It's 1:00 am here time which means it's 5:00 pm at home. Quitting time for most of you lovely people!

I have to wait til I'm back in the states to add pix from the Kirov Ballet. Took my cell phone in my little bag instead of hauling the iPad. The theater is tiny - only six rows or pews in a half circle around the stage. At one time there were 18 swans dancing with Zigfried the crown prince and the White Swan all on stage at the same time and I was certain they'd collide into swan soup. But no worries ma'am, as they are professionals.

Both the prince and Odette/Odile (white swan/black swan) were a bit long in the tooth, and the company wasn't always in synch. Not quite up to the standards when Mikhail Baryshnikov (spelling?) studied there but it was once in a lifetime opportunity.

We sat next to the medical emergency man at the ballet. (See previous post re: flight to Vienna.) He seemed ok, but apparently they took a taxi back to the ship as they left during the second intermission rather than staying for Act III. Apparently one of the tour guides goofed big time as a third of the audience made for the exits at that same time. Our guide explained that there were two intermissions - one between Acts I and II and the second between II and III. Oops. It didn't help that the cast took a curtain call at the end of that act. Being the bossy head that I am, I insisted that we needed to remain in the theater as there had been no conclusion or happy ending yet.

Swan Lake has two different endings - spoiler alert - one in which his true and pure love breaks her evil spell and they live happily ever after and the other one in which she dies. What do you expect? It was written by an unhappily closeted Russian (Tchaikovsky) so it only makes sense that the chick bites it the end.

Anyhoo, someone went running after all the people streaming out and called them back for the last act. Lots of fluttering of swan girls, lots of show-offy jumps and spins by the pissed off- and broken-hearted white swan, then the prince yanks off the wing of the evil sorcerer dude who cast the spell on Odette to turn her into a damn swan in the first place. They reconcile, yada yada. Curtain.

Oh, and the really big excitement of the excursion happened just before the curtain opened on Act I. There is a group of obnoxious rich people (only *one* group on a river cruise in Russia I hear you ask) who were led onto their own private bus this morning. Several prepster pre-teen guys and blonde teen girls. This one kid has shoulder length straight hair, parted on the side and it's grease ball city. He must think he's part of a Ralph Lauren kids ad.

Again, anyhoo, before the curtain rises as I'm beginning to stress as Micki has not returned from the Ginskee Twahlee-et (different story but there you go) I hear the "rhubarb in the suburb" babble of the extras in a crowd scene by Cecile B. DeMille. The name "Turner" is thrown out by several and I remember that the cutesy female tour guide asked us if we were part of the Turner Foundation group as we approached her bus this morning. Clearly we weren't and that rude dude bunch o'people were. Keeping up with me? (Now you feel John's pain when I relate my day to him.)

In comes one of the Viking tour guides with a RESERVED sign in her hand and she places it across the front row of seats, center stage.

Next comes this white-haired man wearing a navy blazer, pressed denim shirt and blue jeans. On his arm is bleached blonde long haired arm candy about 40 years younger than he. Yes, friends, Ted Turner in the flesh. I got a coupe of snapshots, thoughts of Micki totally gone. As I said, these will be posted stateside.

Micki made it back in enough time for me to hiss loudly "it's Ted Turner... Down there on the right... No, your other right" before the lights went down. Mr. Turner, Ms. Thang Arm Candy and all the purported grandkids were gone after the first intermission. Perhaps none of them understood Russian dancing?

We're still in the White Nights, as the sun doesn't go down til after 11. We left the theater at 10:30 and at 11 when we got back to the ship it was still light. If it hadn't been overcast we could have seen the sunset.

Tomorrow we make sure we get on any bus but the B bus, so we get the bus tour of the city. God help us if we end up on the B by mistake because that one is the walking version, complete with a trip on their Metro. Now I love subways, the mass transport not the sandwich, as much as the next person but I really don't think our Russkie is sufficient to navigate the underground. Our luck we'd end up in Siberia.

Now on your side of the globe you're thinking about chicken pot, chicken pot, chicken pot pi-ees or something else for dinner and we're closing in on 2:00 am. The benedryl hasn't kicked in but our wake-up call comes in five hours so I best be closing. Thanks for keeping up with us, and you have a nice evening. Or, as Olia taught us, добрый вечер! (Phonetically speaking, dough-BREE VEE-ate-chur or good evening as we say in the states.)