Walking through the city of St. Petersburg, I find myself pulled this way and that in a world of paradoxes:

A beautiful woman, dressed in a red satin ball gown and a powdered wig, talks on a cell phone.

An old man dressed in rags begs for rubles in front of the flamboyant colors and gilded minarets of the Church of Spilled Blood.

A sleek black Bentley parks behind two boxy Skodas, which sit bumper to bumper resting on deflated tires. The palace-like residences of former noble men and women hide behind the bars of rusty construction scaffolding Cacophonous techno music and flashing lights announce that Coca-Cola is available for sale inside a faded green building adorned with pillars and elaborately carved figures from Greek mythology. The song "Don't Fear The Reaper" plays on the radio - in Italian - in a sushi bar where the waiter speaks only Russian.

Subtle signs around the city hint at the contrast between the old Soviet system and the emergence of a new capitalist system. A statue of Lenin stands in a plaza, still pontificating to the proletariat masses. He seems somewhat less impressive with a seagull perched on his head. The endless construction all over the city seems to be a metaphor for the transition that has turned out to be a bigger project than anticipated.

I find the paradoxes of this city and their historical and social implications to be fascinating, but by the time we leave St. Petersburg I am grateful to be going back out to sea. I have found it impossible to relax in such a hectic city, a city which does not seem sure of its identity yet. While I recognize what a privilege it has been to experience a snapshot of Russian culture, in the end I am glad to come back home to the ship. On the Concordia life is a bit more predictable, if not more tranquil.