IT is hard not to like St. Petersburg. Its canals invite unavoidable comparisons with Venice, its Baroque and neo-Classical architecture recall, Rorschach-style, whatever other European city you know best. Meanwhile, Russia is in the details: the onion-domed Church of the Savior on the Spilled Blood, the public tram fare collectors straight from babushka central casting, the Cyrillic signs, the young women for whom beauty comes naturally but a light touch with the mascara does not.  But it was my first trip to the former Soviet Union, and I still had my doubts. Despite having been told repeatedly that Russians were as friendly and accommodating as anyone in the world, my cold-war childhood left me with lingering suspicions that anyone whose name ends in “ov” or “ova” must possess some sinister qualities.  That was disproved multiple times by people like Lidiya Baybekova, who works at the Art Restoration and Storage Center of the State Hermitage. When I called to reserve a tour of the great museum’s storage facility, she had bad news. Regular tours were only in Russian; a specially arranged English tour for up to 12 people cost 1,500 rubles, around $48 at 31 rubles to the dollar. “Would you be able to pay that?” she asked.  “I’m sorry,” I said, switching to my forlorn Frugal voice. “I’m traveling on a really tight budget.”  She caved instantly. “I can give you a tour tomorrow at 3:30 for 160 rubles,” she said. That was the per-person price for a Russian-language tour ($5.15), but since no Russians had signed up, she could guide me alone, in English.  When I arrived at the storage center, which sits on a drab block near the Staraya Derevnya subway stop, Ms. Baybekova, a recent college graduate, apologized in advance for her poor English. (The expensive tours were given by more fluent guides, she said.)  But she did an admirable job, reeling off words like “rosewood” and “allegory” as she led me through climate-controlled rooms that housed medieval tapestries, works seized from the Nazis still in their original German-labeled crates, a war tent given by an Ottoman sultan to Empress Catherine II, and the grand finale — a hall housing the Hermitage’s magnificent horse-drawn carriage collection. We saw no other visitors the whole time.  Her kindness and flexibility typified all of the Russians I met during my five-day visit.  I had arrived in St. Petersburg from Helsinki. It is a short train ride (under four hours, from 59 euros, or $72 at $1.21 to the euro) or an overnight ferry (which, for those staying 72 hours or less, obviates the need for a visa) away. But I took a private minibus, or marshrutka, which takes Russian shoppers on short trips to Finland and fills empty seats on the way back with anyone who knows where and when to find them (by the corner of Etelainen Rautatienkatu and Fredrikinkatu in early afternoon).  The going rate is 25 euros; I managed to bargain the Russian woman collecting fares down to 20, causing her to put a “don’t tell” finger to her lips. There was no need to worry; they, like her, spoke no English. That is, except for a Belgian backpacker couple and an angel named Anna Smirnova.  Ms. Smirnova not only translated the confusing border-crossing procedure, but gave me a long list of cheap activities in St. Petersburg, including a visit to the funky vegetarian restaurant, Rada & K, where I had gazpacho, tofu and pea masala and a salad.  For $86 a day I rented a spacious, apartment through Airbnb.com (which charges in the renter’s currency) on Vasilyevksy Island, one subway stop beyond the Neva River from the Gostiny Dvor stop, as central as you can get. Yet the island’s streets felt almost lazy, like those of a provincial capital, and were dotted with fruit and bakery stands.  The island houses the Kunstkamera, a sort of Peter the Great’s “Believe It or Not!” that the emperor opened in 1728 to display his collection of two-headed fetuses and other odd and occasionally disturbing items.  There’s also Erarta, the new museum of Russian contemporary art that has associated galleries in London, New York and Zurich. Look for the realistic work in which an outsized Tetris piece crushes a man.  With breakfast and fruit available and dirt-cheap at the street stands, it was easy to eat the rest of the day for reasonable prices. The most enjoyable meal I had was at Stolovaya No. 1 Kopeika, a small chain of former Soviet-style canteens wildly popular among working-class Russians. They offer surprisingly appealing versions of what you might expect: borscht, meatballs and potato salad along with occasional nods to the former Soviet states (say, Uzbek kebabs). You can stuff yourself for 200 rubles.  Walking down Italianskaya Ulitska on my way to the Museum of Hygiene (yes, you read that right), I noticed a sign advertising what looked like doughnuts for 12 rubles.  When I stuck my head inside the basement space on the corner of Sadovaya Street, it looked unpromising, with just a few patrons hunched over their plates. But these were no depressed Soviet-era peasants shoveling in the day’s only meal. Rather, they were modern-day snackers focused intently on their just-fried, sugar-dusted doughnuts. I ordered two.  Another cheap option is the prix fixe “business lunch” that many restaurants offer. I invited Anna to one as a thank you for her solid advice, and we ate a four-course meal (soup, salad, main dish and dessert) at Cat, a Georgian restaurant adorned with porcelain felines, for 250 rubles each. (It’s at Karavannaya Ulitska 24.)  St. Petersburg’s cultural offerings are endless, but the city’s crown jewel, of course, is the State Hermitage Museum, that orgiastic buffet of art displayed in a palace of inconceivable ornateness. Imagine what would happen if you took the works from the Louvre and displayed them in Versailles.  But I almost skipped it. The standard line on the place is: buy and print your $17.95 ticket in advance to skip the long lines, then arrive early and wander through the museum all day long at your own pace.  This, to me, sounds like torture. A museum visit of 90 minutes is about my maximum; good company or a marvelous tour guide can stretch that to two hours.  But fearing that I’d be forever labeled the-guy-who-skipped-the-Hermitage, I went, spurned conventional wisdom and arrived ticketless two hours before closing. Surprise: there was no line whatsoever. Bigger surprise: I paid only 400 rubles, or $12 or so, since when you buy online you’re automatically saddled with the 200 ruble ($6) photo permit. It was the perfect way to visit. (Additional tip: download the free Hermitage app to your smartphone before you go.)  I did the other attractions, like the Kazan Cathedral — brimming with worshipers, unlike museumlike churches in largely agnostic Western Europe — but found that as in any great city, St. Petersburg’s best feature is the liveliness of its streets. At least in summer, performers abounded, dancing and playing accordions and guitars; brides proliferated, posing for pictures in places like the recently reopened Summer Garden, its pathways, fountains, trellis-tunnels and gilded sculptures making for perfect backdrops.  At night the center is filled with high-spirited young people. When I asked two couples if I could photograph them on a bridge, they initially shooed me away, then called me back, saying I could take their picture if I swigged a shot of brandy. (At least that’s what I think the deal was; we didn’t understand each other, but I did the shot they offered and then photographed them.)  Cadging brandy is one option, but of course there are plenty of decently priced drink deals like the regular prices at bars like Radiobaby (200 rubles for a beer), hidden in the courtyard with no sign from the street, but hardly a secret. And there are slightly more tacky bars with deals like the 99-ruble mixed drinks on Monday nights at Takao, along Nevsky Prospekt.  I also found signs of a vibrant art scene. A friend of a friend, Lena, recommended I stop by a building known simply by its address, Belinskogo 9, where she teaches yoga on the roof. Also on that roof: a funky cafe called Lemonade, equipped with board games, blankets and bartenders making refreshing juices during the days and serving beer and mixed drinks in the evening to a straight-out-of-Bushwick crowd.  The floors beneath them housed a dance company, a theater company and an informal cinema showing eclectic films. In a below-street-level gallery called the Borey Art Center, a labyrinth of rooms house rotating exhibitions of Russian and foreign artists.  I was not ready to give up my thrill at being in the former U.S.S.R. So I practiced sounding out the Cyrillic alphabet at every spare moment, learning words like “produkty,” which signals a convenience store. I also headed to the Udelnaya flea market north of the city center to search for Soviet memorabilia.  Rifling through booths of yellowed magazines and old military gear, I found little of interest. (Where was the K.G.B. wiretapping equipment? Nuclear warhead instruction manuals?) But then I spotted the perfect purchase at one of the clothing stands: new boxer briefs emblazoned with a hammer and sickle on one leg and “CCCP” along the waistband. One for me, one for my brother, who is just barely old enough to remember Mike Eruzione and the gang defeating the Russkies in hockey at the 1980 Lake Placid Winter Olympics. Do you believe in miracles? I do — those boxer briefs cost only 300 rubles each.
On his first trip to the Russian city, the Frugal Traveler scores two deals from the Hermitage, finds ideal budget boxers and does a shot to get a shot.