I remember crossing the border in the middle of the night at Narva. The border post felt like out of a cold war novel: Barbed wire, dogs, sub machine guns and guards, uniformed in heavy coats, with frozen faces. We followed the only road, drove a couple of extra miles by avoiding the potholes. Then the road widened, added a few lanes and was whole again. In front of us floated St. Petersburg between a vast sky and the sea.

I remember the bridges …

… the streets …

… and the waterfront.

I remember the churches. Some with simple crosses …

… some with more complex ones.

I remember a feeling of vastness, knowing that I walked in the biggest country on Earth.

I remember going to the museum …

… strolling through an endless succession of halls …

… passing through doors …

… into one hall …

… after the other …

… filled with splendor.

I remember the graves, …

… a flame burning.

I remember a more rugged side …

… dark and cracked.

I remember people dealing with the rain, …

… putting on a fresh coat of paint, …

… celebrating, …

… and dreaming.