Whether it be the air or the exercise yesterday completely drained us, we got back to the Oreana just before six and were begging to be allowed to go to bed by eight o'clock.
Despite such an early night I awoke at 10.10 and Liz was dead to the world, thankfully today's tour of the Hidden Russia doesn't leave until 1.30pm which allows us both time just to get ourselves together. I perform my ablutions and intend to sit on the balcony until Liz rises, but whilst happy to forgo breakfast (or brunch by now) I am desperate for a coffee. I could make one in the room, but the associated clattering would no doubt disturb the beast, so opt to bob up to the Conservatory. As I'm about to leave the mould of pillows and duvet makes a plea ...
"One more hour. Please one ... more ... hour!!!"
I exit the cabin like moleman into dazzling sun, it is probably the brightest day we have witnessed so far; the amount of creased, crinkled & crumpled elderly skin is beyond description and there's a potent smell of singed flesh. It's a good job I'm avoiding breakfast, I may never eat bacon again?!?
I am in no place to talk, I am now officially a barrel. All my formal clothes are a bit on the snug side, I feel utterly rotund and I wonder if Liz is feeling much the same? Perhaps a reason we have opted to attend the more low-key dining events?
My night time musings whilst lying in bed are filled with thoughts of increased exercise, improved diet and general do-better-ness. I have promised to join Slimming World on our return, initially this was to avoid further nagging and to support Liz, but now I think it's essential.
Is this my last hurrah as a fatty or is it just that I have the will power of a sponge? I'm quite proud that I have avoided breakfast without Liz's steadfast & guiding hand, when grabbing a coffee it would have been too easy to just grab a few pastries (so easy, she'd never know) but I Wobbly-Rotund-NoWillpower Toddy resisted. Okay the truth is when I got there the restaurant was in that brief downtime between breakfast and lunch so I grabbed the coffee and FLED.
Better wake Liz, it's been an hour.
Hidden scenes was meant to provide an insight into some of the parts of Russia not seen on the everyday tourist trail, whilst being arranged with the tourist in mind, certainly some contradiction. From the beginning it seemed more chaotic than yesterday's smoothly run (almost a military manoeuvre) tour, with a definite air of danger. Today's guide appeared younger, less infused and more surly and was let down by technology from the very beginning. The personal transmitters which allow you to hear your guides commentary even if not standing in close proximity failed to function meaning that at the first port of call (a traditional community church) everyone seemed a little lost and unsure of the purpose of us being there?
From there we walked up to an underground station and had a little ride around St. Petersburg, often I thought we were destined to lose someone, especially as we negotiated escalators and hopped from one metro line to another. Just as well we did this trip on a Sunday, I would have been utterly fearful doing it during the working week or at rush hour.
On to an authentic (there's that word again) Russian market, which I would suggest was identical to any indoor market in any place? In fact just like Longton market but with less buttons and more fresh fruit & veg. There was little opportunity to purchase, it was very much a food market rather than a tat market. Food is one thing we certainly don't need on the Oriana, yet Liz still walked away with half a kilo of cherries, two apricots (one mouldy) and a couple of tins of caviar. The green grocer certainly saw Liz coming waving her remaining 200 rubbles as she approached ...
"Half a pound of cherries, 200 roubles!"
Some half-hearted negotiation brought the price down 50 roubles, but I don't think we could claim any level of victory or success as the scales showed the cherries weighted significantly less than 500g (closer to 375g)
What would Brussels have to say about that?
We walked through the shopping district to a cafe for tea and pastries where you had to sit in threes, the most unsociable of numbers. Panic insured when we enquired if we could possibly have coffee instead of tea, of course but we'd have to pay an additional sum. Not a problem we thought, except they only accepted roubles or credit cards, all our cards remained secure in the safe on the boat and following the cherry episode we only had 70 roubles remaining, not the 90 required. So we remained drinkless, but a galant couple very kindly offered to take our undrunk tea off our hands. Both the apple strudel and blackberry spongey thing were very nice, but would have benefitted significantly from a drink to accompany.
The coach collected us outside the cafe and we returned to Oriana forty-five minutes before setting sail for Tallin, which neither of us knows anything about whatsoever.
Guilt means we are returning to the Peninsular restaurant this evening, it's smart dress tonight so it means dressing up wherever we go, and it feels like bad form to not try to return once more. We intend to hit the casino following. A later meal and roulette are all part of our plan to attempt to stay up beyond none o'clock, will we manage it ... ... ...
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