ST PETERSBURG
amble up Central Avenue to the just-opened Imagine Museum, which showcases studio glass artworks. Over the hour we spend browsing the museum’s collection, I lose count of how many times we say “That’s cool” and “That’s amazing”.
Wandering back down Central Avenue, we pass shops and restaurants old and new as if time-travelling every few paces.
Feeling a little museumed-out, we seek out an encore performance by our glass harpist pal on the way back to our room.
Having been content to explore the compact down-town by foot, we agree with some reluctance to drive 9km west to the Reading Room for dinner. The new restaurant, which says it strives for “a modern approach at nostalgic tastes”, has been gushily praised by friends and media getting gushy praise from friends and media alike.
I can’t remember a dinner conversation focused so much on what’s on our plates and in our glasses. Gail says her sgroppino cocktail, garnished with a mint leaf affixed to the rim with a tiny clothespin, is better than any she has had in the drink’s Italian hometown of Venice. We debate whether the quirky and delicious beets and berries dish would work as well for breakfast as it does for dinner. Yes, we decide. We concur at first bite that the browned butter and persimmon cake, topped with a scoop of delicately funky La Tur cheese, is among the best desserts we’ve ever tasted.
Sunday morning brings fresh balcony-side theatre. Below, hotel staff scatter and hide hundreds of multicoloured plastic Easter eggs in preparation for children to hunt. Skyward, we spy an osprey that has swung by for breakfast and is flying north-east with a freshly nabbed fish in its talons.
t reminds me of the places we didn’t get to on this trip: the white sugar-sand beaches and the mangrove-lined waterways that can be explored by kayak. We’ll be back; after all, they, too, are only a short drive from home.