While plenty of ships cater to foreign tourists and pamper passengers in ways all too American, I was treated to an authentic Russian cruise of the sort that the average vacationing Russian enjoys. A sort of 'roughing it' cruise, which I certainly wouldn't describe as luxury. It was more like camping in a cabin with running water and a kitchen service. But I wouldn't trade the experience for a luxury cruise.

There were no all-you-can-eat buffets and no Vegas-style shows. Each day included a few modest meals in one of the ship's restaurants. There was no menu - we ate what they made. Fried chicken, pork chops, and fried fish with sides of tomato-cucumber and radish-onion salads with lots of bread and butter, yogurt and cheese. There was a bar and café at the back of the ship where we could buy drinks and snacks to tide us over from one meal to another, and to supplement meals we didn't particularly care for.

There were activities for children, tourist videos on our destinations, daily movies, evening pop concerts and even a late-night disco. But the best entertainment was simply watching the scenery go by.

Our journey aboard the Rodina, or 'Motherland', began in the evening. We sat on deck and listened to a traditional Russian bon voyage march as we left St. Petersburg and headed out on the Svir river. We enjoyed a beautiful sunset shortly after 11 p.m. as we sipped screwdrivers.

"Together," asked the bartender incredulously. "Juice and vodka together... in one glass?" We were contaminating perfectly good vodka in his opinion.

With our contaminated vodka, we enjoyed the scenery. Even long after the sun set and the moon shone bright, a touch of light was anchored on the western horizon where the sun still left its mark.

The cabins were much like those on Russian sleeper trains - two beds along the walls with a small table and large window between them. We easily stowed our three large bags in the two closets and under the table.

Each floor of the triple-decker included two bathrooms and two shower rooms. Each shower room had two private stalls, and the doors locked. Bathrooms included long lines of sinks in the washroom with private stalls off in a separate room. The facilities were very clean. But it's a good thing we remembered to pack our own towels as Russian bath towels are American dishrags.

Who's his dermatologist?

Alexander Sverskoy, born in 1448, became a monk at the age of 26. Before becoming a monk he had a vision that he should build a monastery in the very place he rested during his travels. He heard the voice of God tell him to build a monastery and years later, he did. The monastery still stands, is still active, and attracts tourists from around the world.

Sverskoy died in 1533 at age 85. His body was buried on the site of the monastery. In 1547 the Russian Orthodox Church made him a saint. It was in the 1600s, long after the burial place had been forgotten, that lightning struck the same place on the monastery grounds three times. Beneath that spot they found the buried body. Miraculously, the body, clothing and wooden staff were well preserved, even sweet-smelling.

While the cathedrals and ancient buildings of the monastery are a wonder, what's even more amazing is that Alexander Sverskoy remains on display in his coffin beneath a lid of glass. Most of his body is covered out of respect, but his hand and his foot remain in view.

I watched as pilgrim after pilgrim knelt before the saint's body, signed the triple cross before him, even kissed the glass lid above his feet. The mood in the room was reverent.

In the gift shop I found the same sort of items most Russian churches offer: prayer books, books on the history of the monastery, icons, prayer candles, postcards and photographs. But I was shocked by an additional offering: holy oil from the body of the healing saint.

I picked up the small brown bottle. "This is oil from his body," I asked.

"Da," answered the frail old woman. "Like medicine from God."

The saint's body continues to secrete oil even today. The body is periodically wrapped in cloth to absorb the oil. The cloth is then soaked in vats of anointing oils. With the saint's bodily fluids mixed in, the anointing oil is bottled and sold. And some of the purchasers swear that if you have faith, the oil can cure everything from warts to cancer.

I purchased a bottle. Before leaving the monastery, I returned for one last visit to the ancient saint. There was some cracking, but the skin on his hand and foot appeared amazingly fresh. Alexander Sverskoy looks great for a man from the 1400s.