New Year in Saint Petersburg

I had been wanting to make this journey for a long time. This past New Year’s Eve finally gave me the occasion: visiting my boyfriend’s hometown, Saint Petersburg.

Winter 2025. Visa arranged in less than a week, flights booked from Munich via Istanbul, one of the few viable routes. A slightly complicated journey, but perhaps fitting for a destination that had, for a long time, felt just out of reach.

29 December 2025

I land late at night at Pulkovo Airport (Пулково). In my bag: euros in cash, ready to be exchanged into rubles. Cards, as expected, do not work. A small, practical reminder that I have arrived somewhere different. I wait, then I see him. Relief.

Even before landing, the moment had felt surreal. At the gate in Istanbul, I took a photo of the screen showing the destination: Saint Petersburg. It made the journey real.

It is my first time in Russia under these circumstances, and yet not my first time in the city. I had been here once before, in 2010, in the height of summer. This feels like a different place entirely.

We drive through the city. Snow falls quietly. The river Neva River (Нева) is frozen, covered in white. Familiar landmarks appear, but softened, almost muted. Where once there were crowds, now there are only a few figures, scattered outside bars and restaurants at the end of their evening.

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We reach the apartment, our квартира (apartment) for the week. It is located in a residential complex, monumental in scale: several high-rise buildings, each rising twenty floors or more. An elevated inner courtyard with playgrounds, New Year trees, and narrow pedestrian paths carved through the snow.

The entrance door is heavy, metal, resisting the wind. When it closes behind us, the storm disappears. Inside, warmth. Everywhere, warmth. A contrast so immediate it feels almost theatrical.

30 December 2025

After a long sleep, we head to his mother’s home. I have been looking forward to this moment for years. The warmth here is different. Not just physical.

She welcomes us with a meal already prepared: fish patties, sautéed salmon, and чай (tea), always present. We sit, we talk, we eat. New Year’s Eve is approaching, and preparations are already underway.

We discuss the menu. I learn about Оливье (Olivier salad), its variations, its significance.

Later, we take out the New Year tree and open boxes filled with decorations. Some are unmistakably old, almost fragile. In the following days, I will see similar ones in museums dedicated to Soviet domestic life. Tinsel, конфеты (wrapped sweets, used as decoration), lights, garlands. The tree becomes dense, layered, almost excessive. Beautiful.

In the evening, we go to the supermarket. Open late, almost continuously. We follow a handwritten list and fill the cart: salmon, meat, колбаса (sausage), икра (caviar), herbs, cucumbers, tomatoes, mandarins, persimmons. Everything needed for the tomorrow's New Year's dinner.

31 December 2025

The last day of the year. We wake up late. Sunlight enters the room. The sun. Unexpected, almost striking. I decide to go for a run. Layers: thermal base, sweater, down jacket, windbreaker. Hat, headband, gloves. Ready.

Outside, the city is transformed. Blue sky, bright light, snow covering everything. Not the rooftops, though. Here, the skyline is dominated by large residential blocks, their flat roofs hidden from view. Only small kiosks and lower structures carry visible layers of snow.

The streets are busy, but no one is running. People look at me with curiosity and surprise.

I have no internet, no maps. I memorize the street and run straight ahead. Five kilometers out, then back the same way.

In the afternoon, we return to his mother’s home. Preparations are in full motion.

The table begins to take shape. A true праздничный стол (festive table). She has already baked two cakes, prepared meat, fish patties, boiled potatoes. We assemble the salads: Olivier, винегрет (vinegret, beetroot salad), and others. We prepare бутерброды (open sandwiches) with salmon and caviar, slice different types of колбаса.

Guests arrive. The table fills. Conversations begin.

I do not speak much Russian, but I follow, contribute, connect where I can. The atmosphere is lively, layered, generous. The television is on. At midnight, the presidential New Year speech plays. Then the evening continues, between food and conversation.

I try a homemade cherry liqueur, something close to what we would call maraschino in Italy.

Later, we step outside into the snowy courtyard. Fireworks begin. The sky lights up across the city, not from one place, but everywhere at once.

We return inside. The table remains full, as it will for the coming days.

Tomorrow is the first day of the year.