4

On a dove-grey Sunday afternoon I join a small

group of fellow passengers for tea at the home of Larisa

Baltrukova in a kommunalka – a communally organised

block of flats – in a tidy residential district of central

Saint Petersburg composed of late-19th-century

apartment buildings with wedding-cake façades. A plaque

by the main entrance says the building was nationalised

in 1917 under Lenin, who created this socialist-style living

as a way of accommodating the city’s rapidly growing

population during a time of acute housing shortages.

Thin light filters through lace curtains at the three

tall windows in Baltrukova’s living room as she fills

teacups and serves cakes – one filled with sweet curd

cheese, another with minced meat and onions – from

Stolle, one of the best-known bakeries in the city.

Through an interpreter, she says she’s a trained nurse

and the widow of an admiral in the navy, and she lived

in Vladivostock in the Russian far east for many years.

Twelve years ago she bought her flat, with its shared

kitchen and bathroom, for the equivalent of $US27,000.

“How is life in Russia today – better or worse than it

was during the days of the Soviet Union?” asks a woman

from London. The sixtysomething Baltrukova smiles

briefly and cocks her head. “Life was more civil, stable

and better organised during the Soviet times, especially

the Brezhnev years. People were better disciplined and

thought of the well-being of their community rather

than just their own needs and desires,” she says, deftly

exposing the ambient nostalgia for the Soviet Union

that fuels the popularity of President Vladimir Putin.

“But what of your young grandson, who never

knew the Soviet Union?”

“He loves the Western pop stars, but I worry for

his future,” she says. “He cannot find a job doing the

medical technician work he trained for, so he will have

to settle for something that pays less well.”

On the way back to the ship, our guide circumspectly

echoes our host’s assessment of Russia’s foreign policy.

“We want to be friends with every country, but Putin

had no choice but to try and restore Russia to its rightful

place in the world,” he says gravely,

adding, “and it was wrong of you to

take parts of our country into NATO.”

There’s often a frisson in conversations

during this journey – a pervasive

assumption of being misunderstood

and a polite insistence that visitors

try to appreciate the point of view of

Russians. (A young guide even says

cheerfully one day, “Enjoy your trip

to Russia, ladies and gentlemen.

And remember, we will be nice

to you, if you will be nice to us.”)

I wondered if the kitchen and bars

on board theIngvarwould be affected

by the draconian import bans and

restrictions Russia has imposed on many European

foods and wines in retaliation for the economic

sanctions imposed on the country after it annexed

Crimea in 2014. “Yes, the sanctions have made

supplying the ship more complicated and expensive,”

says Daniel, the unfailingly gracious maître d’hotel,

when I ask. “But we’ve also discovered many more

good Russian products than we used before. So the

silver lining is perhaps a greater authenticity.”

Rather than the bland international menu I feared,

the daily offer is largely Russian. Dishes such as

rassolnik, often made with giblets and pickles, but which

appears here as a rich chicken soup, are regular features;

as well as pelmeni, little meat-filled dumplings that are

a Siberian specialty; and Pozharsky cutlets, meat or fish

rissoles encased in crisp bread cubes.

The wines, too, are a highlight. There’s an extensive

list of Russian and Georgian wines, and a range of

Above:

matryoshka dolls

in Uglich. Below:

pelmeni with

pickles, cabbage

slaw and beef

stew on board

theViking Ingvar.

146 GOURMET TRAVELLER