St Petersburg

A woman is writing "I love you" in the snow on the parapet of the bridge, waiting for her man to arrive. Even though it is almost an hour after midnight and a light fall of flakes is drifiting gently down, people are still out on the streets near the Summer Garden and the Field of Mars, many walking their dogs. I'm heading home from the hotel where my parents are staying, having just arrived for a short visit to catch up with me and to experience the Venice of the North. Their first slice of Russian life had been the bus trip from the airport. Unlike most of the clientele at the Angleterre, they had eschewed a tinted Mercedes and opted for one of the bright yellow minibuses that plies an arcane and complex web of routes around the city. Mum was very pleased that she had been given the role of money collector for this trip, sitting at the front and collecting fares so that the driver is not distracted too much. This role is not always assigned and it can be a little nerve-wracking to watch the driver count out change from a 100 rouble note, weaving through several lanes of fast moving traffic in heavy snow. A second reminder of the difference in cultures came when Dad tried to order a non-alcoholic cocktail. The subsequent confused debate, which required the summoning of the manageress and the barman, concluded that he wanted a milkshake. Walking home I am offered some of a very evidently non-non-alcoholic beverage by two friendly guys, making slow and incredibly scenic progress away from a small bar, watched by some of the other clientele, who look grateful that the men have decided to call it a night.

Today is the day when Russia found out officially that its new President is devoted Deep Purple fan Dimitry Medvedev, though the result hadn't really been in doubt since December. In Moscow there are some unofficial protests that are dealt with swiftly but in St Petersburg there is an official demonstration. An official demonstration must be registered several days before, meaning this had to be organised before the election had even taken place, illustrating how little doubt there was about what the result would be. Even though the protest has been sanctioned there are thousands of police on the streets. One square is like a car park of large wheeled aggressive looking Militia trucks. The square is ironically named Vostania, which means Uprising.

It is well known that Russia has embraced capitalism with some fervour and indicators of this are everywhere. Looming large over the square of St Iaasc's Cathedral is the giant face of Penelope Cruz advertising some face cream that would undoubtedly have been considered unforgivably bourgeois a few decades ago. More stark evidence is the store for all things bling known as Hip Hop Pimp, adverts adorning lamp posts all over town. Finally, on the train this morning I noticed that the woman sleeping on the bottom bunk was carrying a board game with her, the most capitalist of them all: Monopoly.

There is obviously another side to this capitalist coin, that one can see in almost every street and metro station, those left behind in the rush to create a New Russia. Elderly ladies hold signs, either bright ones advertsing nearby shops or scuffily handwritten ones advertising their plight. It is as ubiquitous as it is frustrating, as one feels powerless to help so many people so obviously in need. As I walk home in the snow, my fingers just beginning to go numb, many of those I have seen today struggling for a few coins are facing the rest of the night in this bitter cold.