Originally sent April 29, 2002

Zdravstvuitye!

. . . and that's just how you spell "hello." You know, it's quite difficult finding an internet cafe in a city that doesn't speak your language. It's especially difficult when the map you are using displays all the street names in english and yet the actual streets themselves display their names in Russian characters that bear absolutely no resemblence to the english on your map. Be that as it may, we believe we left you last in Ireland . . .

Galway was much changed from the first time Sean visited in in 1993 and has even changed significantly from when we were both here last year. Galway now has a sizeable shopping mall, sprawling pastel suburban housing and, like other Irish cities, quite a cosmopolitan population. Even with this, the fish and chips at McDonough's are still the best in the world, the Quay is still picturesque and people still busk along Shop Street ("Busking," for those who don't know, means playing music on the street - a much more respected practice over here than it is stateside; one might see anything from a string quartet or a full choir to someone with bagpipes or the traditional person + guitar configuration). We dropped in on Michael Vignoles, the local craftsman who made Sean's bodrhan and Aubie's famous 500-year-old pen last time we were here. He was glad to see us and would like to know if anyone in San Francisco would like one of his pens? (just thought we'd pass that along for him) We hung out for a few days, had some oysters (a necessity in Galway), hot chocolate and Guinness (respectively), did some busking ourselves and then climbed back in our rented Nissan (who, by that time, had been named "Fergus") and continued on our way.

We have been driving the Irish coastline, following the ocean from Dingle on our way up to Connemara. The countryside has been lovely and the best glass of Guinness so far is way out on loop drive in County Clare, in a place called "Foley's" just down the street from a sign that proudly reads, "Closest pub to New York!" Lochs (lakes), bogs, mountians and swaths of beautiful countryside later, we left Galway behind and stopped into an incredible town almost exactly midway between Galway and Dublin called Athlone ("At-loan") to see Jackie and Mark, a couple of our good friends. They swept us out onto the beautiful river Shannon on Mark's boat, "Streams of Whiskey," made us dinner on the boat and took us to their local pub(which is reportedly the oldest pub in Ireland) where they embarassed poor Kim by getting the people performing that night to invite us up to sing. This resulted in enthusiastic pub-goers gushing over Kim for the next hour, much to everyone's amusement. According to the people in the pub that night, when we arrive to live in Ireland we'll be able to live soley on the proceeds from performing our music (well, there goes four years of good college education! *grin*). We stayed in Athlone for another day, sleeping out on the river (you have no idea what a good night's sleep is until you've slept on a gently rocking boat) before entering the dangerous and greatly feared Freeways of Dublin. We cannot emphasize the terror of this enough. To give you some idea: if you were to take the section of 880 that passes through Oakland during friday rush hour, move it up into the hills, strip it down to two lanes, get rid of the shoulder and put up stone walls on each side that encroach within an inch of the passing traffic, you may have some idea of what driving around parts of Dublin is like on a week day. It's great fun . . . for masochists.

Well, we survived said terror to spend three painfully short days visiting many members of our awesome family, all who were UNBELIEVEABLY hospitable and accomodating. We were whisked around Dublin by loving family members who wouldn't hear of us lifting a finger to help with anything and kept us in stitches the entire time (those of you who met some of them at the wedding know what we're talking about). The only consolation we had was that we get to see much more of these people when we move out here next October. We were escorted to Dublin airport saturday, only to have the flight delayed due to a computer error, causing us to miss our connecting flight to Russia in London. Not to fear - Nancy Langham is here! Oh yes, despite the fact that we were completely exhausted from staying up until the wee hours Friday night trying to squeeze in a few last precious minutes with our family, Nancy served us tea and enthusiasm with a hot shower on the side, a mixture strong enough to convince us to head out with her and her friends to see a play one of them had written and produced, followed by some late-night London craziness. Back to the airport, feeling like the luckiest couple in the world for our incredible family and friends, we finally caught that flight to St. Petersburg, Russia.

St. Petersburg resonates with a stifled glory. The city itself is beautiful - the soaring columns of its buildings line the broad streets that stand beside the many canals the city was built upon. Though we've only been here for a day, it took only minutes for this city to impress itself upon us. The marble subway stations with iron and gold detailing, the ubiquitous ceiling bosses and intricate moulding, the sheer size of everything - buildings that stretch on for a quarter mile, bronze statues of people and horses at 10 times actual scale . . .even a shot of liquor at a bar (which we've not yet experienced, but have been told) is a whopping 50ml. How does one stifle something so grand, you are wondering? The colors are mostly black and grey - imposing, but reserved. The people here are loud in language and laughter . . . but somber outside of conversation. Most faces on the street are in some version of a scowl, transforming startlingly to wide smiles when they are amused or come across someone they know. Lively modern stores and hangouts are shut behind huge iron or oaken doorways. Neon lights are at a premium for such a big city - you almost have to arrive in front of a place to see if it's open, let alone what kind of place it is. There is a sense of difference here . . . like an alternate universe. Modern life here is thinly veiled behind a city whose face has changed little in 200 years - Sean commented yesterday that it reminds him of what San Francisco may have been like 50 years ago. The subway is a shopping mall a la Blade Runner - dark and crowded and bustling with anything and everything you could possibly want.

Ah, and we would be remiss should we not mention our meal last night. Oh. My. Goodness. Before we left her, Nancy commented that Russian food is "dire." This could not be further from the truth. Want to eat well? Come to Russia. Last night we had a "simple" meal: Kim had her first real befstroganaf (beef stroganoff), Sean had katlety pakiefski (chicken kiev) accompanied by some incredibly delicious red wine and beer (respectively) and preceded by two soups (salanka and borshch . . . heck if we know what they're made with) that were so hearty we could hardly finish our main course. We are told that in Russia, this kind of meal is considered a "snack." It resembled a snack in one way: the price. We stumbled home past a hundred delectable restaurants, holding our bellies. Sean discovered that Russians are not all about Vodka, they also love their beer (each brand of Russian beer has over 20 varieties or some such craziness), Kim discovered that Russians are not just adept in the creation of stroganav, they love themselves some pasta too(her favorite), and hey - we all know that Russians have created some of the best literature, music, architecture and dance the world has ever known. AND how - boy, do they know how to eat. God bless Mother Russia.

Until the next installation - da svidanya!

-the Lightholders