June 24, 2007 || Aly Paryca

June 24, 2007

Алые Парусa was incredible! The whole city turned out for the event, more people than I’ve ever seen here before.

Before the concert (first of all it was really hard to get downtown at all, there was so much foot traffic and the buses were packed) we went to a bar called Fidel. Little hole-in-the-wall place, local beer was less than $2 for a big mug (they also serve Absinthe EVERYWHERE here), room for about 10 people on the “dance floor” and the DJ stood in front of a big picture of Castro framed in Christmas lights and garland. The music was great, a mix of all sorts—every now and then you’d catch an old classic like “Getting’ Jiggy With It,” “California Lovin’,” CrazyTown’s “Butterfly,” or “That’s the Way (Uh-huh Uh-huh) I Like It.” I accidentally ordered an NA beer in an effort to try what no one else had had, and later got a bloody nose while dancing (I know, that definitely WOULD happen, wouldn’t it?). I cleaned up and then got napkins (or as I like to call it, free toilet paper) from the bartender—I probably got it because it was the warmest night we’ve had since this cold spell started, and of course it was more humid on the dance floor.

After, we walked with the massive crowds (Nevsky, that main street of the city, was actually CLOSED DOWN). Crunching beer bottles and scattering glass (or half full alcoholic energy cans, plastic jugs of vodka, whatever) with our feet made me glad that I hadn’t worn my sandals. It was both eerie and beautiful to be walking with these thousands of people at 1 am through this city that seemed so full and yet deserted and still catch daylight in the broken stars that tinkled and glittered when you touched them. When we turned onto Palace Square, I was floored. Strobes flickered up and down the Hermitage’s front, making the statues on top seem to dance. The angel atop the Alexander Column peered out from behind tall red sails, and a massive stage had been erected in front of the arch. People sang onstage while others holding flashlights shined them in sync from the top of the stage’s girders. Suddenly, shadows appeared in front of both the huge projection screens—2 dancers, hanging from wires, are running lightly across their surfaces and pausing in mid-air to turn and flip and dance. Huge floating globes, decadently painted and vivid-bright, as if lit from within, rove the air—they seem to have come out of nowhere. Below them, too, single dancers perform suspended by thin wires. After the set ended, a fountain of glitter—purple, red, gold, silver—erupted from the front of the stage and continued for minutes. It was incredible, impossible to describe accurately—I feel like I’m talking a pipe dream and not a concert.

After we followed another crowd back downtown, one that was constantly cheering, singing, shouting. We stopped at the Russian version of Starbucks to go to the bathroom and get a quick drink (depending on who you were), and then continued to our favorite café (which ended up being closed, so then we split up and headed home).

But as we walked back down Nevsky, noise like thunder exploded from Palace Square. It boomed constantly, and even the air seemed to tremble from it. Someone remarked that it sounded like gunfire, and for a second, I let myself go. On that night, with all the people and light and ethereal atmosphere, in that city, so steeped in history and conflict and revolution, that it was easy to imagine that just beyond those walls, the Bolsheviks were ending the monarchy again, or that Hitler had resumed his shelling of this great city—that just past that building, history was repeating itself, or forging itself anew in a terrible, grand way. But then we came around a bend and fireworks flared over the walls, and lights of every color washed over the smoke they left behind, and I was left with a dazzling reality.

I was legitimately scared walking home alone (stupid me for bringing a blatantly English hoodie), but when I got home safe all I wanted to do was savor the night; there was no was I could go to bed right away, especially with all that light still flooding in through my window.

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>Russian Names

This is a pretty important topic. Russians are very formal with each other; its built into their language. For example, all Russians have three names: a regular name, a family name, and a patronymic. One of my teachers, for example, is called Irina Andreevna Chechik. Her first name is Irina; her family name, Chechik; and her patronymic Adreevich. This name is taken from her father’s first name—clearly, his name is Andrey. If I were to have a patronymic, it would be Douglasovna. If I had a brother, his would be Douglasovich (feminine patronymics end in –ovna; male ones end in –ovich). The use varies; but people that you are not well acquainted with, your coworkers, for example, will know you by both name and patronymic only. Russians can know some people for years but never learn their last name. So, learning a last name is a first step. Being able to call someone by only their first name, without the patronymic, is another step closer. If you get very close, just about every Russian name has an endeared form (Natalya becomes Natasha becomes Natash; or Ekaterina becomes Katya becomes Katyshkaà all of these represent layers of intimacy).

Russians also have two ways of addressing each other—formal and informal. For example, you can call your peers by the informal form of "you” (ты), but you should never address elders by anything other than the formal “you” (вы) unless invited to do so. Similarly, you may address young children informally, and they should address you formally. People with whom you are not well acquainted are also formal “yous,” although this may be changing; we’ve had at least two instances where female Russian acquaintances have asked us to stop calling them “вы” because it made them feel very old.

In Soviet times, everyone was called “Comrade” or “citizen.” Now, people still aren’t sure what to call each other. Because of that, if you need to call your waiter in a restaurant, or if a shopkeeper is trying to get your attention, the words “young man” and “girl/young lady” are about as formal as you’re gonna get, although they’ll still address you (and vice versa) using “вы.”