This morning, I decided to go to the museum of anomalies. This is Russia's first museum, and its curator was none other than Peter the Great. Good ole' Pete wanted to collect the bodies, fetuses, and remains of human and animal deformities and abnormalities in order to educate his people. He wanted to diffuse the fear associated with such things. I'm not convinced this is the way things turned out. This museum had the potential to be in line with The Mutter Museum in Philly. Buuuttt, it was just alright. It was just one room of deformed dead babies stuffed into jars filled with formaldehyde. Not enough to impress me!
I headed on to the Peter Fortress which was pretty cool. I found these high school kids sliding down the wooden observation desk because it had iced over. I followed suit. Probably not my best idea and I was wet for the rest of the cold cold damp day.
I ended at the Museum of Political History. This museum was awesome. However, it was incredibly confusing to navigate. It seemed everywhere I went I was going backward. And why? I kept trying and trying to reorient myself to no avail. So I just walked backwards through time. I'm a little confused about Russia's political history.
Tonight, I decided to go on a pub crawl. What a decision. I met an Australian couple and a bunch of cute fun Russian people. I decided to make myself the star of this pub crawl and I got plastered at the first bar. They kept giving out free shots. It wouldn't stop. I was concerned people wouldn't drink them and they would be wasted, the shots instead of the people I mean. I took this problem head on and headed to the second bar ten shots in.
The next bar had us drink shots with no hands. Done. And then I chugged a beer. We went to the next bar where body shots were involved. My friend Agus helped me with this one. Then I found out that Angus hates gay people and we almost got into a fight. My Aussie friend Travis held me back.
Finally we got to the club. Another Coyote Ugly. My Aussie friends were sick and they were asking me to help them home. Like I was the grand expert of St. Petersburg. Of course I helped them. The girl, Flur, threw up on my coat. And my new Russian friend Philippe walked me home. I was plastered. I got back to my hostel and runkenly (and likely very loudly) asked the hostel guy to wash my coat. He said "Of course! Anything can happen in St. Petersburg!" And then I cooked all of the pasta in the world. So much pasta. Literally so much pasta. And I ate it on my bed. At one point I lost my fork and was trying to explain this to a guy in my room that I lost my fork and he couldn't figure it out. I didn't end up finding it. I am starting to think I need someone to keep me on a lease.
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