IT was one of the world’s more arcane ceremonies. I left my hotel just after midnight to witness a bridge opening. That is the raising of a bridge’s bascules, not a ribbon-snipping ceremony.
It was not even as if the event was rare— it happens almost every night in summer. But this was St Petersburg, where bridges are no mere river crossings, they are valves to the city’s soul. How else to account for the crowd of 300, nearly all Russians, who had already gathered beside the river Neva by the time I arrived? So had a pop band, a troupe of fire-eaters, refreshment stalls and shoals of sightseeing craft. A boardwalk of boats, packed across the water, gunwale to gunwale, hovered in front of the bridge like fish held in a current.
At 1.15 am, the bridge opened. The pop group, suddenly silent, was superseded by Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto No 1 ringing out from speakers on the bridge, the edges of which were picked out in azure lights. A bell rang and the six-lane roadway seemed to buckle in the middle before arching up in two vast slabs of Tarmac. It was as if it had raised its arms in exultation. As well it might.
Palace Bridge, scene of the festivities, crosses the Neva from the Winter Palace, the former residence of the Tsars, to Vasilievsky Island. Opened in 1916, and the last bridge to have been built before the revolution, it’s one of nine that open every night in summer.
Denne historien er fra December 25, 2019-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent ? Logg på
Denne historien er fra December 25, 2019-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
Allerede abonnent? Logg på
Kitchen garden cook - Apples
'Sweet and crisp, apples are the epitome of autumn flavour'
The original Mr Rochester
Three classic houses in North Yorkshire have come to the market; the owner of one inspired Charlotte Brontë to write Jane Eyre
Get it write
Desks, once akin to instruments of torture for scribes, have become cherished repositories of memories and secrets. Matthew Dennison charts their evolution
'Sloes hath ben my food'
A possible paint for the Picts and a definite culprit in tea fraud, the cheek-suckingly sour sloe's spiritual home is indisputably in gin, says John Wright
Souvenirs of greatness
FOR many years, some large boxes have been stored and forgotten in the dark recesses of the garage. Unpacked last week, the contents turned out to be pots: some, perhaps, nearing a century old—dense terracotta, of interesting provenance.
Plants for plants' sake
The garden at Hergest Croft, Herefordshire The home of Edward Banks The Banks family is synonymous with an extraordinary collection of trees and shrubs, many of which are presents from distinguished friends, garnered over two centuries. Be prepared to be amazed, says Charles Quest-Ritson
Capturing the castle
Seventy years after Christian Dior’s last fashion show in Scotland, the brand returned under creative director Maria Grazia Chiuri for a celebratory event honouring local craftsmanship, the beauty of the land and the Auld Alliance, explains Kim Parker
Nature's own cathedral
Our tallest native tree 'most lovely of all', the stately beech creates a shaded environment that few plants can survive. John Lewis-Stempel ventures into the enchanted woods
All that money could buy
A new book explores the lost riches of London's grand houses. Its author, Steven Brindle, looks at the residences of plutocrats built by the nouveaux riches of the late-Victorian and Edwardian ages
In with the old
Diamonds are meant to sparkle in candlelight, but many now gather dust in jewellery boxes. To wear them today, we may need to reimagine them, as Hetty Lintell discovers with her grandmother's jewellery
