I had the immense pleasure of attending a wedding this weekend. The lead roles? A girl with a heartbreaking past, yet with enough heart left to be one of the most wonderful people I know. Her fiance; a golden retriever character. Or that's as much as I could gather from about 7 hours in his presence.
The setting? It's seen War & Peace, it's listened to Anna Karenina's torturous life story. I's residents have been starved, frozen and hailed as heroes. It has changed it's name three times in the last century. A city that remains one of the greatest love stories of the modern age. Something only Tolstoy could have summed up.
St Petersburg was having a particularly warm February - I only needed two woolen jumpers.
The wedding was pleasantly un-Russian (aka. paid very little tribute to My Big Fat Greek Wedding). Minimal dancing, no one passing out drunk, relatives with only moderately eye-rolling speeches, only a few cheesy gift-boxes. The dress, to my immense relief, was absolutely gorgeous.
The city feels like it's still breathing the glory of it's history. Of course, visiting for exactly 2 days, I had little chance to sample the nightlife and youth scene (how it pains me to use that phrase) but which I am assuredly told is thriving. If Moscow is the daring, glamorous younger sister that goes out and attracts all the attention; St Petersburg is the older sister, the dreamer and the poet.
It's astounding how big the city is, for a relatively small population. The streets were built to plan and encompass a maze of canals and islands. It's often called the Venice of the North; it too is sinking under our feet. A strange and charming fury; the strength of history and the frail, sad beauty of what it's walls have lived through.
I caught the bouquet that evening. But too late, I think I'm already in love.
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