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White Winters

Published on 13th December 2018

I know I haven't written about my impressions of St. Petersburg yet.

Instead, my time has been spent attempting to arrange the latest chapter

of my life into some sort of plotline which makes sense. However, as I

sit looking at the snow flurries dancing gently just outside my window,

I realize it isn't so much that I have been busy, but more I am afraid

of not being able to do this city justice.

St. Petersburg is really unlike any other city I have ever been in.

There are moments when I walk down Nevsky Prospect, the main street in

town and I feel almost as if I had been transported to Paris due to the

amount of Art Nouveau architecture, or when I am in the outer regions

of the city and I see the communist boxes that I am reminded of Prague.

Yet somehow neither of these impressions lasts for long and I find

myself thrown into a world which is neither East nor West, but instead a

mixture of both which I am not sure would work anywhere else except

here. Most of the city looks as if it could be almost any large

metropolitan area, littered with shops and apartment buildings, people

rushing about, fixated on their daily lives. Then you turn a corner and

come face to face with something so beautiful, so awe-inspiring, your

breath literally catches and you stand in struck for a moment at the

sheer magnificent beauty of it all.

I live in the old part of the city, just beyond the walls of the

monastery, which guides me to the metro every morning and quietly reminds

me of the power the Orthodox Church once held here. It is easy to forget

as a foreigner this hold, as many of their churches are situated off

the main drag, laying in wait, popping out when least expected to leave

you awestruck and marveling in the passionate love affair between people

and their religion. While many of the churches look like any other

Baroque temples of devotion I have seen in places like Austria, Germany,

France, Britain, etc, with only a slight hint of Orthodox flourishes,

there is one which stands out against the Western cityscape. The

Cathedral of the Savior of Spilled. With its truly Eastern aesthetic, the

spiral domes, and almost Byzantine-like mosaics both inside and out, it

leaves you in no doubt of where you are. It also happens to be one of

the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen. Colourful, with blues and

greens which I had previously only thought existed in the realm of a

Seuss book, immense and at the same time strangely humble, and bursting

with love and praise. It is wonderful.

While work and getting settled into my routine has left me with little

time to explore and discover, every day I see something which reminds me

of all, I yet to see and leaves me longing to know more of this

wonderful and slightly magical city I find myself in.