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.