Roanoke Times
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: SUNDAY, July 18, 1993 TAG: 9307180222
SECTION: HORIZON PAGE: F-6 EDITION: METRO
SOURCE: SHARON NICHOLAS
DATELINE: LENGTH: Long
Sunsets hang, suspended, after 19-hour days. Visitors stroll the cobblestone streets and grand avenues and read on park benches, while behind heavy curtains, residents try to keep some semblance of rhythm to their waking and sleeping hours. Eventually dusky twilights deepen, never really giving way to night. The sun circles the cities like a tilted halo, slipping barely below the horizon before dawning in anticipation of its extended sunrise.
Every summer, the 200-passenger Seabourn Pride cruises the land of the white nights, docking in spots larger ships can never reach. Passengers realize a more intimate connection with prosperous Stockholm, steadfast Helsinki, newly-independent Tallinn, Estonia, and czar Peter the Great's window to Europe, St. Petersburg.
An archipelago in the northwest Baltic leads to Stockholm. The ship, alerted to jutting land masses by pint-sized lighthouses, winds through hundreds of hilly, forested islands crowned on rocky outcroppings with lavish summer homes.
In the bustling harbor, the Pride docks across from the narrow, cobblestone streets of medieval Gamla Stan (Old Town), near the Royal Palace of Sweden's constitutional monarchy. Slender buildings reach four to five stories high, their yellow, curry, and terra cotta exteriors crowned with elaborate baroque peaks.
During the day, this shop-lined maze of winding pathways teems with locals and tourists. At night, clubs keep the district humming. But its richness seems best expressed just after dawn when horizontal sunbeams stream into passageways filled with little more than a few early-rising Swedes walking their dogs. The warm glow of the buildings emphasizes the delicate ironwork of the lamps and signs. Flower beds glisten. Occasional whiffs of fresh-brewed coffee from tiny cafes mix with the brisk sea air. If, like Sweden's Greta Garbo, you "vant to be alone," this is the time.
Stockholm stretches across 14 islands of varying character. Bridges link the historic, commercial and residential sections, as well as an immaculate, terraced, thoroughly contemporary industrial section with cranes disguised as giraffes. Glimpses of these facets of the city glide by during a relaxing boat excursion.
After three days in port, the Pride exits the channel amidst flotillas of recreational boats which, from all appearances, outnumber cars. These are, after all, Viking descendants.
Across the Baltic, at the mouth of the Gulf of Finland, Helsinki bridges the East and West. As opposed to the broad, scenic archipelago heralding the Swedish capital, a narrow channel blasted from granite approaches the Finnish capital.
Helsinki's unorthodox Rock Church was hewn from a 40-foot high outcropping of bedrock. Natural light filtering through the rotunda's dome brightens concerts and orthodox religious services, both mainstays throughout the country. The Finns love organ music. So much, that a sculpture of organ pipes pays tribute to native son Jean Sibelius - who never wrote a note of organ music. No matter. The sculptor expressed the national feeling that the spirit of Sibelius' music rises through the pipes to heaven.
But it's not all serious, or perhaps even sane, here, as exemplified by their invention of what is now an international "relaxation" technique. First, simmer in boiling heat. Then, submit to a lashing with birch twigs. Finally, jump into an icy lake. In other words, we have the Finns to thank for the sauna.
Central Helsinki bustles with pedestrians along the design shops of the Esplanade which, nearer the harbor, opens into the Market Square crowded with fruit, flower and fish stalls reminiscent of the city's days as a small seaport.
Just 80 miles south of that seaport, across the Gulf of Finland, freedom awakens in Tallinn, Estonia. Its strategic location on a par with Helsinki's, Tallinn had fallen under the rule of Denmark, Sweden, Germany and Russia. Annexed by the Soviets in 1940, Tallinn eagerly welcomed Estonia's declaration of independence in 1991 when the U.S.S.R. collapsed.
Although Soviet, the people identified more with Scandinavia. At their renowned song festivals, choruses of 30,000 passionate Estonians sang to patriotic audiences 10 times that size. Their location and yacht-building reputation made the Estonians a natural host for the yachting events of Moscow's 1980 Olympics.
Below the hilltop vantage point of Toompea Castle, an ancient walled fortress, a panorama of this photogenic, walkable old town of stone buildings emerges from a forest of trees. Red, medieval cottage rooftops snake around the labyrinth of cobblestone paths while turrets, steeples and spires punctuate the view.
Cruising east through the Gulf of Finland, up the Neva River, the Pride sails past miles of shipyards into the heart of St. Petersburg. In 1992, she was the first cruise ship to dock here where only small vessels can venture, just a block from the main avenue, Nevsky Prospekt.
Czar Peter the Great built the city - first known as St. Petersburg, then Petrograd, then Leningrad, now St. Petersburg - from a grand plan. Pastel buildings, rarely rising higher than four stories, create a horizontal image. Architects from throughout Europe designed intricately-decorated baroque, rococo and neoclassical stone edifices.
Each building was a note in a harmony of building ensembles, all complementing the palaces, fortresses, monuments and squares. Thousands of stonemasons and carpenters shaped the impassioned dream spanning 42 islands linked by 400 bridges over 65 waterways.
Today, the Hermitage art museum in the Winter Palace of the Czars, with its majestic rooms of marble, lapis and malachite, houses 13 miles of corridors lined with masters the caliber of Rembrandt, Van Gogh and da Vinci. A more personal, relaxed atmosphere graces the countryside Summer Palace.
A not-so-grand part of the early ruling legacy was Rasputin, the rogue Siberian monk who schemed, manipulated and held powerful influence over the imperial family. In its 300 years, St. Petersburg has endured more corruption, ineptitude and misguidance in its leadership than it has enlightened vision. As a result, this jewel is in dire need of restoration and preservation.
Despite decades, sometimes centuries of neglect, the city was so brilliantly conceived that powerful, extraordinary experiences arise around every corner. Along the streets and waterways stand symbols of a people and culture with worldwide influence.
True to Peter's vision of the city as Russia's window to the West, St. Petersburg captured the romance of the Russian soul that has inspired countless poets, writers, composers, dancers and not least, its people.
Pavlova, Makarova and Baryshnikov danced on the Kirov Theater stage. Tchaikovsky composed behind the iron grillwork of a certain window. From behind other balconies came the operas and epics of Mussorgsky, Borodin and Rimsky-Korsakov. Tolstoy frequently visited this home town of Dostoyevsky, where Chekhov staged his plays. Pushkin, the 19th century poet who remains the people's favorite, captured the Russian soul here.
One literary son, Joseph Brodsky, described his city as "a stalled train bound for eternity." Another, Dmitry Likhachev, believes it is "destined to replay its role as a window into Europe." St. Petersburg arouses emotions in even fleeting visitors who, too, hope for restored glory and eternity for this, the heart of the white nights.
Sharon Nicholas is a free-lance travel writer who lives in Parker, Colo.
by CNB