How I Met My Russian Mail-Order Bride

Thirty-six sleepless hours after leaving home, our group arrived at the Pulkovskaya Hotel in St. Petersburg. On the outskirts of the city, the hotel was surrounded by Stalin-era apartment buildings and a huge boulevard that you could only cross underground. It reminded me of decaying late-1970s New York City.

There were two socials scheduled that week. We barely had time to acclimate before we were whisked by bus to Hollywood Nights, a disco on Nevsky Prospekt in the center of town. The men were allowed in first, while the women invitees waited outside in the lobby.

As we entered, there was a considerable buzz, much like when celebrities make public appearances. I found this odd, considering the sorry bunch of losers, myself included, that I perceived our group to be.

After an hour, and several uncomfortable attempts at conversation, I met Olga. She spoke perfect English, with a British accent. We spent the rest of the evening together and made a date for the following day. I could barely sleep that night.

The next day, I arrived at our meeting place. Olga was 30 minutes late, offering no explanation. We took a cab to the riverfront and boarded a boat to Peterhof, the Italian-designed Summer Palace of the Tsars built by Peter the Great, which is now a museum. Located on the Gulf of Finland, it features ornate golden fountains and elaborate French gardens.

Our conversations were not as comfortable as the previous night, but we spent the day admiring the grounds, took the boat back, wandered around the city, and said goodnight.

I spent the next three days exploring the city, with a few uneventful dates in between. Each morning I took the Metro to Nevsky and walked around.