By Alison Ferry

It was almost midnight, yet the streets were bathed in a soft, shimmering light. The sun had just gone down and twilight would soon give way to night. We were strolling along the Nevsky Prospekt, a wide avenue stretching four kilometres and filled with people, music and buskers. The ice cream carts were still doing business and several street stalls selling art and brightly coloured embroidered scarves were just beginning to pack up. This was St Petersburg in August and it seemed the city was out to celebrate the long summer nights. We had just left the home of newfound Russian friends and after a wonderful traditional dinner decided to have some exercise before going to bed.

It has always been my dream to visit St Petersburg. Fascinated by Russian imperial history since childhood, I wanted to see it all for myself. Now, thanks to Perestroika, tourists are welcomed into Russia and St Petersburg with its rich, cultural history is a popular choice for visitors.

We flew in from Stockholm and from the air immediately noticed a well-planned city with apartment blocks built in semi-circles with central courtyards and gardens. Not only did this seem practical, but the idea behind the design was to shelter residents from the fierce winter gales. This "window on the West" as Peter the Great called his city, is the only point where traditional Russian territory meets a seaway to northern Europe. It was built by European architects in the 18th and 19th centuries and remains one of Europe's most beautiful cities. Straddling the wide River Neva, the city is made up of almost 50 islands connected by some 310 bridges. No wonder the sight of elegant buildings along the canals reminded me of Paris, Amsterdam and Venice.

I hadn't met many Russian people but those I had all displayed an intense love for their country and traditions and were passionate about art and literature. Russian writers such as Pushkin, Tolstoy and Dostoevsky reach the very soul of ordinary Russians, and this I find intriguing. It was no different when I finally found myself in the midst of Russia. People were openly friendly and eager to discuss any aspect of their lives in their beloved Motherland. No matter what atrocities had been committed, no matter how bad the economy, somehow these people have the ability to see the positive aspects of their lives, whatever their circumstances. We met an attractive woman from Moscow who had been fortunate enough to have a very liberal and international education. We fast became friends and it was she who invited us into the home of some dear friends of hers.

The apartment block was in an elegant area of St Petersburg and was probably formerly a palace or grand mansion but now converted into apartments on four floors. The entrance through a narrow hallway was dark and dingy and there was an old fashioned lift on the ground floor with steel folding gates that clanged shut, after which the lift moved very slowly upwards. It was quicker to walk up the staircase with its wide balustrade and paint peeling off the walls. "Don't be put off by the entrance," Natasha told us, "No one can decide whose responsibility it is to restore it, so it stays that way!"

Once inside the apartment we entered a different world. High ceilings and long windows gave the impression of space. The walls were completely covered in works of art, both modern and traditional and these were mixed with beautiful Russian icons, some centuries old and very valuable. Our host, Yuri Petrochenkov, himself an artist, warmly greeted us at the door. He was tall with gray hair pulled into a ponytail. His open, friendly manner and twinkling eyes showed a sense of humour and his heavily accented English made him an entertaining host. Nelly, his wife, spoke minimal English but understood a great deal more. She was an attractive woman in her forties, very natural with short blonde hair and a beautiful face. She was a scientist by profession but now worked to help Yuri with his business.

We were ushered into their main room, which served as a lounge room, dining room and TV area. A large wooden table and chairs sat in the middle and deep leather armchairs and a sofa were along the edge of the room. In spite of its size, there was an air of intimacy in the room, as though it was the integral part of this family. Many parties, social and political discussions and family gatherings take place here. We were honoured to be there and I felt ashamed that I had absolutely no Russian language to attempt to communicate in. Why is it that people of the English-speaking world take for granted that the rest of the world should speak English? I had always meant to learn Russian and had enrolled for courses in the past but they never eventuated because of lack of numbers.

Keen to hear about Australia, Yuri asked many questions and we, in turn, wanted to know more about everyday life in Russia. Being an artist, Yuri was considered a "threat" by the Kremlin in pre-Perestroika days. Constantly on guard because of his association with Russian writers, artists and musicians, some of whom would be considered dissidents, he had to be wary of everyone. The apartment was bugged and he couldn't even trust his neighbours. "We had to come in here to talk about certain subjects" said Nelly showing me her kitchen. "We would turn the taps full on and tried to drown out a conversation which we kept low, so the bug couldn't pick up what we were saying." How these people remain so serene and happy today in spite of their past traumas, is testament to their Russian character and their deep and abiding love for Russia and for their city. "We never thought of leaving," said Yuri, offering us yet another vodka. His refusal to bow under pressure has resulted in a moderately successful lifestyle today. He sells his paintings and porcelain 'Faberge' style painted eggs and conducts student workshops in New York and Paris.

Strolling along the river, we agreed that not only had we found new friends, but we had just spent probably the singularly most enjoyable experience of our trip to Russia. This is what travel is all about--to get to the heart and soul of the people and to try to understand and experience a little of what makes others tick.