Vyborg

We missed the train we wanted by 3 minutes. 

This was just the start of our Vyborg adventures, which also included us losing a very large garden and wandering through a burnt out communal farm instead. Perhaps this was our first sign--but I must say, the adventure we ended up taking was far more fun than if we had actually seen everything we meant to. 

If people appreciated serendipity more, they might find life a little less hard to bear. That’s the great thing about having a flexible travel companion--complications simply become a new adventure...

Despite my (and Samantha’s) attempts to will the metro to move faster, and us setting our meeting time earlier than we thought necessary, we still arrived at the ticket counter just in time to watch the elektrichka for Vyborg leave...without us. But the good thing about Russia’s commuter trains is they leave just about hourly, which means things like this just mean a different adventure. Being a little late for the first train, when there will be one in another hour, gave us time to explore a different part of Petersburg.

Following a grocery store adventure, we returned to the station with a new knowledge of discount mathematics, and caught the 9:30 train...and some sleep, until we met our first curious person; a very kind, elderly Russian pensioner, who was headed to his dacha for the weekend. I was struck by his gentility and polite curiosity about us, as well as his helpful nature. He gave us many suggestions of what we must see surrounding Petersburg, and was excited to hear how we were enjoying his country. 

After he left at his stop, Samantha and I were discussing what a kind gentleman he was when we heard an exclamation from a fellow American, “Hey! That's English! You girls are Americans! Don’t mind if I sit here. I’ve been surrounded by Russians since I got married.”

And so began our reverse culture shock, as this middle aged American plopped down next to us and immediately said, “I got a daughter you kids age. What in hell are you doing over here? She’s back in America where she should be. I’m here cause I had to buy an expensive new apartment for my new Russian wife.”

And so we listened in mild shock as he told us of his adventures with his new wife, his monetary affairs (and his wife’s monetary affairs, who despite her Ph.D, is underpaid), as well as how she,  “picked me to marry, not the other way around--I wouldn’t have one of those mail order brides!”

We quipped we were CIA agents and he almost shouted, “well, young ladies, I hope not! Edward Snowden is my hero, in this corrupt age of politics.” Samantha and I grimaced--we could feel the curious glance of the surrounding Russians. It was a far cry from our norm of unobtrusively blending in! It also underlined a crucial cultural difference--where the line between friendly openness crosses into borderline obnoxious territory...

So we were relieved to wave goodbye to our new acquaintance at Vyborg--though of course, we ran into him later at the castle. Vyborg is too small of town not to accidentally pass and repass people.

Actually, I can’t believe I just called a city of 40,000 people, with a castle dating from the 13th century, a small town! I guess it’s all in perspective. But life in Vyborg moves a bit slower than in Petersburg, and the people seemed a little bit more open--though perhaps it was just because beautiful sunny weather calls out the best in people.     Neither of us had thought to grab a map before departing Petersburg, so we asked around and found the tourism building and got an English and a Russian map.

Next we found a beautiful church, which surprisingly had some stained glass--even though it was in the garden rather than in the church itself. (Stained glass is not a part of Eastern Orthodox church design--the icons and frescos rather take their place). From the church we walked along the little inlet and bay, admiring the water and the view of the island castle and fortifications which commanded the city .

That fort was a bone of contention in 1296, when the Swedes built it on Novgorodian land, and remained one through WWII, when the Soviets struggled to secure Vyborg from the Finns, to secure some kind of passage from besieged Leningrad. This city, with its calm dark harbors and rich forest land, was the sight of some of the biggest naval battles in the world...Everything in Vyborg seems just a little foreign--the lovely Swedish architecture, the extra signs in Finnish and Swedish for remaining speakers of the language; nothing is purely Russian. Except the people, whose energetic and friendly directions, while appreciated, got us lost. Vyborg is known also for a famous park and gardens--but despite a map, and the best efforts of a very helpful 10 year old boy, we managed to wander without success. I'm not sure if the error lies with us or our impromptu guide--I'm inclined to say directions like, "Oh! it's simple--take a right, then a right, then a right onto a different road--and then straight, straight and straight, and then left. Then over the bridge, straight and straight and right....." may have complicated the situation a little. Despite understanding the directions, there was clearly no way we would find the gardens, and so after 30 minutes (and discovering the drug den side of Vyborg) we gave up. 
While walking back to the train station, we happened upon a Russian Orthodox church dedicated to an interesting person--a former student of Martin Luther, who studied with him during the Reformation, and returned to Vyborg and remained a force for literacy and reform even as the city was traded from Russian to Sweden and back again.
Surveying the city from the castle tower, I concluded I would rather not besiege Vyborg anytime soon...however I’d be happy to return!