It was a beautiful day in the neighborhood, blue skies, sunny, in the 60s. The faces of people in the street were perceptibly sunnier too, their expressions more cheerful. I decided to take advantage of this brilliant day and do some of the audio tour walks, building in little respites so I don’t over do it. My art-finding mission will be met by visiting two of the churches on my must-see list; St. Issacs and The Church on the Spilled Blood.** Plus, it’s Sunday.

I made a simple plan using Google maps – 10 minutes to an old school coffee shop, The Nutcracker, near that balletomane shrine, the Mariinsky Theater. I’d pause for a restorative espresso, then walk another 25 minutes to the childhood home of Vladimir Nabokov, and pause again to genuflect before the master wordsmith and lepidopterist. Another 15 minutes walk would take me to the monumental ecclesiastic architecture of St Isaac’s Cathedral. After absorbing all the spiritual grace available, walk eight minutes to the well-reviewed Teplo restaurant. From there, Uber over to Church on the Spilled Blood, that postcard for St Petersburg, followed by dinner at Fruktovaya Lavka, another eight minutes walk, and a final Uber back to the hotel. Sounds like a modest plan, right?

Did I mention I’m listening to an audio book of Speak, Memory, Nabokov’s blindingly intelligent , deeply evocative memoir of his life in pre-soviet Russia? Yep, and it’s read by someone with the most sonorous, basso profundo voice you can imagine. Hearing Nabokov describe growing up in a St. Petersburg mansion and on country estates, his patrimony and lineage part of the air he breathed, the inevitable future losses shadowing every bright memory –  fencing in the library, evading his fat French governess, seeking secluded halls of the Hermitage for sexual trysts – was an excellent choice.

Here’s what happened.

I didn’t stop for the coffee because wasn’t tired and wanted to push on while I was still fresh. Nabokov house, listed on the internet as open on Sunday, was closed today. A piece of paper in the window broke the news. I was passing Teplo before I got to the cathedral so I stopped and drew a lapdog on one of the pair of chalkboards that line the alley entry to the restaurant.

Walked on to St. Issac’s Cathedral and, after a brief battle with the ticket-dispensing machinery, successfully bought a ticket to both the interior and to climb to the top of the bell tower. The interior is vast. I made myself dizzy looking up.

Lit seven candles for family and friends before an icon of the Virgin.

So much hope and heartbreak represented by these slender candles.

I headed over to climb up the the 200 plus steps – Robin, you are my inspiration – and realized I’d lost my ticket. Ah well. Maybe it’s for the best, a sign of a benevolent creator.

I walked back to the charming Teplo and had a great meal of sautéed fish and fresh vegetables.

The menus were totes adorb.

The whole place had a childlike, Mr. Rogers comes to Russia vibe, like this giant courtyard chess set for children.

Ubered to Church on the Spilled Blood, with it’s fairytale exterior. Consider that most fairytales are terrifying. The wolf eats grandma, the mermaid walks on knives, parents abandon their children in the woods. It’s better to show than tell about the interior. Here’s a glimpse of a corner. spilled blood video.

I appreciated the audio guide, especially for the specifics on how different mosaics were created. To an artist, that’s fascinating.

After an hour of craning my neck and staring agog, I walked up the main drag, Nevsky Prospect, hoping to find some Russian cosmetics to take back home to my girls. No luck, one place directed me to another, and so forth. But I did get to see this other Love, Actually moment. There was smooching and he was, adorably, trading his hat for hers, completely oblivious to the crowds surging by on the street.

It was getting lateish, after 6, so I checked Google maps and thought a 30 minute walk, that’s not so bad, and I need to buy some milk. I set out in the direction of my hotel.I shouldn’t have. I really shouldn’t have.

That last fifteen minutes I went from tired to limping to painful hobbling. I need to face the fact that just because I think I ought to be able to do it, and I am willing to do it, doesn’t mean I can do it or I should do it.  In all, I walked 6.8 miles. I think five miles is my limit. I will for damn sure take Uber everywhere tomorrow. I’ll be aided in my resolve by the fact it’s supposed to rain all day.

** So named because it marks the exact spot where Tzar Alexander II was blown up by terrorist’s bomb in 1881. Plus ça change, plus c’est la même chose. Funded by the imperial family,  it housed a shrine and held memorial services for the fallen Tzar. After the October Revolution it was used as a morgue and as a vegetable warehouse. It’s now officially the Museum of Mosaics. Thank God.