My Stendhal in St. Petersburg

“Never lose hope of being amazed...”

St. Petersburg is simply colossal.

Its history ranges from the Europeanizing wishes of its ideologue, Peter the Great, to the seizure of the Winter Palace during the Russian Bolshevik revolution of 1917.

It was baptized with various names: Petrograd, Leningrad and finally St. Petersburg (in honor of the patron saint), although the locals call it Peter and in the world is also known as the Venice of the North, for its canals escorted by lavish palaces.

The city is an open-air museum. Besides its infinite number of palaces, which were able to host meetings of Catherine the Great's court, it transcends its department stores, such as the imposing Eliseyev Emporium or the Book House at the Singer building, symbols of the strong merchant class of the 19th century that adopted modernism and commissioned the construction of these emblematic buildings in the art nouveau style. The Russian Orthodox Cathedrals and Churches, such as St. Isaac's or Our Lady of Kazan, whose semicircular neoclassical colonnade can be seen from the café on the second floor of the building made by the sewing machine company, also deserve to be acknowledged.

In the context of such a diversity of proposals, the planning of my visit was a challenge.

I had the good sense to book a fine hotel, that guarantee me bilingual reception and cordial attention, something that is not abundant in the streets of Russia, since only the youngest understand English and the population in general is unsociable.

Although more than the genius of the traveler, in the election prevailed the desire to treat myself with an stay in the official accommodation of the famous Hermitage Museum.

The State Hermitage Museum Official Hotel not only houses works of art from its collection, a spa worthy of a Tsarina, a delicious breakfast accompanied by a masterfully played harp in the golden room, but guarantees you a direct entrance to the museum. In short, it was one of those self indulgence that consolidate an eternal memoir... Even more so if the hours of searching awarded you with a fabulous discount on the total amount to be paid for the four nights' reservation.

The excitement of being able to mark the visit to the Hermitage on my list was proportional to the monumental city.

However, the excessive number of visitors that crowded the halls, rooms and staircases of the once palace percursed its beauty. It was difficult for me to appreciate its charm when I had to repeat "excuse me" to make my way through so many groups of noisy Asians.

After a few hours, the visit was over and the sensation did not shape my spirit.

The next day it was the turn of Catherine's Palace, the summer residence of the czars, about 25 kilometers from the city center.

On the way I remembered the impression I had when I entered the Hall of Mirrors at the age of 23, when I visited the Palace of Versailles. That was so profound that I still remember that change of heart when seeing myself surrounded by so much beauty.

It was the French writer called Henri Beyle, better known by his pseudonym Stendhal, who in his notebooks from his trip to Florence described the effects of contemplating the Church of Santa Croce, which were later characterized by psychiatry as Stendhal's Syndrome. It is described as a psychosomatic illness that produces tachycardia, vertigo or confusion before the beauty of a work of art.

Well, the light blue summer palace was truly sensational. However, the mixture of styles, perhaps the excess of gilding in its moldings, the overloaded decorations of its halls or simply, once again, the overcrowding of visitors, overshadowed its greatness.

I was then convinced that the contamination suffered by the traveler when so many majestic features are agglutinated in his retina seriously affects the surprise factor, that which I had felt so vividly on my first trip to France.

I felt happiness in St. Petersburg, but not the exaltation so long-awaited... Until, a little by the recommendation of a free walking tour guide, and another little by chance, I passed by the Church of the Savior on Spilt Blood. I was portraying its surreal, multicolored domes in the shape of onions (in the style of St. Basil's Cathedral in Moscow) when I decided to buy the ticket and enter.

It was there that, without waiting, I felt that stupor a few steps away, when I looked at the very high walls full of figures and scenes with amazing perfection. 

I confess that I thought I was in the presence of beautiful frescoes, but to my surprise they were millions of vibrantly colored and little mosaic covering the floor and ceiling. I noticed how my heart was pounding and I smiled. I was convinced then that my capacity for amazement remained within me. 

Then followed the relief and satisfaction of having "suffered" Stendhal Syndrome in the huge St. Petersburg..