Proletariat bay or Champanskoe and Pets in the Fontanka

There was no need for a heavy winter coat this Satuday weekend and I strolled along in a  Soviet summer dress - with thick tights and fleeced lined boots admittedly - admiring the waters of the Fontanka, newly unveiled from snow and ice and shimmering with  the beautiful sunshine which scarcely appeared for the whole of winter.  Spotting a bay, I layed my coat down not far from a group of  quiet revellers  and prepared to enjoy my victuals of smoked trout, rye and parsley ( easy food to grab from a corner store). As I rustled my plastic bags a lady from the revellers  asked , 'Debushka, Shampanskoe?' I hesitated just a little ; cheap soviet champagne has more ethanol than grape but it's sweet enough to be pleasant. It was mostly a case of accepting a social contract so I said, 'Yes, thankyou..'

'You will?' I think they were surprised I agreed to the  alcoholic fare.

'Just a little.'

'Beer or Champagne?'

'Champagne.' They poured me a plastic cup and asked if I was alone; well, I suppose it was more of a statement as I clearly was on my own, not being availed of any invisible friends at this minor stage of alcohol consumption.

Now I noticed the composition of  the group; two middle aged ladies and two young men in their twenties, all in indistinct mud coloured clothes, of the sports-wear type(that would be from Walmart or ASDA in America or England), the sort of people who are more concentrated on the metro as you head towards the poorer outskirts.

Of course, they were curious about what I was doing in St Petersburg and asked why I would teach in Russia when the salaries must be much better in the Uk. I explained that it was interesting and I wanted to learn Russian and the salary -rent differential made it more or less the same in both countries anyway. 'She's here for the interest.' They repeated to the boys who were further away. Clearly it was a little bit of  a puzzle to understand my bad Russian. They tried to give me a chocolate cake roll in that babushka-ish manner which is almost aggressive, when you making sure have everything you apparently need is like fighting for a point in a game.





As I quietly ate, two women plodded along to the bay with  a german shepard cross and threw it into the river. The poor thing looked sligthly stunned and automatically waded through the water in self-preservation from the freezing water  moving towards the other side and unsure what to do. My champagne companions reprimanded the dog owners and for a while they were all beckoning the dog back and had to heave him out of the water after moving the little picnic aside. As he grateful leapt from his owners arms onto the bay he spilt the beer and spread water.  There was a lot ot tut-tutting  about how cruel this was to the poor pet. 'Petersburg! In April.'

The sun went behind the ever-near clouds and with it the temporary warmth. They were worried I would be ill and a middle-aged man who introduced himself asDima put his  big rain coat around my shoulders. I tried to protest that I was sitting on my coat but clearly I needed to be helped by this gentlemen of the gutters.

Then a questions I often get asked at market stalls, 'How old are you?'; 'Are you married?.' They were sure I looked nineteen and assured me that there were plenty of good men in St Petersburg ,' but not Dima here, he's too old.'

I left to go to an exhibition . They insisted on pouring me some more champagne and it splashed against my dress as I walked. I wanted to pour it in the Fontanki water as a beautiful symbol to extend symbol because the name Champagne carries a certain glamour to it which can't be dispelled by its ethanolic reality..  It would be dirt into dirt, chemicalised substance with little relation to grapes into the polluted river, and glory into glory, the royal drink tippled at Operas and Birthdays and New Years with the name pronounced as if it really was champagne and then the river which had its role in so many murders and  love affairs.

I met a teetotal  Belorussian friend  for the exhibition and told her how pleased I was to experience this display of the warm Russian hospitality - out there in a the temporary home of a bay - which travel guides are always chattering about. She couldn't empathise, as she  would never accept cake or champagne from people because she doesn't want either.