City Bar

From an intensely clear, azure blue sky the sun baths Petersburg in a bright pale light, reflected from snow covered rooftops and grubby glass windows and scattered by shattered fragments of ice lying everywhere. The Neva, usually a carpet of ruffled wavelets stirred by the wind, is paralyzed, trapped by the cold and frozen from bank to bank on the coldest days. From above the roofline, above the dull structures of cranes and bridges and the vague outline of huge classical-styled buildings, appear several golden domes, capped in snow, and exposed to the most severe whim of the weather. One of these days I must subject myself to that experience in the interest of getting some good photographs over the city, but for now I’m content to peruse the goings on from street-level.
So far I have managed to achieve the stability of lifestyle that I lacked last term, and have been working since my arrival, and as usual with several different companies. The challenge of teaching to a spectrum of students is as prescient as ever. It is almost as satisfying as the remuneration, but possibly not quite. Diving back into the friendly, varied and cosmopolitan Petersburg life I went for the first time to City Bar, opposite the American Embassy. I had seen it before, lurking below street level, with the modest illuminated sign hanging over the covered entrance way. It was so subtle in fact, that I missed it the first time around, and had to retrace my steps back up the street a little way. The place, at that time, was predominantly occupied by foreigners- English, Irish, American, Australian, New Zealand- and someone had scrawled a notice on a sheet of paper to the effect that Russian language was banned. Somebody then introduced me to the owner/manager as a writer, which was interesting, as I was then accosted by a real writer, an Irishman of considerably greater experience than me, and left to fend for myself. I would not describe myself as a writer (ambition and reality cannot be said to coincide at this moment), but would say that I write. It was really insightful to speak with him, and he had, as one would expect, some very interesting and incisive ideas on culture and people. That really does inspire me. I think writers (of that caliber) have a kind of mystical status for me- some sort of transient beings who are gifted with the ability to see life for what it is, not what it seems to be.
My adventure prospects are even more enhanced this year. Of course the opportunity factor is greater, having some money, but also necessity plays a role now. In one week I will set off for Tallinn, in the interests of obtaining another visa. Having seen Riga I am curious to see all the Baltic States, particularly the capitals. Apparently it is smaller than Riga, so it won’t take long to get acquainted. Hopefully it will also be cheap!
I have even managed to play a piano or two recently- something I miss the regular benefit of. There are a few bars around which have pianos for performing, and occasionally I allow myself a dabble. Russian pianos have a common characteristic; they are all very bad. I see them more often than not in someone’s house, and even just two days ago I was filled with glee at the sight of a dark carcass of a piano in a corner of a friend’s apartment. When I played a few notes however, a rather unusual sound rattled out, strained, dissonant, tortuous. And the loud-pedal was stuck which meant when you wanted the sound to stop (preferably as soon as possible), it didn’t. If it was human, it would be on life support.
Petersburg is an undecided city. It can be great, it can be challenging. It can be adverse, accommodating, friendly, dangerous, cold, hot. It surely has its own mood. It is typically referred to by some of the great classical Russian writers as supernatural city; built on a marsh against the odds at great human cost, and being neither Russia nor Europe, enveiled in fog, snow, stifling heat and dust….. It is certainly unique, and offers its own take on life. And it’s a fascinating take.