Russian
Evolution
St.
Petersburg - Russia
by Bill Strubbe
One summer vacation my mother presented
me with a copy of the best-selling Nicholas and Alexandra
for my 13th birthday. Initially intimidated by the voluminous
tome, by the third chapter my interest in such diversions
as horseback riding, water skiing, and the bulges in
the male beach goers’ swim suits had waned as I
was transported to another realm: the resplendent halls
of the Winter Palace, Alexandra’s mauve boudoir,
the imperial yacht’s sunny decks, and the streets
of St. Petersburg seething with royalty and revolution.
When I reached the final chapter, and the family was
summarily executed, I secretly cried in my bunk bed.
In the following years, I devoured endless books about
Russia and surprised my history teacher with an understanding
of the minutiae of the Russian Revolution.
With Russia impregnated in my imagination,
it was destined that I would later visit the USSR numerous
times during the Gorbachev years; several times on Anti-Nuclear
Peace Walks and in 1991 for the country’s first
Gay/Lesbian Human Rights Conference. More recently,
last summer, I had an opportunity to visit St. Petersburg
for five days before boarding a cruise back to Moscow.
The timing was fortuitous as it fell during the City
Day Celebrations, and a rare heat wave that had the
denizens out strolling in shorts and halter tops on
the blocked off Nevsky Prospekt, lounging in the parks,
and sunning at the Fortress beach on the banks of Neva
River that flows through the city.
It comes as a surprise to many visitors
to learn that Boston, New York, and Philadelphia are
older than St. Petersburg, an astonishing vision of
palaces, broad boulevards, canals, and culture founded
a mere 306 years ago by rumored bisexual Tsar Peter
the Great (some believe his best chum Mikhail Menshikov
was also his lover) on 42 swampy islands in the Neva
River. Despite all that, this “Venice of the North”
has endured thousands who died during its construction,
devastating floods, bloody court intrigues, uprisings
and revolution, Stalinist purges, and a 900-day Nazi
siege. Conversely, perhaps no other city has engendered
such a profusion of creative luminaries: Balanchine,
Diagilev, Dostoyevsky, Gogol, Pavlova, Prokofiev, Pushkin,
Rimsky-Korsakov, Stravinsky, Tchaikovsky, Sergei Eisenstein,
Rudolf Nureyev, and Vaslav Nijinsky.
Though these latter five famous Russians
are known to be bisexual or gay, being queer now in
St. Petersburg, and in Russia, is still not a fact to
be broadcast to anyone but your closest friends. Hints
of change, however, are on the horizon: a half-dozen
bars and clubs now cater to gays and lesbians; a nascent
gay rights organization opened an office in 2009 (see
sidebar), and for a third summer the cruise liner Eurodam
disgorged over 2,000 gay travelers for two days of sightseeing
and clubbing. With over 100 museums, glorious churches
and palaces, parks, monuments, ballets, and music performances,
any traveler, gay or straight, will be hard-pressed
to not be enthralled by Russia’s cultural capital.
On the first day in the city, my fellow
traveler, Rob, and I decided to take advantage of the
stellar weather and minimal traffic by renting bikes
to see neighborhoods otherwise well off the tourist
beat. I was particularly eager to visit the Cathedral
in the Peter and Paul Fortress (its golden spire
is the city’s landmark) the resting place of the
Romanovs, including the remains of Nicholas, Alexandra,
their five children, and three servants that were only
recently discovered and identified. Odd, the sense of
relief and completion I felt in reading their names
etched in white marble.
Well into the endless evening, we pedaled
along the numerous canals past the gilt dome of St.
Isaac’s Cathedral, the world’s third largest,
and the onion-domed Church of the Savior of the Blood
where Alexander II’s carriage was blown up by anarchists
in 1881. Further along the Griboyedoya Canal is the
delightful, golden-winged Griffin Bridge; touch
its paw, make a wish, and walk across.
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The next day, we toured the opulent rooms
of the Yusupov Palace, the highlights being the
lavish miniature theater that still holds regular performances,
and the bachelor’s apartment where Rasputin met his
demise at the hands of the very gay Felix Yusupov and
several Romanov royals. Though he was poisoned, shot,
and thrown into the Neva, the autopsy showed that the
terminator Rasputin had actually died of drowning.
With so many museums and palaces, including
the Museum of Political History, Memorial Museum of
the Siege and Defense of Leningrad, Russian Fine Arts
Academy, Russian Ethnographic Museum, the Stroganoff
Palace, Fyodor Dostoevsky Museum, etc., you can’t
possibly see them all, but topping the short list is,
of course, the Hermitage. Built between 1754
and 1762 on the Neva’s bank, the Winter Palace
was intended for Peter’s daughter Elizabeth, but
upon her death Catherine the Great moved in, commissioning
adjoining buildings for her ever-growing art collection.
Today, the green and white palace complex contains 1,057
rooms, among them the Malachite Room, and over three
million art pieces spanning from Greek and Roman antiquities
to modern masterpieces by Rubens and Gauguin.
While there, I was thrilled to see the
newly restored Renoir paintings, “Man on a Staircase”
and “Woman on a Staircase,” commissioned in
1876 by French publisher Georges Charpentier, an early
admirer of Renoir. A German bought the pair from Charpentier’s
heirs, which were then confiscated and sent to Russia
after the war. Last displayed in 1995, their luster
was hidden under layers of dirt and darkened lacquer,
but since the restoration, art lovers can once again
view these fine Renoirs in all their glory.
Though the Hermitage contains many must-sees,
make sure to check out the Peacock Clock in the Pavilion
Hall. Each Wednesday at 5 P.M. this magnificent gilded
clock, created by celebrated 18th-century English clockmaker
James Cox, is wound up and the action begins: the owl
in a cage blinks its eyes and turns its head, a rooster
crows, and the gilded peacock sitting on a golden branch
spreads its tail, the gold feathers raise upright, and
the whole bird rotates. It gets crowded so arrive ten
or 15 minutes ahead so you can see. While waiting, admire
the white marble, mosaics, and chandeliers in the Pavilion
Room.
The mid-summer “White Nights”
(early June through mid-July) is a magical time to experience
St. Petersburg. The sun doesn’t set until 11 P.M.
or so, pearl twilight lingers on and on and on then
merges into the yellows and corals of dawn. Gauging
bedtime at this time of year can be problematic, so
all hotels have blackout curtains. Make sure to take
a boat ride to see the palaces all lit up and the bridges
opening at 1:30 A.M. to let the ships pass through (if
you’re stuck on the wrong side you’re plumb
out of luck until they lower them again at 4:30 or so).
The night of our boat ride we had a couple hours until
it launched so we decided to track down a couple of
the gay venues.
First we stopped in at Dali’s,
a small, cozy café and bar with blood red walls
and surreal touches, like seeing right into the toilet
from the street entrance. Because it was still early
(locals don’t go out until after midnight), it
wasn’t crowded and a small group of men and a few
women in their 30s were enjoying drinks and conversation.
We ordered sodas and chatted with the waiter (a university
student by day) who spoke a smattering of English. When
I asked if there was anything like a gay student club
or organization at his college, he laughed at the absurdity
of such a notion.
Continued
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