katealicetravels

I’m in Russia, in a record summer of rare heat and angry fires. We leave steaming St Petersburg with Nastya, departing Finland Station over which a bronze Lenin still raises a defiant arm.

We’re on a warm train, thighs sticky on the seats. But the clouds have bunched, grey and full. Our destination is Repina: to the home, now a museum, of one of Russia’s great artist sons, Ilya Repin. As the rocking train moves from suburb to forest, careful babushki tie plastic bags over their feet, protecting their shoes. They know what the clouds hold.

Off the train, we are on a road pressed thin by towering green. Nastya leads us to a gate, but we soon realise the museum is closed. A sign gives us the ubiquitous, loosely translated Russian reason of ‘technical difficulties.’ As we stand at the gate, pondering our next move, the clouds release. We wait out the great downpour huddled in a bus stop. When it slows, Nastya suggests a walk.

She takes us through a dripping forest that still echoes rain. Past the closed museum, our feet soon sink into damp sand. Through the branches, down a hill, and we’re staring out at the Gulf of Finland. ‘Let’s go!’ someone hoots. We’re rain-damp anyway, and soon we’re wading and laughing through the cool sea. Nastya points out the Kronstadt naval base; I think of Lenin back at the station, and the history in these waters, the dead sailors who dared rebel.

On our way back to town, we pass some young guys camping, smoking, leaning out of 4WDs while their dogs scuffle near a fire. I briefly wonder who they are, far out here, as though fearless nomads.

There’s a restaurant open. My dress is still damp, and I borrow someone’s jacket as we sit on long bench seats outside. We laugh, drink tea, wait hours for our food. There’s a dainty cat padding her way around our feet. We name her Lena, and sit for hours in the cooled summer air. We’re glad the museum was closed.