Raining Crocodiles?

Another strange animal story that I'm at a loss to explain...

Crocodile drops on nuclear city street (AFP, 8 August)

A pet crocodile fell from a 12th storey apartment window onto the pavement below in the Russian town of Sarov, Nizhny Novgorod province, birthplace of the Soviet Union's first nuclear weapons and home to the Russian Federal Nuclear Centre. The one-metre caiman crocodile, although stunned, was unharmed except for losing a tooth. The crocodile has been kept at the apartment for the past 15 years. Neighbours said it was the third time that the crocodile, reportedly named Khenar, had tried to escape out of the window. Emergency services and rescuers managed to lasso the animal and take it to a local aquarium. Its owner, who was not at home at the time, later came to collect him. The crocodile was last seen lying on the back seat of his owner's car.

You've been in Russia too long when...

An oldie (and very long), but this was too good not to include for those of you who appreciate Russia's eccentricities. For those of you who don't live here, an insight to come of the cultural idiosyncrasies that make Russia such an interesting (and wonderful) place to live...

• When pulled over by a policeman, you pretend not to speak Russian and say Ya ne ponedelnik instead of Ya ne ponimayu on purpose.


• in winter, you choose your route by determining which icicles are least likely to impale you in the head.


• you let the telephone ring at least 4 times before you pick it up because it is probably a misconnection or electrical fault.


• you know more than 60 Olgas.


• you argue with a taxi driver about a fare of 30 rubles ($2) to go 2 kilometres in a blizzard.


• you look at people's shoes to determine where they are from.


• you are envious because your expatriate friend has smaller door keys than you do.


• you're not sure what to do when the GAI (traffic cop) only asks you to pay the official fine.


• When the word 'salad' ceases for you to have anything to do with lettuce.


• you answer the phone by saying 'allo, allo, allo' before giving the caller a chance to respond.


• when crossing the street, you sprint.


• you are thrown off guard when the doorman at the nightclub is happy to see you.


• you plan your vacation around those times of the year when the hot water is turned off.


• you start thinking of black bread as a good chaser for vodka.


• Cigarette smoke becomes 'tolerable'.


• you think metal doors are a necessity.


• you catch yourself whistling indoors and feel guilty.


• you never smile in public when you're alone.


• you know the official at the metro station/airport/border post/post office/railway station etc. etc. is going to say nyet, but you argue anyway.


• you can spark a debate by asking for a decent Mexican restaurant.


• you do all your shopping at kiosks.


• you voluntarily take a stroll in the park, Baltika beer in hand, on a sub-zero day.


• you are impressed with the new model Lada or Volga car.


• you hear the radio say it is zero degrees outside and you think it is a nice day for a change.


• you win a shoving match with an old babushka for a place in line and you are proud of it.


• you are pleasantly surprised when there is toilet paper in the WC at work.


• you see a car behind you with flashing lights and think it's some politician.


• you are pleasantly surprised when there is real wine in the bottle of Georgian Kinzamaruli you bought in a kiosk.


• A weekend anywhere in the Baltics qualifies as a trip to the West.


• your day seems brighter after seeing that goon's Mercedes broadsides by a pensioner's Moskvich.


• you say he/she is 'on the meeting' (instead of 'at the' or 'in a' meeting).


• you wonder what the tax inspector really wants when she says everything is in order.


• you give a 10% tip only if the waiter has been really exceptional.


• you are relieved when the guy standing next to you on the bus actually uses a handkerchief.


• you ask for no ice in your drink.


• you go mushroom and berry picking out of necessity instead of recreation.


• you develop a liking for beetroot.


• you know what Dostoyevsky's favourite colour was.


• you start to believe that you're a character in a Tolstoi novel.


• you know seven people whose favorite novel is 'The Master and Margarita'.


• you change into tapki (slippers) and wash your hands as soon as you walk into your apartment.


• you take a trip to Budapest and think you've been to heaven.


• you can read barcodes, and you start shopping for products by their country of production.


• you begin to refer to locals as nashi (ours).


• It doesn't seem strange to pay the GAI $2.25 for crossing the double line while making an illegal U-turn, and $35 for a microwaved dish of frozen vegetables at a crappy restaurant.


• your coffee cups habitually smell of vodka.


• you give your business card to social acquaintances.


• you wear a wool hat in the sauna.


• you put the empty bottle of wine on the floor in a restaurant.


• you are rude to people at the airport for no reason.


• you have to check your passport for an arrival-in-Russia date.


• Remont (repair), pivo (beer) and nalivai (pour!) become integral parts of your vocabulary.


• you've been to Tallinn at least a dozen times for visas.


• you are curious as to when they might start exporting Baltika beer to your home country.


• you changed apartments 6 times in 6 months.


• you no longer feel like going to your 'home' country.


• you speak to other expats in your native language, but forget a few of the simplest words and throw in some Russian ones.


• you no longer miss the foods you grew up with, and pass them up at foreign-owned supermarkets.


• you actually enjoy shopping at the rynok (market), and you think that Ramstore is the most advanced supermarket you've ever been to.


• you think that the Manezh is a real shopping mall.


• you try to pay a traffic fine on the spot and get arrested for attempted bribery.


• you look for kvas and kefir in the supermarket, and ask to buy half a head of cabbage.


• you don't feel guilty about not paying on the trolleybus.


• you can sleep through a hangover without curtains on your windows.


• The elevator aroma seems reassuring somehow.


• you can heat water on the stove and shower with it in less than 10 minutes.


• your sister writes to you about the best prime rib she's ever had and you can't remember what it looks or tastes like.


• The sellers at the rynok start calling you by your patronymic only.


• you have had your clothes ruined by all the so-called Western style dry cleaners and have to start the cycle over again.


• you know the Moscow Metro better than you know the subway system back home.


• you start buying Russian toilet paper.


• you sit in silence with your eyes shut for a few moments before leaving on any long journey.


• you look in the mirror to turn away bad luck if you have to return home to pick up something you've forgotten.


• you go to England and notice how frosty, unemotional, unsentimental and cold the Brits are and long to return to the warm rush of the Russian dusha (soul).


• When that strange pungent mix of odours of stale sawdust, sweat and grime in the metro makes you feel safe and at home


• you are in awe that after 3 days home your shoes are still clean.


• you get wildly offended when you are asked to pay at the coatcheck.


• you are afraid of offending someone by asking him or her what they do for a living.


• (For women) When you dress up in your best outfits for work and ride the metro.


• When mayonnaise becomes your dressing of choice.


• you can recite in Russian all the words to all of tampon and chewing gum commercials.


• When you begin paying attention to peoples' floors and can distinguish the quality of linoleum and/or parquet, and thus determine social status, taste, and income e.g. embezzled, earned, pension, unpaid, etc.)


• you get excited when the dentist smiles and has all his own teeth.


• you pretend not to speak Russian when you walk in to a restaurant and ask to use their loo without buying anything.


• When a streetcab tries to over-charge you, you turn the incident in to an example of how Russia is loosing its dignity in the eyes of the world.


• you are no longer surprised when your taxi driver tells you that before Perestroika he worked as a rocket scientist.


• you laugh at Russian jokes.


• you actually get these jokes.


• you actually spend time writing these jokes!


• you feel queasy when someone tries to shake your hand over a threshold.


• you continue to 'cross' the number 7 back at home.


• you specify 'no gas' when asking for mineral water.


• you are dumbstruck back at home when high school or college students wait on you with a smile, reciting a 90 second spiel on the 'specials of the day' and display complete knowledge of the contents of each menu item...


• you realize that all the above and the other messages on this subject posted here are what you love about Russia, that you've been here long enough to feel at home and wonder whether you'll ever able to fit back in the old country

Exiled to the Siberian Salt Mines

Just when I thought it was safe to write in post-Soviet Russia, I managed to displease a higher power, and last week found myself sent to Siberia to investigate a salt mine.

No, I'm not kidding.

So a group of us took a LONG journey from Moscow to find ourselves in a bastion of 1970's-era fashion, food, nightlife, and more importantly- safety equipment.

After a fitful night at the best hotel in town, we met to plunge 400m underground to the depths of a mine, equipped with the USSR's finest CO2 rebreathers ("for those occasional times we need them").

We were picked up by a jeep, and following about a 5km trip through a labyrinthine set of tunnels, the occasional wrong turn, and some enlightened discussions about how salt mines are sometimes prone to flooding, we arrived at the mine face. Taking a few quick photos, & commenting on the lack or air filters, we were informed about how the air in the mine is actually good for those who work there and had been known to cure asthma. Comforted in this knowledge and with a potential new use for the mine as a retro health spa, we headed back to the surface, and back to civilisation...

Photos are here.

Odessa: Trouble, anyone?

It's hard to know where to begin to articulate the weekend Ariel & I had in Odessa, Ukraine...

It has the qualities of a Tarantino film, where the first scene shows sea of carnage, then everything goes hazy and you're taken back to the beginning to see how it all unfolded (and it still makes no sense).

[Scene 1: Odessa airport]: Two exhausted, hungover foreigners, trying to fathom exactly what happened over the last 48 hours. We've just received word that a friend of ours in Moscow has turned up after going missing for 36 hours after Friday night, except he thinks it's only Saturday. We can relate to how he feels, but the images (and the photos... oh yes, the photos) keep running through our addled minds...

This weekend, more than ever, the photos tell the story far better than words... The link to them is here, but even more than usual, parental or professional psychiatrical supervision should be exercised for anyone under the age of... well... pretty much anyone, really...

We coined a new phrase: "When in Ukraine, do as the Russians do", which pretty much guided our philosophy for the weekend, which included pumping nightlife, late-night swimming with mermaid-like nymphs, Russian karaoke, identically dressing sisters, a fire outside our hotel, extraordinary women ("what do you mean you're sponsoring me, you haven't even bought me a Mercedes"), a restaurant called "Assol", hulking Odessan thugs looking for a fight, nightclubs styled on Greek ruins, the list goes on...

Odessa is a beautiful town of approximately a million people on the shores of the Black Sea in southern Ukraine. It has a rich history dating from pre-Roman times, and its city centre is gorgeous, with classical architecture, fountains, a beautiful promenade, and lovely shady avenues. We spent approximately 15 minutes there.

About 20 mins south of the city centre is Arcadia Beach, with the most happening nightlife in the Ukraine (which is saying something). Right on a lovely beach is a stretch of happening nightclubs. Each follows a different theme, classical Greek ruins, a Mayan temple, Western/cowboy, a pirate ship, etc. Our favorites were Ibiza (resembling a whitewashed Flintstones version of an open-air anthill), and Itaka, a giant dancefloor presided over by faux-Greek ruins.

A chronological rundown simply doesn't work for this weekend, so here are some snapshots from what we can remember:

• Late-night swimming with half-naked swinging girls, ginormous scary babushki, random passed-out dudes and some reoccuring Belorussians;


• The identically dressed sisters who took us on wild ride around Odessa, taking us to corners that even Odessans feared to tread, and were determined to bleed every last dollar out of us;



• The rapid & violent response to Cam attempting to have a cultural and enlightened discussion with a young lady at a bar, only to be approached by a local thug & his posse, claiming that the aforementioned young lady was his wife and threatening a most unpleasant end to the trip. Thankfully after an Oscar-winning "No speakski Russki" performance by Cam, plus a dose of Aussie charm, the two became firm friends;
  
• The karaoke bar which aforementioned sisters booked out to showcase their singing skills, resulting in entertainment and Cam's first karaoke in Russian (video available pending a 3-album deal) ;



• Whiplash, sunburn, and hearing damage from spending a day at the beach club. The 40 degree heat, even hotter girls, sizzling mohitos, but sadly only lukewarm Brazilian music made for a memorable day;



• The pirate-ship named restaurant/nightclub called Assol;



• The fire and response by 50 year-old fire trucks (not to mention our new friend the ex-Soviet intelligence police officer), outside our hotel;



• Being hit on by gay tourists from Kiev (first time I've heard "spasiba" with a lisp);



• The Ukranian girls seemed to be even more narcissistic than Russians, with one dining companion repeatedly walking down the road to another café to use the bathroom, as it had a larger mirror;



• While the antics of the previous 36 hours weren't enough to earn us as much as a warning, the hotel was quick to boot us out with KGB-like efficiency, practically breaking down our doors and heaving us into the street at checkout time.

A memorable weekend (if only we could remember it all)... Viva Odessa!

Russia: Land of Oz

As if life in Russia wasn't already random enough, following a minor hurricane that swept through the Moscow hinterlands last Friday, one of my colleagues ended up with an upside-down dacha in his backgarden (photo left).

As a testimony to Russian architecture & sturdy building traditions, the structure landed completely intact, windows and all, after flying over his fence in the middle of the night.

Reportedly, there were no wicked witches (or even babushki) trapped underneath, however, no amount of clicking of ruby-encrusted high heels (of which there are plenty in Russia) would return the dacha to its previous position.

Regional Exploration- Vol #1: Yaroslavl

As is so often the case with great epiphanies, a bunch of us were sitting around somewhat embeveraged the other weekend, and the observation arose that if, as so frequently stated, Moscow is not reflective of the "True" Russia, we should probably get ourselves to the regions to find out what this ephemeral Real Russia consists of!

As it turns out, apparently Real Russia consists of shirtless stocky dudes with mullets (some even have all their teeth!), more churches & weddings than Vegas, bisexual 17 year-olds, nightclubbing 13 year-olds, shorter skirts and higher heels than were previously thought possible by modern physics, and of course the occasional blue horse.

Photos of all of the above are here.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Scenic Yaroslavl, about 250km NE of Moscow, was chosen for our first regional excursion through Cam's scientific process of drawing a 400km circle around Moscow (limit of car/train for a weekend), and then comparing the cities within against Wikipedia's list of the largest cities in Russia.

Yaroslavl is one of the most ancient cities in Russia, apparently founded by Prince Yaroslav the Wise (not sure if self-titled) in around 1000 AD, when he slayed some poor locals' sacred bear by hacking it to bits with his magic axe (Russia always has such a peaceful (pieceful?) history). It's located on the mighty Volga river, and boasts more churches per capita than anywhere I've seen outside of Utah or the US South.

The above would have been particularly useful to know before Ariel & I jumped on a train there, but what the hell...

We spent the next few days wandering the city again & again (it's not that big), partying ourselves into oblivion (not sure if having the local McDonald's next door to our hotel helped or hindered), dining at Yaroslavl's top restaurants (all three of them- good food!), and partying at it's hot nightspots, named creatively like "Joy Party", "Metro Fashion Cafe", "Tarzan", and "Pyatnitsa (Friday's)". We weren't sure if another venue called "Viagra" was so named because of the age of its patrons or their aesthetic qualities.

Other than Viagra, the nightclubs seemed to be principally populated by pre-pubescent Russians demonstrating the finest dance moves a vodka-(or sugar?)-induced haze would allow... We were particularly entertained by one of the (approximately 300) wedding parties we saw, having their reception at Joy Party, with the bride getting down (dress & all) on the dance floor! We were able to seek sanctuary at some places catering for an "older" (above 17) crowd. The local clubs often offered local "variety" (softcore cabaret) shows of varying degrees of quality... We even emulated the Moscow experience by being "feised" at one establishment! For those used to Moscow nightlife, the "early" closing times of 5am came as a bit of a shock!

We met a number of interesting people (ie the gentleman pictured to the right), and found people generally friendly, and far more interested in life and events outside of Yaroslavl and Russia than Muscovites, although virtually nobody spoke any English. Unsurpringly, virtually everyone we met was pretty negative about Moscow, perceiving Muscovites as arrogant, shallow and self-obsessed- Ariel & I were perplexed as to how people could possibly have developed that impression!

The town itself was very pretty, packed with churches, parks, and a historical Kremlin, as well as beautiful walks along the Naberezhnaya (Volga River embankment). Yaroslavl was, however, far more run-down than the centre of Moscow, and virtually every building and monument was in a state of disrepair.

Prices for everything were far cheaper than Moscow. The cost of the whole weekend, including our tickets, accommodation at Yaroslavl's best hotel and eating & drinking the best the city had to offer, was barely more expensive than a single night out in Moscow.

Overall, Yaroslavl was a fascinating trip, as a destination in itself, a break from Moscow, and an insight into a different world.

Looking forward to my next regional adventure!

Cold Shower, Anyone?

Potentially as an antidote to the hordes of scantily-clad gorgeous devushki roaming the streets of Moscow in summer, the local government mandates cold showers for everyone in the city for a month during summer.

Seriously, a little-known fact to those of you who don't live in Moscow (but is unsurprisingly ubiquitous knowledge within), is that both the heat and hot water services in Moscow (and most ex-Soviet cities) are centrally controlled by the government (come to think of it, like pretty much everything else in Russia... {sigh}).

The impact of this is that one fine day in October, regardless of the actual temperature, one's apartment will start to perform it's best impression of the Chernobyl-4 reactor, necessitating open windows and air conditioning throughout winter, despite -30 outdoor temperatures.

Perhaps to counter this excessive overheating, to prevent heatstroke among Moscow's resilient elderly babushki, to make Moscow's metro in rush hour event more fragrant with slavic pheremones, or to make the population a little more pliant ahead of elections, the city's hot water is shut off for about a month each summer, region by region. (Actually, I've heard it's to service the pipes, but I'm sure this is just propaganda).

So I woke up one fine morning last week, already not at my most timely for work, to find a complete lack of hot water. Thinking that my fine company would not leave me in a hot-water-free apartment, I immediately performed a detailed cupboard-by-cupboard search of my apartment & it's surrounds. This left a soggy trail of footprints and bubbles through my apartment and Stalinist-chic hallways, leaving my poor cleaner certain that I must have embarked on an impromptu mid-shower melange of drop-the-soap and hide-&-seek.

Despite startling neighours & dust bunnies, and a brief tool pillaging of Citigroup's building maintenance team, I was left trying to decipher a maze of Babylonian complexity, as the post-Soviet engineers had attempted to introduce my boiler into the building's existing infrastructure with an over-engineered system of valves that would make my high-school physics teacher proud.

By using the anguished yelps and loud Russian curses from around the building as a form of crude sonar as I worked the valves, I was able to identify the right sequence to connect my boiler to my shower without (hopefully) depriving anyone else of water or heat. Hopefully I'll be able to reverse the process without mishap next month!

Btw, in case you're interested, I took the photo at the top of this post from my bedroom of the bar across the street from me which had even more Ferarri's, Bentley's and Hummers in front than usual last week.

Cruising in Croatia

A couple of weekends ago I had the chance to visit my parents on their yacht in Croatia. They live the tough life by spending the European summer cruising different parts of the Mediterranian. Since they are doing the Adriatic this year I took the chance to return to Croatia to cruise with them in the central part of the country where I hadn't previously visited.

It was wonderful to see Mum & Dad, since I only get the chance to see them a couple of times a year. I boarded in Zadar, and we cruised a number of islands including Dugi, Pasman, and the Kornati National Park. The weather and sailing conditions were perfect, with brilliant sunshine, sea breezes and 30 degree temperatures every day.

Days were spent sailing from place to place, and we'd typically moor near a lone restaurant in an isolated bay, where we'd be served delicious grilled local fish & seafood, and drink substandard Croatian wine (thankfully I replenished the boats' vodka supply from Russia).

The islands we were sailing around were beautiful, and varied greatly in topography and foliage, from the barren rocky islands of the Kornati with the steep cliffs on their seaward side, to the pine forests of Pasman.

The water was crystal clear blue, with visibility down tens of meters. Snorkeling for sea life was not particularly rewarding, but I did manage to find some carved stone remains which I steadfastly maintain must have been Roman.

It was the first time I'd had the chance to Mum & Dad's gorgeous yacht, which is very spacious, and they've built custom-designed systems for everything, from the decktop hammock, to the full-boat sunshades!

Not only was it great to hang out with Mum & Dad, but it was a nice change from the frenetic pace of Moscow, and a chance to catch up on some sleep after my birthday weekend the week before!

The photos from the trip can be found here.

Cam's 30th- St Petersburg

After so long in the planning, I finally celebrated my 30th last weekend in St Petersburg, Russia. I was incredibly fortunate to have almost 50 wonderful friends fly in from all around the world for a wild weekend of celebrations and fun in one of the most beautiful cities on the planet.

The weekend kicked off on Friday with dinner at Restoran, a stylish modern Russian restaurant with delicious food, washed down with 14 bottles of vodka, which set the precedent (and the pace) for the rest of the weekend. Alex- having just arrived from Sydney- befriended passers-by on the street, and then promptly jumped out the window and rode down the street on a horse. Jon made an entrance for himself by strolling in, taking a swig of vodka, and then falling on his ass.

The eerie twlighlight as we left the restaurant framed the bridges opening in front of our eyes (almost stranding several of us on the wrong side of the river), as we headed to Decadence, one of St Pete's hottest nightspots. Our group bonded rapidly, and it was delightful to see so many new friendships evolving.

James & Lee had the fabulous idea of immortalizing my last trip to St Petersburg (during which I spent an evening in hospital), so a t-shirt showing a bandaged Cam on the front with one of my reknown Aussie expressions ("We're not here to f*ck spiders") translated into 12 languages on the back, was distributed to everyone on the trip.

Somehow, about 50% of those who'd originally said they would tour the Hermitage actually managed to show up to see one of the world's most beautiful museums. I hear it was a great tour!

Those of us who didn't make it to the Hermitage wandered around the city in search of greasy food (and of course to see the sights). Our prayers were answered in the form of the James Cook pub, whose deep fried breadsticks were like an oasis to a Sahara nomad. Post-refuel, a tour of the canals and river was an easy option for various members of the group to sightsee, snooze, drink, bond, or whatever took their fancy. In addition to the palaces and sights of the city, an unexpected highlight was a Russian nuclear submarine up on drydock as we cruised past.

That evening, we headed to Royal Beach (or "Royal Bich" as the sign out front declared), a spectacular venue on the beach of one of Peter's outlying islands. The scene (and weather) were more Miami beach than Artic Circle, and there was not a cloud in the sky. Excellent company, delicious food and copious amounts of vodka led to some heartfelt toasts and more than a little entertainment, including Alex's impromptu wedding. The upraised bridges ensured that everyone was required to party until at least 5am, and a cadre of us decided to brave Tunnel, a ghetto St Pete's nightclub located in a nuclear bomb shelter.

En route, Christian was regaled by his driver, who felt compelled to distribute gruesome x-rays of his prior injuries, but still felt strong enough to attempt to negotiate a discount on the entry to the club. The 16-year-old, techno-loving crowd was unfazed (but no doubt intrigued) by this impertinent display of business school attitude, but were too cool to want to figure us out, and left Guri untouched power-napping in a corner.

Meanwhile, those who were too timid (or smart) to hit Tunnel were trapped in traffic (and an impromptu dance party) at the on-ramps to the still-open bridges. Channeling her inner podium dancer, Rachel climbed some nearby monuments and almost launched a striptease before being restrained and carried back to the vehicle by James.

Meandering back from Tunnel, Cam was accosted by two inebriated, lost, but highly enthusiastic veterans of the St Pete's scene- Jon & Aron, who promptly doubled the hotel bars' annual revenue in the next few hours, ably assisted by Lee, who had been monitoring the ins and outs of party attendees from her perch at the hotel bar for some hours. (don't worry everyone, your secrets are safe with Lee).

The following morning dawned early, as a surprising number of revelers actually made it to the Astoria for the departure of the Peterhof tour. The regimented Teutonic attitude and previous scolding by the guide the prior day had evidently scared even these hardened party animals into attending. We boarded a boat for a ride to spectacular gardens, and a beautiful palace (with entertaining polished floors), trick fountains, and lots of yummy ice-cream. Peterhof and its trick fountains, replete with screaming children running amongst snarling stray dogs did wonders for the hangover and provided some insights into old and new Russia.

Showing true initiative and a zest for the unknown, Guri took us straight back to the James Cook Pub (bless that deep-fried bread), where we camped out for the afternoon amid passing squalls. The ongoing rain gave us the excuse to quaff several beers and the occasional shot of Jagermeister (shout out to Lee!), as well as ponder the inner meaning of Russian hairstyles and small childrens curious fascination with statues' nether regions. I would like to think it was the heady intoxication of being with close friends in an exciting place that caused us to weave our way back to the hotel to prepare for dinner amid random burst of hysterical laughter, but our bar bill and photos tend to suggest otherwise.

Dinner at Aquarel, a multistory restaurant on the Neva was another mix of excellent company, venue, food, and vodka, as our quest for all of the above continued unslaked. Warm toasts amid great friends and outstanding desserts capped off the events of a truly extraordinary weekend.

To find a place for our group to happen late-night Sunday, we commandeered a minibus and headed to Metro, a 10-year old venue in the suburbs populated by drunken 12 year-olds and Russkie pop music. This created an entertaining platform for each of our remaining group members to indulge their latent desires, as some disappeared to "alternative" venues, back to the hotel bar, or with each other.

As morning broke on Monday, and we prepared to make our way back to our respective corners of the world, I was left with a sense that this had been a truly momentous weekend, that incredibly special people had gone to huge amounts of effort to join me in St Petersburg. My old and new friends had met, and found so many shared traits and interests in a weekend filled with special moments. It was a weekend that despite huge logistical complexities had gone so smoothly, and I am so grateful to everyone who was able to make it. I hope that the many friendships forged over the weekend will last, and we will meet again, collectively and individually, in many places and for many years to come.

A collection of representative photos from the weekend can be found here. A HUGE Thank-you to Rachel for being an excellent and enthusiastic photographer throughout the weekend!

Thank you- to the best group of friends anyone could possibly have.

Cam

--------------

PS: Some great quotes from trip attendees:

From Rachel:

"To the spectacular courtesans of the Prince Campbell-
-from around the world convened the court; roommates, classmates, friends of friends of friends…
Ladies, gents, jesters and sages; translators, instigators, dancers, and ragers-
Mattered not whether childhood friend or new found sister-
He asked,
They came.
And under the dazzling nightless nights of St. Petersburg, in Lenin’s wake they smiled and shared-
Vodka poured and revelry reigned; Bacchus would be proud.
And under the selective sun they explored the treasures of the Hermitage and Peterhoff-
But the guide books were mistaken.
The riches were in the friendships found and rediscovered, in the laughter spilled, in the diversity amongst us which so swiftly triumphed on common ground;
in insatiable moments which captivated, and commanded, to chase the dawn….relentlessly
there is no mercy in the Campbell jubilee, but euphoria a plenty
and while the revelers devoured the intoxicating ambrosia of joy and music and sumptuous morsels, be they caviar or shared secrets, maybe the gods
of history were enviously watching, wishing this cache for themselves.
Mere mortals we started, scattered as demigods and goddesses,
thank you all for a wonderful trip;"

From an anonymous reveller on Tuesday:

"Best analogy for me today: I feel like the house in teen movies when they manage to get rid of all the evidence from the bender and the house is spotless until the mom finds some stray beer cup in the cupbopard....well, I am showered and dressed for work but never had time to address fingernails which are half eaten (I do that when I am anxious) and covered in the middle third with light pink but polish has disappeared from the ends- needless to say,, they look like a 10yr old whose mom let her get a manicure a month ago and she's just letting nature take its course."

Heliskiing 2008- Kamchatka, Russia

Planning has commenced for the first heliskiing trip of 2008. 11-20 April, 2008, in Kamchatka, Russia.

The Kamchatka peninsula is a spectacular region, geologically active, dotted with enormous skiable volcanos (some active) as well as hot springs to relax the muscles after (or during) skiing, it's a beautiful wilderness area in one of the wildest and most remote regions in the world. It's also a great place for salmon fishing, if you're into that sort of thing. Kamchatka is blessed (for skiing purposes anyhow) to be located where dry, cold Arctic winds meet the moist air of the Pacific, generating the conditions for a LOT of deep, dry powder!

One of the awesome guides from my last trip in Greenland goes there every year, so he knows the region well and has a lot of experience in the area.

This is an amazing opportunity to ski an incredible part of the world with exceptional guides and a great group, so please email me if you're interested in joining!