Imatra, Finland, to St Petersburg

This is an attempt to see if I can add photos. This was the view from our hotel in  Svetogorsk, on our first morning in Russia. We had intended to cross into Russia where we left off last year in the south of Finland, but were warned that the E18 road we would travel on was lethal. Instead we took the train to Imatra, so that we were on slightly quieter roads.

The beer bottle seems to suggest that we were not the first to have had lunch here. There was still some snow on the ground.

After Vyborg it was a 95km ride across the hills to Zelenogorsk. We were told the coastal road was prettier but it was quite a bit further. About the middle third, the road surface was awful and you had to watch out for the potholes and oncoming traffic coming straight at you to avoid the craters on their side. It was Friday and by late afternoon we met the cars escaping St Petersburg. Then you had to watch the cars coming straight at your, overtaking everyone in. Their haste to get away. 

The next day, Saturday, we were next to the sea, on reasonable foot/cycle paths forù  much of the way ino St Petersburg. Families and friends were out on whatever wheels they owned: bikes, roller blades, skate boards, scooters (the sort you push with your foot). The sea looked cold and there were heaps of blocks of ice that the children were enjoying.

Coming into St Petersburg itself had a few tense moments as we crossed major roads and prayed we were not going to end up on the motorway, or under a car zooming on or off one. Once into the city one could take to the pavements. The roads and pavements are on the whole wide, so there is room for pedestrians and bikes, skateboards, roller blades etc. 

St Petersburg was designed for the rich. Endless palaces and plenty of art to fill them. You could spend weeks here and have only seen a fraction. We had a half day off when the the hotel tried to regularise our position re the migration card. The office was open for two hours on one of the days we were in St Petersburg. The hotel sent one of their staff who spoke English to accompany us. Even he had trouble finding where we should be and we spent half an hour in a metal holding pen with migrants from ex Soviet Central Asian States, who were seeking work permits. Eventually we were moved back to the main building and joined an indeterminate queue, where the ticket machine had broken down. At 4pm it was almost our turn but time was up and the shutter at the window was firmly pulled down. In some ways I was quite glad, as I had visions of them wanting to keep our passports for a week. I trust we continue to servive without the paperwork.