From St. Peter with Love

If I lived in St. Petersburg, I'd live in Dostoevsky's old district. By the old haymarket where Raskolnikov killed the greedy old woman then spent 500 pages thinking and feeling sad about it. It's a semi-quiet section now, just several blocks from a bustling market of goods where John thought we'd certainly be robbed. We weren't.

I'd get extremely skinny because I'd walk everywhere. And since it's Russia and since I'm walking, I'd only take the money I absolutely needed to make it through the particular day. No wallet. No passport. Just the definite minimum needed to minimize the damage should I be robbed. And I'm certain I'd be robbed at some point.

The problem then, with this plan, is that at some point I'd be asked by a nice man in uniform to show him my passport and incredibly hard to get Visa and registration-which I of course will not have on me. I'd then be kindly escorted to a Russian prison.