The ship
Vissarion Belinsky was part of the former Red Star fleet, a service of Soviet-run
Intourist, since passed into private hands; but still serving the same clientele
: working-class Russian tourists. The ships were all named for Russian literary figures (which is probably what caught my eye when I first booked the cruise). Slava, the booking agent in St. Petersburg, had told me this particular voyage (the very earliest one to follow the northerly itinerary this year) was made-up of 'mostly Russians'. It turned-out that by 'mostly' he meant all but 1-1/2 people out of the 800 passengers.
Our cabin --
not the lowest-priced category -- was much smaller than the interior of a Class C mini-motorhome, and the bathroom (with shower-head above the toilet) about the size of an airplane restroom. It is interesting that this amazing country, the largest geographical nation in the world, has so little living space for the average person. (I understand that in Soviet times, a family of 3 generations, was allotted only 900 square-feet; this ship still adhered to those minuscule requirements.) A quick look around revealed that all information and every sign was strictly in Cyrillic Russian. Phoebe was ready to call Anna back on the cell phone and skip the cruise, but our cell-phone (from an American company) didn't work in Russia. So we waited for Slava, the booking agent, to show-up as he had promised to give us an orientation. He was there at 6:30 PM, a half-hour before sailing. (And he barely got off the ship before it sailed because of what ensued).
He was translating the posted schedule of the cruise to me. and explaining what shift we would be assigned at meal times, when I glanced at the last day (June 7).
"Ahh, doesn't that say Breakfast at 7 AM on the 7th... and..a...something...arriving to Sankt Piterborg?...at 10 AM?" I blurted out.
"Yes, that's what it says; why?"
"Because your last email to me before we left the US said it arrived in St Petersburg at
6:15 AM
We have paid tickets for a Rossiya flight from St Petersburg to Moscow at
10 AM on June 7!; and paid tickets from Moscow to New York at
3 PM!"
Amidst a noisy crowd around the front desk, everyone speaking Russian, Slava and the Concierge managed to work-out a plan, whereby he would contact the moving ship from St Petersburg and relate how he was going to rescue us, to the Concierge, who would then relay it to us (since our cell phone didn't work). Mind you, the Concierge -- a young man of 19 or 20 -- spoke little more English than I understood Russian. Somehow I was able to convince a wild-eyes Phoebe that we should stay on the cruise, and not leave with Slava and try and get our money back. The last fog-horn warning sounded, and Slava scrambled down the gang-plank; and a few moments later, the
Vissarion Belinsky lurched out of port and headed east up the Neva River... We were still on board. Gradually the commercial part of the city slid by, then the industrial outskirts, and finally into a rustic area dotted with lumber mills and mining towns. We had a late supper in the dining room (the soup and desert were good; we weren't sure just what the main course was supposed to be.) Then went to bed long before it got dark.
Note from AllRussiaCrusies: Cruise program was purchased by Mr. Fensterman from British cruise company, and was not provided by AllRussiaCruises. AllRussiaCruises guaranties an exceptional quality and organization of cruises and tours for our clients.
The next morning we were a bit more relaxed; we sat on the side deck and watched the timeless riverside drift slowly past -- the northern evergreen trees, the old wooden dachas, the dirt roads of the Russian countryside, unchanged for at least a hundred years...
Then the Neva widened and we entered the cold choppy waters of Europe's largest lake (and the second largest in Russia): Lake Ladoga...
This huge body of water gives one the feel of what a lake would be like on the moon (if the moon had water). We were heading for Valaam Island, and what-I-like-to-call 'the Monastery at the End of the Earth'. The eerie silence, the endless horizon, the winds of unchangeability make this experience other-wordly. The island itself has very limited port facilities, so the
Belinsky had to dock somewhere on the south end of the lake, and we had to break-up into groups of a hunred or so and board smaller boots more suited for the hsallow rocky coastline of Valaam. As we crowded near the gang-plank to change vessels, Phoebe -- who had left the room before me -- inroduces me to a younger couple
: Ed the Weatherman, from Anchorage, Alaska, and his companion, Natasha from Yekaterinburg. Ed, of course, spoke English, and Natasha -- who didn't look like one pictures 'Natasha' (she was short and wore glasses) -- spoke what-I-would-call 'Runglish' -- but she was very helpful. Leave it to my wife to find the 1-1/2 English-speaking people on the
Belinsky. After all, she has never met a stranger, only friends. It felt very good to hear our own language once again.
We boarded the shuttle boat together, and we headed north toward the islands. The rugged desolate coastline loomed beside us...
Much of the history of this great Monastery -- often called the 'Mount Athos of the North' -- is shrouded in mystery (which is true of many things in Russia). Tradition says it was founded by two wandering monks, Sergius of Greece and Herman of Finland, in the late 10th Century. If so, it seems to disappear from documented history until the middle of the 14th Century. It suffered invasions and destruction from that time on to as late as World War II. It still survives today, much of it beautifully restored, and maintains its strict monastic traditions, and its world-renown chants, with human pride but spiritual humility.
Here is a view of the bell tower/chapel looming over the beautiful Larch trees as we pull into the harbor...
The Soviets maintained a military base on the island (the largest on Lake Ladoga), which they abandoned in 1989, when all of the island was returned to the Orthodox Church. This lovely memorial commemorates that event; it was given to the Monastery by Patriarch Alexey...
Most of the civilians left after that, but a few still remain. It is interesting to see the difference between their quarters (once belonging to the monks) and the restored buildings of the Monastery proper. the former are in disrepair and neglect...
While the later, shine as bright as the day the were built...
Coming ashore, we had met our guide, Svetlana; she was a tall fair-haired young woman who was studying at the Monastery for the summer. Her English was very good, as was her knowledge of the Island. She took us into the Monastery cloister.
And then behind the Cloister, where a church-less steeple with its Look Homeward, angel comforts the souls of those in the simple cemetery there...
By now we thought of Svetlana as not just a guide but a friend as well. We told her our predicament about the ship's return. Sher volunteered to use her own cell-phone to call Slava back in Petersburg and find-out the exact 'rescue plan'. The best place to call was the top of the hill, a rather steep climb. Phoebe went back to the port area with Ed and Natasha, and i accompanied Svetlana up the rocky path to the top. We went past the grave of one of its saint, Alexander Svir, where a contemplative monk stood watch...
Svetlana reached Slava on her phone (I had his cell number with me) and there followed a rather animated conversation in Russian; it appeared she was giving him quite a scolding for leaving us in such a predicament. Finally she put me on the phone. Slava was apologetic and said he'd come-up with a plan. St Petersburg was crowded with visitors to a large exposition, so rooms and transport were at a premium. But he found a private cab that would drive-up from Petersburg and meet us at Mandrogi on the afternoon of June 6 and take us back to the Azimuth Hotel there where he had reserved us a room for that night. He'd re-scheduled the transport in the morning to Pulkovo Airport from the hotel, so the remainder of the schedule back to America was in tact. I agreed and handed the phone back to Svetlana. "Thank you very much," i said. "Ah, you would do the same for me if I were stranded in America," she replied. "I have a class in a few minutes, so I must leave. Do you know the way back to the boat?" I assured her I did. She started on a path that led to a newer building not far-off. But she stopped and looked back, and raised her arm. "Christ be with you!" she called. I knew she really meant exactly what she said.They were waiting for me at the boat dock. I told them that we had a plan in place, and Phoebe was much relieved. In a few minutes the loudspeaker on the boat announced our imminent return to the 'mother ship'.
So we said good-by to beautiful Valaam Monastery. As we pulled out of the harbor, we took one last look at its special solitude and grandeur...
