Rolling through St. Petersburg

Posted by Mark Silva at 2:15 am CDT

ST. PETERSBURG, Russia - It was near midnight in a narrow city lane outside the Hermitage, only one of the many palatial wonders that line the streets, squares and canals of this majestic seaport, and there was still ample light in the sky.

A few dozen young men and women on rollerblades came rolling down the two-lane alley followed by a few dozen more, and then a few hundred appeared behind them - appearing, on this dully skylighted lane, like some sort of White Nights marathon. They streamed past me without much chatter, but with the rail-like sound of hard wheels on paved streets, and by the time they passed I was certain that I had seen a couple thousand bladers.

It's the random street encounters, as much as the glamor of the countless beautiful streets themselves, that make a twilight stroll through St. Petersburg breath-taking, and the twilight at this time of year is unshakable.

For sure, this city that Tsar Peter the Great built in the early 1700s is not all wonderful.

The beach along the Gulf of Finland at the mouth of the port is a gritty composite of rough stones, broken glass and bottle-tops, with an unsavory clientel in some parts, and the hulking, unadorned cement buildings of the Soviet-era ideal of urban housing remain as eyesores on the cityscape, housing a certain high-rise squalor, it seems.

But then there is the gentle if diesel-scented ride by hydrofoil from the boat terminal at the port, ferrying people down the wide Neva River that flows past the original fortress of Petrograd, Hermitage and other monuments to a grand vision of civilization, and the Soviets may be forgiven for the unthinkable interruption of this city's progress. Today, CCCP is merely the name of a loud bar on the Nevsky Prospect, the wide boulevard of trendy shops and old churches where Dostoievsky lived and Tschaikovsky died.

OK, there was a smelly hydrofoil jam on the way to G-8 summit central this morning. And we have not taken the scenic river route, but rather an open gulf crossing.

Or it may have been only our boat whose journey was foiled - a frantic crew tossed ropes to another hydrofoil, and we stepped across a gangplank to the rescue ship, which of course grew only more crowded with the aquisition of a second full load of passengers. But, then, this is the G-8 - the annual summit for the Group of Eight leading industrial nations - which, in our post-9/11 era of paranoia and surplus security, has redefined the concept of total inconvenience. Passing from Point A to Point B at the G-8 is an exercise in superhuman patience. It makes the goal of reaching Point C seem pointless - except that it takes too long to return to Point A.

Our rescue foil finally churned and foamed and then launched for an out-of-river experience that any good urban commuter ought to experience once in his life - a fast ride over choppy water, a sort of mechanical transfer of nature. I was glad now that I had swallowed only two Russian pilsners the night before at the sidewalk cafe where I watched the White Night rollers. It was Boyka. It was good.

Settled in at the international press filing center now, I am getting ready for a press conference with President Bush and President Vladimir Putin, who had dinner last night, shared talk about the first cars that they had owned and headed into a private meeting this morning. Bush and Putin will take some questions as the G-8 prepares to get underway here tomorrow -- but more poignantly, as a widening crisis in the Middle East consumes the attention of Bush, Putin and every other leader assembling on the fabulous stage of St. Petersburg, where the roller-bladers move in marathon fashion.