dean who invited us. They were all late too! We were so very relieved! So in we went, and did a whirlwind tour of the ENTIRE FIVE BUILDINGS OF THE HERMITAGE in about two and a half hours. We had heard that if you spent one minute in front of each exhibit that is actually on display, it would take you eleven years to see everything (nine if you went without sleep). In any case, it absolutely gave us an effective overview, and we knew pretty much what we wanted to revisit in more detail by the time we were done. Ron’s daughter Sarah and our daughter Morgan were flagging in energy after an hour, so Ron took them down to the café and played the part of “dad” admirably, allowing us to finish the tour. Apparently, at any one time they have only five to ten percent of the collection on display. Gulp.

Highlights of the Hermitage from our visits – we certainly went back on our own – 1) massive urns entirely covered (individually) with malachite, lapis, rhodolite, and other stunning stone. They appeared to be solid malachite, but the guide revealed the technique for skillfully covering existing material with the real thing. And they were placed next to 4x8’ tables in the same materials! It was heart-stopping! 2) entire rooms of Picasso, Cezanne, Breughel, Monet, El Greco, Van Gogh, Matisse, Rembrandt, Velasquez, Derain, Sisely, etc. 3) the crystal chandeliers: enormous, glittering, well-lit. 4) the stunning inlaid woods (all still original) in wildly varying patterns that covered the floors and in some cases mirrored the painting on the ceilings – up to eighteen different woods! 5) the grand ballrooms all in marble and mirror and gilt and crystal; I was ready to step out in my ballgown. 6) the glorious ten-foot-high peacock clock; when it chimes (apparently, very rarely) the peacock actually spreads its tail feathers.

In the evening (still on our first day in the city!) we dressed up and went off to the Mariinsky Theater (NOT on a tour) to watch the Bolshoi Ballet do a modern interpretation of Romeo and Juliet, using the music of Prokofiev. Normally it’s the theater for the Kirov Ballet, but the Kirov is on tour and the Bolshoi filled in! What a dazzling theater!! Somehow we made it to the “will call” window, I signed a paper, we got tickets, and no more than five minutes later the curtain was rising. We had thought that the show would start at 7:30, but it started at 7! Luckily we had flagged down a driver who took us there very inexpensively; there aren’t that many taxis in St. Petersburg so most people just flag down private drivers as they go down the street and bargain to get somewhere. Our driver was a very nice man from Cuba! Anyway, we all loved the ballet, we had pretty good seats (box seats one floor up on stage right), and it was fascinating to see Romeo and Juliet done with people in suits, pants, etc. Juliet was appropriately giddy, Romeo appropriately star-struck and lovesick, the families of each side were identically disapproving, and Mercutio was magnificent: my favorite!

On Thursday we slept as late as we could without missing breakfast, spent the morning nursing sore feet and planning and sprawling, then walked over to the Church of Saint Nicholas. It is a brilliant, brightly painted pale blue-and-white church with dazzling gold onion domes. In the bright sunshine it was radiant. And now I want to know why I always thought that Russia somehow was dark. Didn’t we all hear that Russia was somehow cold and grey and miserable at all times? This church had a nice onion-dome-shaped children’s play structure that Morgan climbed all over, happy moms were sitting around chatting, kids were practicing soccer, and everything was grand. The church was filled with icon after gold icon in beautiful frames and surrounded by candles. One icon had jewels on it and pearls draped “around” the neck of Mary. All the icons had lip prints on the glass in front of them because they had been kissed (and were being kissed!) by the visitors. After we left the church we made our way over to the Cathedral of St. Isaac, where we had passed the first day en route to the boat ride. Well. This time we actually went up to the outside of the cupola to look out over St. Petersburg; it reminded me of looking out from our lodging window in Jerusalem; you know you’re not in Kansas! Inside the cathedral (now a museum but there were people being reverent in a surreptitious way) there were giant columns of malachite and lapis lazuli, what seemed to be miles of the finest Carerra marble, gold everywhere, crystal chandeliers, and many mosaic figures that were so finely done you could hardly tell they were mosaics! It broke our heart to have to leave quickly to get back for dinner (and the evening show) but we knew we’d be back on Saturday.

After catching a ride on a colleague’s bus tour back to the ship, we wolfed our dinners and jumped on a bus for a “Folklore Show” that evening. Now, you generally wouldn’t catch me at a “Folklore Show” because you can just imagine the worst: cheesy recorded music with lip-syncing, neon costumes, painted-on smiles, etc. This was not like that. It was at a hotel theater, with broad, comfy seats and good views of the stage. Half the audience was Russian, which surprised me (I assumed it would be just us, and that they’d be putting on a 45-minute sampler). It was a “Cossack Festival” with varied costumes, live instrumental music, great singing (in chorus and solo), comedic sections, and wildly entertaining dancing. It was like that one-minute “Russian” section of the Nutcracker (with the Cossacks and their leaps and kicks) except that the whole show went on for a couple of hours (with an intermission). It took people’s breath away! The costumes were first-rate. Morgan was emphatic in her approval (“Mom, this is GREAT! This is better than the ballet!”) We were all wondering if the “Cossacks” weren’t actually the “Kazakhs” from Kazakhstan, but the guide said they come from the Black Sea near Chechnya. The word “Cossack” comes from a Russian interpretation of kazak, meaning “vagabond” or “outlaw” in Turkic (I looked it up).

I already mentioned the Hermitage and its marvels; that was how we spent all of Friday! We got there right on time as the Hermitage opened (the fastest cab ride in our lives, in fact – Morgan and I hung on tight from the back seat as we careened through the city – Cary had a bird’s eye view from the front seat). We were the only people in the Antiquities section! Remember that three million people a year visit the Hermitage, so you’d think we’d be elbowed aside by thousands, but that really wasn’t the case. We mostly wanted to go back to the works that had appealed to us on our whirlwind tour, and spend more time with the 20th century artists. We had a small square of mushroom pizza each for lunch. But that was okay, because we weren’t there for the pizza!

Late in the afternoon we walked to view the breathtaking exterior of the Church on the Spilled Blood (so named because that’s where Alexander II was assassinated, so the church was erected on the spot). It’s got all kinds of gold onion domes, enamelwork in various colors, and it is as bright and brilliant as a Dr. Suess construction. I bet if you did a Google search (under Images) for it, you’d find it. It’s the most amazing building!

Did I mention that St. Petersburg was full of brides? The bright and mild weather brought out dozens and dozens of people in full wedding regalia, with limousines (we saw one with a Barbie bride attached to the front grille) and flowers. It’s good luck for brides to pose for pictures in front of the statue of Peter the Great, and we must have seen a dozen brides every day. I heard that it’s not that so many of them were actually getting married, but that they go out and get pictures done on beautiful days in case the weather doesn’t cooperate for the actual wedding! It’s also good luck to see a bride, so all of St. Petersburg was feeling lucky this week during our visit.

On Saturday I spent the morning reading student essays for one of my two classes, then in the afternoon we took a tour of Russian Orthodox churches. Basically, we re-visited the enormous Cathedral of St. Isaac, saw for the first time the gently elegant and modest church of St. Vladimir, and got to see the dazzling interior mosaic work of the Church on the Spilled Blood. We also stopped by the “Necropolis of the Master Artists” where Doestoyevsky and the composers Rimsky-Korsakov, Mussorgsky, Arensky, Cui, Borodin, Tchaikowsky, and others are buried. It was a pleasure to pay my respects. One of the students came up and said “So where are the five?” (she meant the five great anti-academic Russian composers Rimsky-Korsakov, Balakirev, Cui, Borodin, and Mussorgsky). I said that the four were there, but not Balakirev. She indicated the grave of Mussorgsky and said “Isn’t that this dude over here?” (aargh!) I was tempted to say that Balakirev wouldn’t be caught dead with the other four “dudes,” but she wouldn’t have gotten it.

And then, we trudged and trudged back in the general direction of the ship, getting more hot and grimy and miserable by the block. Morgan was slowing down, I was slowing down, Cary was wearing the pack that had all our sweaters and water and stuff in it, we were getting sunburned, and it was hot. We couldn’t make up our mind where to have dinner. Morgan wanted to take a taxi. It got hotter and dustier. We were more grubby. And ten blocks later, Cary opened a door and led us into a cool, clean, elegant Georgian restaurant. (Georgia is an independent state that was once part of the Soviet Union; it is renowned for having the best cuisine of any of the former Soviet bloc countries). It was a single white room with original paintings on the wall. It smelled very good, and it was peaceful compared to the din outside. In a corner, clustered around a table, a quartet of singers was singing to each other. If you’ve never heard Georgian style singing, you haven’t heard the complete set of vocal music and harmonic possibilities. This group was impeccably rehearsed, did not overwhelm the room or the conversations, and they were so beautifully in tune and so well-matched with each other (two men and two women) that it took my breath away. I’ve heard plenty of recordings of Georgian male singing, but this was the first time I’d heard a group that included women. I don’t know if you can imagine this, but for me listening to their harmonies is like sitting down to a familiar food that you love (that would be Western functional harmony, with its predictable patterns of major and minor), only to discover that something utterly new and perfectly astounding has been done to it (stunning modulations and choral voicings), and in a heartbeat you experience a kind of pain of knowing that you’ve spent your whole life not being familiar with this particularly wonderful dish. Or finding that an old friend has a talent, or a history, or a skill that you never knew about before. “Why didn’t you tell me it could be like this?” Notice that I haven’t even mentioned the food at the restaurant yet!

Okay, the food! Luckily, the menu had most of items translated in a basic way (“chicken stew”), and we ordered chicken with tomatoes, onions, and herbs. A customer at another table mentioned that the portions would be large, so although that was going to be all for me, we decided to split it and an order of beans. But these weren’t just beans! How could I tell you what it was like except to say that these were black beans cooked with cumin, coriander, perhaps a touch of cayenne, fresh dill and cilantro, and garnished with thinly sliced onion and a handful (literally) of fresh pomegranate seeds? The chicken had been stewed in sour cream with finely chopped tomatoes, diced onions, and various fresh herbs (and paprika, according to my best guess). We also ordered khachipuri, the only one I can actually remember the name of, which was like a pita-bread-sized circle of cheese bread. Oh, and Cary and I each had a Russian beer, and the three of us split some salty mineral water. Meanwhile, all this glorious singing was going on. It was tragic that we were so full that we couldn’t think about ordering dessert, although it would have been easy enough to say “Desért?” As we left the restaurant there was no more trudging. Morgan was skipping and running around, and we walked through the very pleasant and cool and casual university district past a statue of Lenin instead of along the hot and noisy waterfront.

One of the great pleasures of being here is that – for the first time – I am not being the language expert of the family! Cary’s high school Russian has stood him in amazingly good stead (almost forty years later); he can still read it easily, and he remembers enough so that we’ve been able to get around with no difficulty. Morgan and I are catching up on being able to read Cyrillic, but what a relief to be with someone who can immediately tell where we are or what’s on the menu. Speaking of food, we did walk into a grocery store (a produktiy) to see what was there. About one fourth of the shop was meat of all kinds (lots of organ meats), another fourth seemed to be dairy products, and there were loads of crackers, breads, and fresh produce. It was very well stocked, as well as bright and relatively clean, and there were people buying food without having to wait in line. We also saw fruit stands loaded with cherries, nectarines, bananas, and other treats. So much for the Soviet image (which I still carry in my brain) of people waiting in line for eight hours to buy a loaf of bread. Cary reminds me, however, that we were in a wealthy neighborhood of a relatively wealthy city. And I would add to my own comments, too, that we didn’t actually stop and see one of the thousands of communal apartments in the city, where four families live in an apartment designed for one family.

On our final day in St. Petersburg we spent several hours at the Russian Museum. Remember that St. Petersburg is really a European city, and the Hermitage is a European museum, so in order to see anything by Russians, we had to go to a special museum! It was fabulous, of course, especially the 20th century works (but really, a lot of the 19th century pieces were stunningly poignant and powerful). It included amazing 13th – 16th century icons, followed by a sudden shift to European-style portraiture at the 18th century, with no apparent evidence that the Renaissance came to Russia. In another branch of the museum there was a Marc Chagall retrospective, where a bunch of his works had been pulled out of various Russian museums and private collections. One piece was a painting of a mirror reflecting a dark purple room, and the entire room in which that painting was placed had been painted a luscious dark purple to match the painting! We noticed that in the Hermitage as well; very often the paint on the walls was boldly complementary to the colors in the art.

After so much art we were beat again, and trudged in the hot sun over to a major street take a hyper-speedy minibus to the “Senat” restaurant, whose claim to fame (besides the fact that it’s in the building formerly used by the Russian Senate) is that Bill Clinton ate there. Sure enough, there was his picture! The food was very good: borsch (they don’t seem to use the “t” on the end of borscht the way we do), chicken Kiev, Siberian pelmeni (like little tortellinis served with balsamic vinegar and sour cream), shchi (cabbage soup), and a lovely apple tart with caramel ice cream and whipped cream, which the three of us split. At this point we were perilously close to the strictly mandated “on-ship” time, so we waited anxiously for a taxi or a mini-bus, finally caught a mini-bus, and sped over to the ship. Cary rushed over to a tourist shop to spend the last of our rubles, and we were all on time. Whew! Leaving St. Petersburg was lovely; the sun was going down, and we went through what seemed to be miles of fascinating shipyards along a narrow canal, then followed a natural passageway with a narrow peninsula on both sides with people sitting and standing and waving, watching us pass. Several people shouted “bon voyage!” in Russian. It was nice! Before we went to bed we passed the large sign that still says “Leningrad,” after all these years, right at the end of the peninsula.