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I became a bit hesitant about mentioning that I was going to Russia. Most people looked incredulous. “Why?” was the standard reaction. Even my husband looked decidedly hostile as he boarded the plane, brooding morosely on the prospect of multiple palaces, suspect toilet facilities and a surfeit of cabbage and beetroot. I feared I’d finally gone too far with my penchant for far away places…

But I was wrong. We were fascinated to gain even a superficial insight into a complex, ancient culture that is both completely foreign and strangely familiar. Russia is in the process of transforming from a tightly controlled oppressive past to a future that is simultaneously insecure and exciting.

There was tight security on our arrival, which coincided with the 300th anniversary of the founding of St.Petersburg and the consequent influx of foreign dignitaries ranging from George Bush to Pavarotti. Silent, poker-faced custom officials and a strong military presence created an uneasy atmosphere, quickly dispelled by a drive through leafy suburban streets. I hadn’t expected green trees and blue skies – apparently with some justification. According to statistics, St Petersburg has an average of only 15 cloud-free days a year – and we had two of them! The crisp, clear conditions reminded me of Johannesburg – as did the first bank we visited we visited which had run out of rubles! Cashing travellers’ cheques in Russia is a mission – rather take crisp, new American dollars. Russians are reluctant to accept grubby, crumpled currency because of the high incidence of counterfeit notes. We found ATM facilities the most convenient means of drawing money and facilities are more prominent than in American and Japanese cities we’ve visited.

Russian ATMs have instructions in English – manna from heaven in a country where the Cyrillic alphabet reduces you to a state of total illiteracy. When traveling in Europe, you can always hazard a guess at the items on the menu or the tube- station destinations. They’re a total mystery in Russia. Because it runs under a river, the metro in St. Petersburg is the deepest in the world – it feels like going down a mine-shaft – but considerably more crowded. I felt ominously certain that it would be a terminal event if I didn’t force myself into the same compartment as my husband before the doors shut. But help is at hand if you get lost. Apparently, one in five Russians has at least a rudimentary grasp of English – we found them friendly and helpful, often going out of their way to set us back on track.

Some of the menus we sampled also looked suspiciously like terminal events – but only because we tried to eat off the beaten track. If you stick to the tourist route, there’s a multitude of restaurants offering every kind of food imaginable with English translations. Tourism is booming in Russia. We met at least half a dozen Russians who were supplementing their meager salaries as academics ($50-$100 a month) by taking summer jobs as tour guides – several lectured in English at local universities, one was a Clinical Psychologist – all had a comprehensive grasp of Russian history and culture, both pre and post revolution and were quick to offer insights into life in modern Russia.

They were a cut above the average tour guide. I hate tour groups. I can’t concentrate if I’m shuffling behind a flag. We were lucky to have both a friend and a private guide to introduce us to the magic of St Petersburg. They were about the same age as my kids. But they work longer hours and earn less money. They don’t go out for drinks at the pub. But they go to the theatre every week – at affordable prices. They could answer all my questions on the history of their city and its culture. They’re not like my kids at all. They’re both more and less privileged than middle class South Africans like us.

In his book Russia by River, Howard Shernoff, an American who has lived and worked extensively in the country, explains these contradictions. ‘Russia is different. It’s not like London or Paris or Canada. People look, more or less, like average Americans. But that appearance belies a culture, a history and a way of living that couldn’t be more different from anything you’ve encountered elsewhere. This paradox makes Russia alternately maddening, mystifying, enchanting and exciting.'

Despite globalization and a more outward-looking economy, Russia remains essentially foreign. It’s not a self-drive, bed and breakfast destination like Europe or North America. Shernoff advocates cruising as the optimum choice for foreign visitors. ‘No other way of touring comes remotely close to providing the same depth, comprehensiveness and convenience.’ Bad roads, unreliable maps, highway bandits and lousy accommodation are almost guaranteed if you travel by rail or road. After ten days in Russia, I’m no expert but this seems a valid perspective.

Like everything else in Russia, cruising is different. Don’t expect a replica of last year’s cruise in the Med or the Caribbean. Everything’s on a smaller scale. Especially the cabins which are about as spacious as a walk-in cupboard. At first glance, the shower appears to be in the toilet. It’s a masterpiece of East German engineering. But there is a fridge and an ice machine and we slept wonderfully despite the fact that it never gets dark…

I’ve never been keen on team games or hokey-pokey so I didn’t miss the Caribbean. Our Russian musicians played the accordion and the balalaika and we heard lectures on Russian history and handcrafts; matrioshka dolls; lacqueres fedoskino boxes with delicate brush-strokes applied by squirrel hairs; Faberge eggs; Pavlovsky shawls. I showed little potential in the language lessons. I mastered only one phrase which sounded like yellowbluebus - it’s apparently a declaration of love but our waiter appeared unmoved when I tried it out on him.

Meals on board are Russian. Beetroot salad features prominently and they’re pretty versatile with cabbage. But they were always fun as we got to know our waitrons, Sacha and Olga. She was gorgeous but flirtation was quite a challenge as she didn’t speak any English. The worst aspect of the meals was their timing. Supper at 7.00pm intrudes significantly into sundowner time – and breakfast at 8.00am is even more demanding. Each morning at 7.45am exactly, a dirge-like ‘musical wake-up call’ would flood the cabin. This was followed by an equally funereal greeting from the ship’s compere – a somber fellow who would have looked more at home in the firing squad facing the Tsar than he did behind a microphone. “Gutten morgen fellow travelers….’ It sounded like the knell of doom as we tried to hide under our pillows. You couldn’t switch him off. The day was officially in progress.

It’s a disconcertingly long day, with the sun dipping briefly below the horizon at about 11.00pm. Our fellow passengers, predominantly German, seemed determined to take full advantage of the sunshine and basked with determination on the deck, wrapped up in blankets if the prevailing breeze was Siberian in origin. The ship organizes transport to a variety of onshore attractions. I’d booked tickets over the internet for a performance of Aida at the Bolshoi – good seats for $20.00. Theatre’s affordable in Russia.

We started our journey in St Petersburg and were introduced to the Nevsky Prospekt, the city’s main thoroughfare, on a day of celebration. A carnival atmosphere. Balloons, music and banners. Crowds of well dressed people. Russian girls make an impact. Clear-skinned beauties, slim and sexy in skin tight jeans – new millennium girls on cell phones in a street lined with cathedrals, spires and domes, theatres, libraries, five star hotels. It’s a contradictory city. Our visit to St. Isaacs coincided with the 300th anniversary service conducted by the Patriarch of the Russian orthodox church. Crowds of babushkas, in scarves and lace up shoes thrust forward, hands held out to touch him. Another generation…

Like Venice, St Petersburg is a city of canals and it’s a good idea to board a passing boat – you get an overall perspective of the city’s elegant architecture. The Hermitage alone is overwhelming; Vaulted ceilings. Rosewood floors. Amber. Tapestries. A treasury of art. Vistas of the Neve River and its bridges stretch in one direction, a mass of flowering tulips in Catherine’s indoor garden in the other. I can’t begin to describe all that St Petersburg has to offer – pages of cultural events in historic venues were advertised daily. There were scheduled performances by 4 different city orchestras. Ballet. Theatre. Pop concerts. Clubs. We only scratched the surface.

I wasn’t impressed with Moscow as we started the city tour. It looked as if Stalin had been busy. Ugly apartment blocks. Concrete. Industrial development. Slow moving traffic as the Moscovites streamed home from their country dachas. Moscow looked like a city you’d need to get away from at the weekend. And then we reached Red Square. Flanked by the Kremlin. I grew up in the cold war days where communism was painted as a threat to the western world. These were the symbols of oppression. It seemed inconceivable that I was posing for a photograph underneath the multi-coloured domes of St Basils’s Cathedral.

The opulence of the armoury made far more of an impression than the Crown Jewels in London. There was a Faberge dandelion on display, each fragile seed tipped with a tiny diamond. And outside in the square, the giant screen used at the recent concert given to a crowd of twenty thousand people by Paul McCartney. The Moscow Times reported that twenty three years before, he’d written to Brezhnev to ask permission to perform at the Moscow Olympics. He never received an answer. Last month they paid him millions to realize his dream. Times have certainly changed in Russia.

Cruising also offers a glimpse of rural Russia. The route covers over one thousand kilometres between Russia’s cornerstone cities, giving some insight into the immensity of the country. We cruised for days on silent stretches of river, flanked by endless forests of birch and poplar. It was like stepping into a time warp as we docked in remote villages with unfamiliar names. Svirstroy. Kitzi – amazing wooden churches with cupolas and shingles reflecting the filtered sunshine. Uglich and Gorritsy – multi-coloured domes and spirals; a cappella choristers among the icons; holy words and ancient son.

We became aware of a peasant culture which has yet to move into the 21st century. Dilapidated wooden shacks. Corrugated iron roofs. Old women and children selling flowers. The village shops reminded me of farm stores in Zimbabwe – but with a lot more vodka! It seemed incongruous to see familiar brand names like Whiskas; Pedigree. Kit-Kat There are only four remaining nuns in the monastery at Kirillov but we saw a computer when we peered in through the window. Perhaps it’s not as isolated as it seems.

Russia won’t appeal to everyone. It’s not a first world destination. My camera was stolen on the metro. Another passenger was left with bruises after two men made off with is wallet. Australia with its five star food and service is a safer destination. But I think Russia’s worth the risk. I’ll never forget it.

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