Rookie in Saint Petersburg
Hello all,
I have a last minute trip to SpB, have never been. Trying to use googlemaps to figure out which photomodeli is closest to my hotel but there must be something "lost in translation." Am staying at 27 Kryukov Canal Embankment (Aleksander's House). Can anyone help? Also, if there are bars close by I should try for the talent. Or really any other thoughts. I would love to have them. My Russian is only good enough for a couple of exchanges.
Thanks in advance!
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Gotika Strip Club Review Oct 08
While in St.Petersburg last year in October, I had an unfortunate experience at one of the strip clubs. This will be a long post, but somewhat entertaining and educational I think. I should have posted it a long time ago, but as you can see it is a somewhat embarrassing of every mistake that a newbie can make, and I guess I was a little sheepish in admitting it publicly.
******
Backstory
It was my first trip to Russia, and the first few days had been a disappointing experience. Although I had enjoyed a great POV porn shoot with mixphoto.com, my experience with the pros/semipros had been very disappointing. (the pro from Mamba.ru and the semi pro from Magrib).
I ventured out on a Saturday to Club Lodovic after it was recommended on the forum and confirmed by a local I met at an internet bar. In hindsight it was not really a suitable bar for a foreigner with limited Russian, but I had a good time (albeit without making any progress whatsoever with any freebies or semi pros).
At approx 4am I took a gypsy taxi back to my Oksanas apartment on Nevsky. It was next to a strip club named Gotika, and there were always marketing guys outside trying to aggressively hustle any foreigner (single man?) inside, and tonight was no exception.
I was in a crappy mood after my various experiences with different types of Russian sex worker con artists, but I was also horny and I decided to go in and check it out.
*****
Entering Gotika
The bar was downstairs, a basement type bar, and I had to get buzzed in through one of the typical Russian heavy steel doors. Entrance was 600 rubles(!), and included a coat check.
As I entered the small club (seating for 50 max), it was pretty empty. There were quite a number of girls, and after I ordered a simple Perrier (I had already drunk plenty that night) I was treated to various aggressive sales pitches. Although the prices were absurd (10k ruble for a two girls massage/lesbian 30 min in a private room), I was horny. Eventually I settled on a lean cute girl for 6k rubles 30 min private room massage.
The massage was good, and of course was nude and included the typical erotic elements and happy ended. However we ran late, and thus the hostess was banging on the door at the end and hustled the girl out before I could get her cell # (my ulterior motive in paying the high rate)
*****
The price dispute
After quickly cleaning up, I headed back into the lounge and sat down to nurse the slim remnants of my Perrier in the hopes that my girl might come over. Moments later she did, but no sooner did she sit down then the hostess lasered over and suggested I buy the girl a cocktail and chocolates.
I knew this would be some extortionate price, but I was so frustrated after my first few days and after a crappy night I didn’t want to leave without this girl’s #. I asked how much and was told 1200 rubles (brutal!). Yet I wanted my 5 minutes with the girl to get her # so I said yes. I made small talk until the hostess came back moments later with some tiny brown cow type drink and a 3-pack of Ferraro Rocher chocolates. The hostess then gives me a bill for 1500 rubles(!).
“Wait a second”, says I, “you said 1200 rubles”.
“Yes, I was wrong, it’s 1500 rubles” she replied unconcernedly.
“Well I’m not paying 1500, I’ll pay 1200 or you can take it back!”. (…after 3 days of getting ripped off, I had finally decided to grow a pair…lol…)
“No, you pay 1500 rubles!”
“Not a chance, I’ll pay 1200 or I leave”
“No, you pay 1500 rubles!”
*****
I try to leave
“Ok, then I’m leaving!!”, says I as I get up and head for the door.
“No, you pay 1500 rubles!!”, says she as she follows right behind me.
I hand in my coat check ticket to the confused doorman as the hostess natters away at him in Russian. But when I turn to leave and tug on the handle to the big metal door leading outside, it doesn’t budge!! Uh-oh, now I remember that I had to get buzzed in – surely I don’t need to get buzzed out do I??
As I turn back to face the doorman and hostess, the snide smile of victory in the eyes of the hostess confirms my fear. I’m not going anywhere until they buzz me out.
“You pay 1500 rubles!!”, she announces confidently.
“Not a chance.”, I reply with a firm confidence in my voice in stark contrast to the sinking feeling in my stomach.
And thus begins a 90 minute standoff. Yes, they kept me there for 90 minutes. No exaggeration on the time.
First thing I did was make a big show of texting a friend to tell them what was happening (of course, I had no-one to text, but I figures they didn’t know that).
While the confused young doorman kept an eye on me (and my dancer girl hovered in the background looking guilty, god bless her), the hostess went and got the manager. Meanwhile I took a Gandhi-esque non-violent approach to the situation and simply stared at the wall and tried to zen out.
I was in a small almost cavelike doorway, a couple of steps up from the main floor area, and thus I had the high ground, and also no-one could enter/exit the bar with me there. I figured they would eventually have to open the door to let other patrons out (by now it was close to their 6am closing).
As you can imagine, my Gandhi demeanour was a source of great amusement to the hostess/doorman and the manager (who had now arrived). They would joke in Russian, and then come up and snap their fingers in front of my eyes, etc. Every so often I would calmly advise them they were simply getting into more trouble the longer they detained me as I intended to go to the police. This provoked cackles of laughter in response.
*****
The Small Waitress
After about an hour they seemed to grow tired of this game. The few other customer (only 2 or 3), had left by some other exit. They sent over this small waitress I had seen earlier, and she shifted gears on the tone by screaming very aggressively at me in Russian and trying to drag me away from the door. I couldn’t understand why they sent such a small girl (maybe 100lbs) and figured maybe they were trying to provoke me into hitting her so they could have an excuse to beat me.
While she was trying to drag me away from the door, the doorman (a young guy who seemed slightly confused throughout the standoff) came forward on my other side and tried to drag me away at the same time.
If they had wanted to they certainly could have pulled me away (I’m not a big guy), but then they suddenly stopped and the small waitress went back into the bar and we resumed our standoff.
It was only later that I understood what had truly happened.
*****
The Settlement
By this stage my principled stand was seeming like not such a good idea, and I was becoming somewhat concerned. It was now 6:30am and I was tired and was looking for some facesaving way out of this. Perhaps the hostess and company felt the same, as she said “Ok, I made a mistake, you pay 1200 rubles and you go”. Although I would be paying the 1200 rubles for nothing, I agreed, except that I realized that I had only 200 rubles left, and the reset in $US. So I gave her the 200 rubles and $40 USD (the fx rate was 25/1, thus equally 1000 rubles).
She takes the money, hands it to the manager, then tells me they only give 20/1 FX rate, and thus I owe her another 200 rubles! Lol. What a *****. Unreal.
Since I had only US $20 bills, I make her promise me upon her honour as a Russian that if I give her a $20, she will give me my change. She agrees, I give her the $20, and then she laughs and buzzes the door and tells me to leave. “What about my change?? You promised on your honour as a Russian!!”, to which she just laughs.
*****
The secret of the small waitress
I exit through the steel door to the jeers behind of the hostess and manager and climb the stairs to ground level, happy to escape serious harm. But then I blinding realization hits me!!!
Small waitress=small hands!!!
My hands dart to my inside coat pocket, and sure enough it is missing! No…not my wallet which was elsewhere…no, it was my passport that was missing.
My guess is they were going for my wallet, got the passport, and figured it was even better.
At this point I become filled with self righteous fury. I am a tourist Sword of Damocles and vengeance shall be mine I think to myself…lol…
I rush up to the first person I see on Nevsky and in my broken Russian I ask them how to find a police officer. He looks at me as if I just asked him to join me in a satanic ritual and hurries away. The next person responds similarly. Hmmm…thinks I…this will be more difficult than I thought.
*****
The Taxi Driver
There is a youngish taxi driver parked there, and I go up to him and ask the same thing. Fortunately he speaks a little English, and since I am now sitting in his cab I guess he doesn’t feel like he can escape the situation. I explain what happened, and he mutters “Gotika banditos! You understand? Banditos!!”.
He tells me to follow him, and we go back to the Gotika metal door. He presses the intercom buzzer and the hostess (*****!) answers, and they have a brief conversation in Russian. He then tells me to follow him, and as we walk away he tell me that yes, they have the passport and they will give it back to me the next evening when they open at 9pm, providing I pay some undetermined amount.
At this point I am apoplectic, and determined to get a police office. I tell him that I will pay him $100 us if he can get me face to face with a police office.
*****
The Russian 911
I now understand that there is a police emergency # for tourists, but at the time I didn’t know this. So we march across the street to the Corinthian Hotel (5 star, very nice). The taxi driver talks at length with the reception staff and manager, and they telephone various numbers, talk in Russian, telephone various numbers, stand in silence, and then telephone various other numbers. A strange and bizarre process.
Eventually the taxi driver tells me we have to go directly to the local police station, and off we go in his cab. Five minutes later we arrive, park, and after getting buzzed in through another big metal door we are facing the night watch officer, who sits within a cloud of cigarette smoke on the other side of bullet proof glass.
The Taxi driver deferentially explains the situation, and the bullnecked chain smoking police officer responds to this developing political incident (my opinion lol) by cocking his head to the side, slightly furrowing his brow, and otherwise remaining motionless for what seems like an eternity. I felt like I was in some sort of time warp which had frozen time.
*****
Police Action at last!
Eventually he picks up a phone and issues some commands, and moments later (ok, 5 minutes later), a monstrously large police office lumbers out from the back. He asks me for some proof that I had been at Gotika, and to my great relief I realize that I still have the receipts for my 600 rubles entrance, my 6k rubles massage, and my Perrier.
The beat cop nods his head and and we follow him outside. There waiting for us is some crappy unmarked lada with an older non-uniformed office (detective?) behind the wheel. They motion me to get in the back and we head off to Gotika (my Taxi driver following along behind us).
We arrive at Gotika, trundle down the steps, and the non-uniformed office buzzes the intercom. The door quickly unlocks and as we walk in, the manager (somewhat ashen faced) is there waiting for us. A Russian conversation follows, and I would translate it as various shades of…
“why the fuck are you lifting passports!!” says the cop,
“officer, I am a church going chistrian who would do no such thing, an by the way you are a big, powerful and very handsome man…may I offer one of my girls to give you a blowjob?”, says the manager.
During this conversation, various girls (still there for some reason at 8am?) would nervously scurry past with eyes downcast and leave.
After 10 minutes, the offices turn to leave, along with me and the manager (ha! fucker!). We head to the parked police car, and to my immense displeasure I realize that I will have to share the back seat of with the manager (side note: the next day, I found 2 $20 bills in my left jacket pocket – I presume the manager slipped them there while we were in the cab)
We head back to the police station (Taxi driver following along behind), and they motion me to sit in the waiting room as they take the manager in to the back area. The Taxi driver winks and makes punching gestures.
We wait for a while, and then the Taxi driver asks for his money so he can go. I pay him his $100, and he goes to tell the desk sergeant he wants to leave. The desk sergeant calls someone, presumably the beat cop who emerges from the back a few moments later. He speaks with the Taxi driver who then comes offer and tells me that a donation of $50 for the beat cop would be appreciated. I pony up the cash, he heads back to the beat cop who sees me looking at him, and they move briefly out of sight for the handoff of the payoff, afterwhich the Taxi driver heads out.
*****
The Translator
I go back to my seat in the waiting room, and a while later another detective comes to tell me that they can’t take me statement until they have a translator present. I speak with the translator on the phone (a charming lady who sounds like a british Dr.Ruth) and we book an appointment for 4pm that day (it is now 10am, and I have not yet slept).
The new detective then drives me back to my apartment (a classy move, and much appreciated)
I return at 4pm and give my statement via the translator, who also looks like Dr Ruth. She is apparently a 20+ year veteran of the police dept, a detective, and is assigned to tourist related matters.
After I give my statement they tell me that after extensive interrogation both the manager and hostess have flatly denied my allegations, and they ask if I have any way of corroborating my story. I tell them that the Taxi driver can, and they promptly call him (he left his # the night before). After the ensuing phone conversation, they tell me that he had denied any knowledge of a passport being taken, and that he had simply been hired to drive me to the police station (fucker!!).
They then suggest to me that since I had been at Club Ludovic earlier in the evening, perhaps I had lost my passport there. I tell them that I know for a 100% fact I had it afterwards, yet they persist in the theory that I had lost it at Club Ludovic. The statement ends with them telling me they will be in touch, but they think there is little they can do.
*****
Passport Found
The next day is Monday, and I am beginning to realize the enormity of my situation. I will have to travel by overnight train to Moscow to the embassy, and may need to fly out of Moscow at additional expense. It appears that the remainder of my trip is ruined.
At 4pm I get a phone call from my Oksanas rep, telling me that my passport has been found at Club Lodovic. She is confused about how or why Club Ludovic would telephone them?
I realize instantly that when I had given my statement I had of course provide the details on where I was staying to the police. Hmmmm….
I head over to Club Lodovic and meet with my Oksanas rep before heading inside. I advise her of my suspicions, and she tells me she will find out what we can about when/how Club Lodovic supposedly came into possession of my passport.
We head inside to the admin areas, and a heavy set babushka hands over the passport. My Oksanas rep speaks to her briefly in Russian, and the babushka looks very uncomfortable and refuses to answer any questions, and we leave.
Once outside, my rep agrees with me that the most likely scenario is that the police adviced Gotika that it would be various convenient if my passport was found at Club Lodovic and then they called my apartment service (whose # was provided via my statement).
I never received any followup from the police regarding the complaint I had filed. (Indeed, it’s almost like then knew….)
One final note, is that for the remainder of my week, whenever I passed by Gotika’s they were noticeably and substantially less aggressive in their marketing/hustling for customers. (although that seemed to lesson as the week went on).
*****
Conclusions?
Anyway, I am well aware of the many mistakes I made and I know how lucky I was not to suffer more serious consequences. My lessons? Don’t carry around your passport, see a menu or price list before you buy anything, keep your receipts, most importantly do not go to Gotika!
