Dear Everyone: you were totally wrong about Petersburg. [At least for now.]

Yesterday my parents and I arrived in St. Petersburg on the express train from Moscow. Wait, let me back up:

1) Yesterday I had several experiences that were truly the first unpleasant ones I've had in Moscow. There was
a. the two hour bus ride (non express) to Sheremetevo 1,
b. the realization that I was at the wrong terminal and needed to get to Sheremetevo 2 in negative 1 hour to meet my parents on time,
c. the shouting match with the marshrutka driver. It was not about the price or about how many large suitcases we had. It was oddly enough, about how much Russian I understood, with me rather unconvincingly arguing my point by shouting -- no, literally shouting -- I DO UNDERSTAND RUSSIAN! And him shouting, "POORLY!" And me shouting, lamely, "WELL NOT EVERYTHING!" It was just like being 12 again, only with a smaller vocabulary. And finally,
d. moldy yogurt. You know by now that there are approximately four foods in Russia I love, all of which are milk products. And come on, yogurt, really? It's already got bacteria in it, plus a load of preservatives, and I get -- and accidentally eat some of-- a moldy one?

That's it, Moscow. The honeymoon is over. You can take your reliably terrible weather, your grimy pigeon-strewn sidewalks, your disappearing Lenin picture, and your quickly rotting produce and keep it, because I'm done with you. You couldn't even show up and look decent for my parents? That's it; you're not the only game in town. I'm leaving for Peter!


2) And I did, on the 16:30 express with my parents. We arrived in broad daylight at 10 pm and were met by someone from the hotel, who drove us down Nevsky Prospekt towards the hotel. Our conversation consisted mostly of him explaining Russian-American interactions: "Putin. From Petersburg. Gorbachev. Friends with Bush. Yeltsin. Clinton. Monica Lewinsky. HAHAHAHA."


3) But the point is, as we drove down Nevsky, the central road in Petersburg, the different colored buildings all lit up with the last real sunlight of the day, the trolley wires kind of glowing in a way that made them look less pedestrian, the crowds of people everywhere, I felt a little twinge. It didn't go away immediately, so I prodded it. What was that little ache? Was it...homesickness? Oh my god, I thought. I miss grimy old Moskva. No one misses Moscow. It's like missing the grippe, or your middle school boyfriend.


So here we are. I've just compared Moscow, city of my dreams, seat of Russian power, and arguably home to the most crazy/beautiful women on earth, to your middle school boyfriend. Things are in a sorry state. More pictures, etc. when I've regained my equilibrium.