It was early fall in Saint Petersburg and Jane, Erin and I huddled into our light jackets as we threaded our way along the street. The sky mimicked the dirty grey of the sidewalk and hawkers appeared around us as we neared the Gypsy Market. They displayed watches, scarves, handbags, perfume, with their wares arrayed on tables, arms, even on the ground. No matter how loudly they cried or how close to our faces they pushed their goods we didn’t stop to look. We were in search of shoes and we refused to be distracted.
Lately the three of us had felt distinctly un-Russian society due to our lack of appropriate footwear. When you apply to study abroad in Russia they give you plenty of information about cultural differences in food but none about shoes. Russians place great importance on footwear and we found that it clearly distinguishes Russians from outsiders especially for women, for whom the higher and thinner the heels the better, even though that means risking twisted ankles walking on cobbled streets. As the weather got colder and boots appeared we felt our lack of Russian shoes more acutely. We decided to try the Gypsy Market.
The open-air ‘Gypsy Market’ stands near the center of Saint Petersburg in one of the oldest quarters of the city. Buildings centuries old with paint peeling in faded strips line its cobbled streets and waterways. The market itself is officially called ‘Sennaya Reenok’ (Sennaya Market) and it is nearly as old as the city itself, founded on a charter issued by Peter the Great. Its wares and distribution are not always legal and the city has unsuccessfully tried to get rid of the Market. It is one of the best locations to buy anything cheaply in Saint Petersburg, and since shoes are very expensive in regular retail stores the Market was an obvious choice. Although the Gypsy Market is noted for its thieves as well as its history we decided to risk it for the sake of shoes.
About a ten-minute walk from the Sennaya Ploshad (‘Sennaya Square’) metro station we ducked down a street barely wider than an alleyway, took a sharp left and we had arrived. Food stalls at the entrance to the market offered the Russian staples of tea, coffee, blini and pelmini. The scent of grease lingered in the air, surprisingly welcome in the cold. Passing through the food stands we could see ahead of us a warren of structures. Buildings with open bottom levels held brightly lit shops, stands covered by awnings nestled against each other and tables sat in the street. Few cars parked inside the Market and instead the narrow streets teamed with people. Holding our purses tightly we stepped forward to join the throng.
By unspoken consensus we had become quieter as we approached the market and now we stopped talking altogether, unwilling to expose ourselves as foreigners by speaking English. Stepping along the main thoroughfare of the market we passed tables heaped high with watches or scarves or wallets in a colorful chaos. I smiled at the haute couture imitations on display and we marveled at the variety offered. Even the faces of people at the market were much more varied than elsewhere in Saint Petersburg.
As we passed through the chaos we noticed a number of small alleys spreading off from the main lane in both directions, lined by small stalls that squatted under the shadows of surrounding buildings. Most of the stalls were set up like miniature stores, three walls abutting those of their neighbors and the fourth open to the lane. Their owners presided over each of these stalls, some silently sitting with hands in their pockets while others called out to passersby. As I listened cries of ‘Cheapest watches!’, ‘Newest style!’ and ‘Warm winter hats!’ filled the air. I glimpsed intriguingly bright patches of color in the depths of the rows.
At first the main thoroughfare was enough for us and we weren’t eager to enter the claustrophobic environment of the alleys. Yet despite the many goods on display we could see no shoes. Evidently the market had some sort of hidden order and we were not in the footwear section. I turned to Jane and quietly asked, “Shall we go right?” “Right,” she agreed, a look of slight consternation on her face. Erin nodded consent and we veered off down the next alley.
Now walls of purses surrounded us and we were completely submerged in the market. I felt apprehension as purveyors leered at us, calling out ‘dyevochka, dyevochka!’ (‘girl, girl!’) to attract our attention. We pressed on through the purses, turning towards any direction that we thought we glimpsed shoes. The warren seemed endless as we searched with increasingly frantically. Then we emerged into shoe nirvana. The stalls surrounding us suddenly displayed rows upon rows of shoes. Ahead of us stood an entire alleyway dominated by a shoe market with hundreds of pairs of very shiny, high-heeled, Russian shoes.
I felt my heart leap and we looked at each other with ill-concealed excitement. Our first few timid stops were as a group but we swiftly split up to pursue our own perfect pair. We moved swiftly and precisely through the section with our eyes flicking rapidly over pair after pair. As I searched shoes filled my eyes and around me hunch-backed babushkas merged with slim dark-skinned youths leaning insolently against the sides of their stalls. As vendors realized that I was seriously looking they would come up to me and offer assistance. I refused their help in bad Russian, insisting I was only looking. Occasionally I asked about price and shoe size, assuming the price was negotiable by at least a fourth. If they had the shoe size requested they would immediately whisk away and retrieve them, forcing the customer to sit and try them on.
Each stall displayed their wares differently, but it quickly became clear that what had seemed like endless variation was mostly revamped repetition. Jane gave up the search first. She already had shoes that were black and heeled and had been the least committed to finding new footwear. It didn’t take long for me to join her despondently after being told repeatedly that they didn’t have my size, the vendors looking with what I imagined was disgust at my overly large feet.
Only Erin refused to give up. She moved relentlessly from stall to stall as Jane and I drifted behind her. Finally Erin entered a small closet-like stall with cardboard on the floor and shoes displayed on small shelves around the walls. The owner was a vibrant middle-aged woman chatting with a neighbor. As Erin entered she lighted on a pair of black, ankle-length boots with very high but relatively thick heels. When she pointed them out to us we nodded our approval and Erin approached the owner.
“How much?” Erin asked, pointing.
“Twelve hundred rubles. What size?” The woman replied.
“Thirty six.”
“One moment, please,” the woman said and walked briskly off to retrieve them from a nearby store. Erin turned to us with excited eyes and in a low voice asked, “Do you think I can get her down to eight hundred?” The two of us shrugged. “Sure,” I said.
The woman returned bearing the shoes and gestured for Erin to sit on her crate.
“You are Finnish, aren’t you?” She asked as Erin tugged on one shoe, then the other.
“Yes, we are,” Erin answered quickly. We knew that Europeans got better prices than Americans.
“Are you here for the weekend?”
“No, we study here,” Jane replied. Erin stood up, wobbling slightly on the high heels.
“How beautiful!” Their seller enthused to Erin, who did her best to look dissatisfied. “But so expensive…” Erin began and the woman bared her gold-toothed smile in recognition of a bargaining tone. Jane and I stood stamping our feet in the cold while they bargained spiritedly. The stall owner described all the best features of the shoes while Erin pointed out defects. They shook their heads in shock at each others offers and heaved sighs of tragedy at being cheated. Finally the stall owner brought the price down to nine hundred and fifty and Erin played her last card.
“Eight hundred,” she offered.
“Too cheap!” cried the woman.“Nine hundred.”
Erin again turned to us. I raised my eyebrows in agreement and Jane nodded her head. “Fine,” she said. The seller clapped her hands and again treated us to the sight of her gold-covered teeth. The deal was done.
We walked back through the market as stalls were beginning to close up for the evening and buyers drifted towards exits. The lanes weren’t as confusing now that we had no rush and Erin walked proudly and happily in her new shoes. Much of the market remained to be explored but as we passed back out onto the streets of Saint Petersburg I was happy to leave that to another day.
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