This will have to be quick, since I'm trying to squeeze this in between exams and meeting with Masha (for what I hope will not be the last time!), and I'm not on my computer. This week (y'all must be getting so tired of hearing this) has been super busy.. on Monday and Tuesday we had our last days of class, with a little bit of preparation for our exams, and then on Wednesday we traveled alllll the way to the edge of Saint Petersburg (literally--we went off my map) to tour the factory of Baltika. Baltika is the most popular beer here in Russia--once, I saw the same beer commercial for Baltika No. 7 (and another beer) play one right after the other, 7 in a row, during one commercial break. To give a quick rundown, Baltikas signature beers come from No. 0 (no alcohol) to No. 9 (strongest), although they lack a No. 1 (as I slightly tipsily quipped during our tasting session, "Because ALL Baltika is Number 1!"). They have Baltika at every restaurant, bar, and kiosk in Russia, and everyone has a favorite "number." I can't quite describe how widespread Baltika is; maybe statistics will help: over 30% of all beer consumed in Russia is Baltika beer. So, clearly it makes sense that they have a ginormous factory.
The first thing I noticed about the factory complex was that one of the buildings was oddly-shaped, and covered with a mural of horses. Inside, one of the murals in the main lobby depicted a big wagon being drawn by horses. "Hmmm," I thought. "That looks familiar." (Budweiser knock-off anyone?) When I questioned Neil about the horses, he confirmed that the horses were a Baltika trademark AND that they LIVED in the big, rounded building I saw (a barn!) AND during the tours in the winter, you could see them! But alas, it was not winter, and I had to console myself with just beer. The first room of note we entered (no pictures allowed inside, of course) was filled with massive, gigantic, impossibly huge tanks full of beer that were kept so cool that ice formed on their metal outsides and we shivered, even under the heat lamp in our separate corridor running among them. These huge tanks stretched up to the ceiling maybe 50 feet and another 50 feet down to the floor (I'm a bad judge of distance, though) and just went on endlessly it seemed on either side of us. Again to illustrate: if you took all the beer in these containers, bottled it, and stood it around the world at the Earth's equator, it would ring the Earth 13 times. We moved on to a room where there were big brass cauldrons--what for, I'm not sure--and eventually made our way to the bottling area, which to me was the most fun thing to watch. There's something about a factory like that... everything smooth-running, the glasses tinkling together, here they get filled with beer, here (impossibly fast) they snap away, capped, there they get a label pasted on, then separated into different groups so they can be plastic-wrapped, shot with a shrink-wrap gun, and packaged... loaded onto a conveyer-belt where a machine stacks them up, 6 flats high; more machines transport them from one area to the next, finally to the warehouse, where nobody walks--but everybody rides in little forklifts, buzzing along as if in a tiny town between towering buildings of bottles, nearly colliding as one comes 'round the corner and the other slams on his brakes... it was pretty cool. They also had long glass cases holding their many awards, and gifts they'd received from people like the president of Azerbaijan, the whole soccer team Zenit, famous ice skaters and gymnasts... And then of course, we had a tasting session. Three long tables with two huge plates of byterbroads (the equivalent of a Russian sandwich), and then standing the length different bottles of beer. We passed out plastic glasses and each had a taste of Baltikas 0 - 9, Foster's and Carlsberg (which Baltika brews under license), an old Soviet-style kvas, a type of mead, and some strange beer brewed with hot peppers (called Arsenal and decorated with a pair of crossed pistols and flames). One of our Russian liasons, Natasha, told us how an old group of students taught her how to play flip-cup, and demonstrated for the other bewildered Russians. Honestly, they have no concept of drinking games here (when Neil explained them to one friend, his friend paused, and then said "It sounds like you're ashamed to drink, and need a reason;" I don't know which is worse, that or the idea I've heard that as Americans we just need to compete in everything we do).
Afterwards, Jessica, Kevin and I went to see Harry Potter 5 at Sennaya Ploshad (in a REAL mall! ..sorta). And oh! I need to talk about this movie with someone, especially because all Russian movies are dubbed and I definitely missed some of the dialogue (which means I'll be watching it AGAIN Stateside). To not give out spoilers, you'll have to highlight this part, but ONLY if you've already read Book 5: 1) I love Neville! But we never got to see St. Mungo's, which I felt was a huge part of the book... and they left out Neville's connection to the prophecy entirely. 2) Sirius's death was disappointing. I felt that it could've been much more dramatic... and, besides, Bellatrix doesn't hit him with a Killing Curse, he just falls through, doesn't he? That's why Harry has all those issues letting go. 3) Wasn't the part where they fly through downtown London excellent? 4) Thank god they gave Fred and George a decent send-off; I feel like the characters have been short-changed in the books. 5) I was so stoked to be able to understand Russian VolANdemort's super dramatic "You're a stupid boy, Harry Potter. And you will lose everything." But I don't remember him saying that... PS: In the Russian translations, "Hufflepuff" becomes "Pouff-en-doo-ee"
/end Harry Potter talk
Annnd then I went home to write my long paper, not studying as much for Grammar as I should have... but not to worry, for Nina Nikolaevna (sweetest old lady on the planet, remind me to talk about how she dropped the F-word on accident in class one day if I haven't already) is my teacher! The test was shorter than I thought, and probably more forgiving than it could've been... now I've got to prepare a monologue, get ready for a Soviet-style exam of discussion (Russian test-taking is often different... in general students meet privately with the teacher, who presents them with a stack of cards. The student then draws one at random, and must discuss whatever is written on the card. I think I'm paired with Chris, for example--and for our Conversation exam we'll have to randomly draw a topic from the teacher, and then talk non-stop about it for the next 20 minutes or so). But, before that, I'm going to have my last lunch at Samovar--tomorrow, we're having our banquet and dinner at Tinkoff's, a local microbrewery + restaurant; then Saturday we do our final exams (and Curtis comes back!), and Sunday we leave for Suzdal, Vladimir, and Moscow.
Hopefully Curtis and I will go to this seafood restaurant I found--I'm dying for good seafood, and who better to have it with than a Mainer? I think we're going to try and catch some of the Rolling Stones concert, too--at least long enough to see them sing "Sympathy for the Devil," which was written after one of the band-members read The Master and Margarita.
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Food Remix
I realized before that there are a few things I left out about Russian cuisine that I really wanted to add.
First, to describe my lunches: for the first 2 weeks or so we all ate at a wonderful little cafe called "Samovar," where their specialty was blini. Blini are essentially crepes but (dare I say it?) typically more delicious (unless they've been cooked by two starving girls in the Sarver household) and cooked to perfect crispness. You can get them plain or smothered with (incredibly fresh) honey, sour cream, or butter; or you can opt for the stuffed version, the blini filled with apples (my personal favorite), caviar, or ham and cheese. Russians all love these little delights, and you can find them in just about any cafe (the best chains that serve them are Chainaya Lozhka/Teaspoon and Teremok, in that order). After a while I wanted to cut back on my spending (basically so I could splurge on weekend dinners) and I've since taken to taking sandwiches with me to class. Russian bread is varied and typically delicious; also, it is generally split into two types, black and white. They're fans of the byterbrod, a fancy name for an open-faced sandwich; until last Friday, Marina Nikolaevna thought that I was making 2 byterbrods every day for school, instead of realizing that I was simply putting the two pieces of salami-and-cheese-covered bread together face to face. While we're on the topic of sandwiches, peanut butter is virtually absent here; not even the supermarket on Nevsky carries any (Nutella, too, is difficult to find). Peanut butter definitely ranks in the top 10 of things I miss about home.
Drinking in Russia is a completely different matter, too. On the whole, most Russians regard drinking without eating as just plain stupid (not stupid in a "you'll get drunk quicker" sense, but stupid in a "why not have good food, too?" sense); therefore, a whole culture of beer snacks has grown up as well. Chips, peanuts, and pieces of dehydrated bread (hard to describe but very delicious; although I sometimes confuse their name with the word for "artists," much to my family's delight) are popular snacks, while it is just as common to find dried calamari and fish on the menu (personally I'm a fan of the calamari). For instance, at our Georgian restaurant, there was one whole page of the menu dedicated to snacks for drinking. The prices started out low for special breads, but you could easily spend over $80 just on snacks alone--not to mention the wines they offered for pairing.
Sweets aren't exactly a domain you'd consider the Russians ruling, but I'm convinced they beat out the Germans and edge past the French in terms of pastries and delectable treats. At least, they certainly love them, especially with tea--tea and cake, tea and tort, tea and random unpronounceable pastry... people wait in lines forever for these things, and there's at least 3 little cafes without any menu at all every 100 feet down Nevsky. For breakfast, plenty of people on the run just grab something flaky and sweet from cafes, while dessert is always offered at mealtime. Ice cream in particular is very very popular, and very very good. I'd eat it during the winter, and I definitely didn't turn down an offer from Masha for some yesterday even while I was shivering from the wind. There's tons of kinds of ice cream you can buy, and all sorts of assorted kinds on the streets; many have fruity fillings (Creme Brulee is also popular). If you ever get to Russia, I recommend to anybody "Bely Nochi."
Addition:
A lot of people joke about how all the Russians drink is vodka, and there is truth to that; you can find the stuff anywhere (be careful about buying it from kiosks off the street, as it might be dilutd with antifreeze). But when you think about it, the water quality is so awful that even in the major cities most people boil it before drinking it (hence the popularity of tea and coffee). Mr. Marin pointed this out in respect to the Mexicans, too. I believe his words went something like: "Of course they're drunk all the time, all they've got to drink is tequila!"
Sidenote here: Did I ever tell the story about Curtis and his hostess's bottle of tequila? One day another girl from his group comes over with her hostess, who is friends with Curtis's hostess, and they all sit around the table drinking and talking. And the other girl starts to explain about the worm in the bottom of the glass of tequila, as they do in ol' Mexico, when Curtis's hostess jumps up and says "I know about that! I've got one!" and brings down a bottle of tequila, wherein is sitting a dead baby cobra. She says "Oh, he needs a drink," tops him off with some liquor, and leaves the bottle sitting on the table so the cobra can stare at Curtis for the rest of the night.
Also, it is supposedly illegal nowadays to consume alcohol on the streets, and on the trains. The catch: they still SELL alcohol right on the street, AND on the trains, so clearly nobody pays attention to that rule. However, foreigners should do this with caution, because we're always under closer scrutiny.
And my last addition/sidenote: One time a week or two ago, Marina and I were talking. I think I asked her why she ate beets every night before going to bed. I believe her answer was something to the effect of "Because I'm a Capricorn." In return to my quizzical look, she got up and brought a big plastic bag full of newspaper clippings, which she paged through saying, "Leo, leo, leo..." and finally, "Here. You're a Leo. Read." So I read aloud this small clipping that told me what I should and should not eat, because I'm a Leo. It's a good thing that I eat greens on all my meals--something to do with the vitamins--but I should cut back on bananas. Also, I shouldn't eat potatoes very often, either (perhaps that's why we've only had mashed potatoes once or twice). Why? Because I'm a Leo! ...in return to the potato stipulation, all I wanted to say was, "But I'm Irish!" ...but I don't want to change how Marina cooks at all--she's a wonderful cook, and I feel like by not giving her too much idea of my preconceived likes and dislikes, I'm getting a fuller, more "Russian" experience of the food.. albeit influenced by my horroscope sign. =)
First, to describe my lunches: for the first 2 weeks or so we all ate at a wonderful little cafe called "Samovar," where their specialty was blini. Blini are essentially crepes but (dare I say it?) typically more delicious (unless they've been cooked by two starving girls in the Sarver household) and cooked to perfect crispness. You can get them plain or smothered with (incredibly fresh) honey, sour cream, or butter; or you can opt for the stuffed version, the blini filled with apples (my personal favorite), caviar, or ham and cheese. Russians all love these little delights, and you can find them in just about any cafe (the best chains that serve them are Chainaya Lozhka/Teaspoon and Teremok, in that order). After a while I wanted to cut back on my spending (basically so I could splurge on weekend dinners) and I've since taken to taking sandwiches with me to class. Russian bread is varied and typically delicious; also, it is generally split into two types, black and white. They're fans of the byterbrod, a fancy name for an open-faced sandwich; until last Friday, Marina Nikolaevna thought that I was making 2 byterbrods every day for school, instead of realizing that I was simply putting the two pieces of salami-and-cheese-covered bread together face to face. While we're on the topic of sandwiches, peanut butter is virtually absent here; not even the supermarket on Nevsky carries any (Nutella, too, is difficult to find). Peanut butter definitely ranks in the top 10 of things I miss about home.
Drinking in Russia is a completely different matter, too. On the whole, most Russians regard drinking without eating as just plain stupid (not stupid in a "you'll get drunk quicker" sense, but stupid in a "why not have good food, too?" sense); therefore, a whole culture of beer snacks has grown up as well. Chips, peanuts, and pieces of dehydrated bread (hard to describe but very delicious; although I sometimes confuse their name with the word for "artists," much to my family's delight) are popular snacks, while it is just as common to find dried calamari and fish on the menu (personally I'm a fan of the calamari). For instance, at our Georgian restaurant, there was one whole page of the menu dedicated to snacks for drinking. The prices started out low for special breads, but you could easily spend over $80 just on snacks alone--not to mention the wines they offered for pairing.
Sweets aren't exactly a domain you'd consider the Russians ruling, but I'm convinced they beat out the Germans and edge past the French in terms of pastries and delectable treats. At least, they certainly love them, especially with tea--tea and cake, tea and tort, tea and random unpronounceable pastry... people wait in lines forever for these things, and there's at least 3 little cafes without any menu at all every 100 feet down Nevsky. For breakfast, plenty of people on the run just grab something flaky and sweet from cafes, while dessert is always offered at mealtime. Ice cream in particular is very very popular, and very very good. I'd eat it during the winter, and I definitely didn't turn down an offer from Masha for some yesterday even while I was shivering from the wind. There's tons of kinds of ice cream you can buy, and all sorts of assorted kinds on the streets; many have fruity fillings (Creme Brulee is also popular). If you ever get to Russia, I recommend to anybody "Bely Nochi."
Addition:
A lot of people joke about how all the Russians drink is vodka, and there is truth to that; you can find the stuff anywhere (be careful about buying it from kiosks off the street, as it might be dilutd with antifreeze). But when you think about it, the water quality is so awful that even in the major cities most people boil it before drinking it (hence the popularity of tea and coffee). Mr. Marin pointed this out in respect to the Mexicans, too. I believe his words went something like: "Of course they're drunk all the time, all they've got to drink is tequila!"
Sidenote here: Did I ever tell the story about Curtis and his hostess's bottle of tequila? One day another girl from his group comes over with her hostess, who is friends with Curtis's hostess, and they all sit around the table drinking and talking. And the other girl starts to explain about the worm in the bottom of the glass of tequila, as they do in ol' Mexico, when Curtis's hostess jumps up and says "I know about that! I've got one!" and brings down a bottle of tequila, wherein is sitting a dead baby cobra. She says "Oh, he needs a drink," tops him off with some liquor, and leaves the bottle sitting on the table so the cobra can stare at Curtis for the rest of the night.
Also, it is supposedly illegal nowadays to consume alcohol on the streets, and on the trains. The catch: they still SELL alcohol right on the street, AND on the trains, so clearly nobody pays attention to that rule. However, foreigners should do this with caution, because we're always under closer scrutiny.
And my last addition/sidenote: One time a week or two ago, Marina and I were talking. I think I asked her why she ate beets every night before going to bed. I believe her answer was something to the effect of "Because I'm a Capricorn." In return to my quizzical look, she got up and brought a big plastic bag full of newspaper clippings, which she paged through saying, "Leo, leo, leo..." and finally, "Here. You're a Leo. Read." So I read aloud this small clipping that told me what I should and should not eat, because I'm a Leo. It's a good thing that I eat greens on all my meals--something to do with the vitamins--but I should cut back on bananas. Also, I shouldn't eat potatoes very often, either (perhaps that's why we've only had mashed potatoes once or twice). Why? Because I'm a Leo! ...in return to the potato stipulation, all I wanted to say was, "But I'm Irish!" ...but I don't want to change how Marina cooks at all--she's a wonderful cook, and I feel like by not giving her too much idea of my preconceived likes and dislikes, I'm getting a fuller, more "Russian" experience of the food.. albeit influenced by my horroscope sign. =)
PS A Thank-You
Sorry I forgot to include this, but this is just a quick thanks to Erycca, Ann, Allie, Nancy, Carly, and Grandma for leaving a message on this site. Now that I've gotten both mom and Nana's letters that read "This will be my last letter..." any contact from home has become even more precious. Even if you're just letting me know that volleyball is going to be over soon, I really appreciate it--it makes sitting in this stupid cafe for hours on end, uploading pictures over a ridiculously slow connection and trying to at least give sort of a feel of what I've been doing here, seem worthwhile. Otherwise, I would just stick to writing in my journal for myself--this has become a huge investment of time and energy that sometimes seems as if it would've been better spent working on other things (namely our piles of homework) but thanks to you guys, I still feel like I'm connected with home, and that somebody is actually enjoying what I'm putting up here.
So, once again, thanks muches guys. ^_^ Can't wait to be home soon and see all of you (except maybe Erycca, who I might see not-so-soonly =P)
So, once again, thanks muches guys. ^_^ Can't wait to be home soon and see all of you (except maybe Erycca, who I might see not-so-soonly =P)
July 22, 2007 || Kronstadt, Money Honey
What to write about this weekend...
Well, it started on Friday, the day where I did nothing, including not going to a banya like I'd intended, and fell asleep early. I woke up around 2 and kept waking up about every half hour, so I think the going to bed early balanced things out; I also meant to get up early and try to buy Harry Potter 7 from the English bookstore, but all my waking up in the night had left me vaguely tired once morning came around and everything was fine, so I fell asleep for a good hour and ended up sleeping late. When I called, the lady told me that all the books had been sold, (for over $40 apiece) but they were expecting a new shipment next week, and they would have many more copies then (this time, for ONLY $40). I told her thanks, hung up, and decided I could wait until I get back to the States. Besides, I had a Nabokov novel to work on until then--after reading Reading Lolita in Tehran I was really intrigued by Nabokov as a writer, being unable to find Zemyatin's We at the Dom Knigi outlet Masha and I visited on Thursday, out towards the edge of the city, I grabbed Lolita (the only interesting of the 10 books they had in English there). So now, perhaps one day I will collect all my memoirs and title them Reading Lolita in Tehran in Russia or maybe Reading Lolita in St. Petersburg Thanks to Reading Lolita in Tehran (I seem to have forgotten that "brevity is the soul of wit" and I'm so wiped out that my jokes don't even make me smile, so don't feel bad if you don't get it).
Saturday--only yesterday--I met Masha by Anichkov Most and we rode the metro out to a far north metro station, where we took a marshrytka to Kronstadt. Now, you must know that I'd had two, very differing introductions to Kronstadt: one, from Niel and my guidebook, which painted it as a sort of old and boring relic from the times when Russia's navy (when anyone's navy, in fact) was significant; and Masha made Kronstadt seem like a place of endless relaxation, calm and quiet and clean (a regular antithesis to Petersburg). I am happy to say that it is a bit of both: quiet green parks littered with maritime reminders of its storied and clanging past, and fountains in the shapes of forts that children run across while music plays. A bit of history, just to give a background--and by this I mean I'm going to relate the details about Kronstadt's history that I find most interesting:
Kronstadt has been home to some of Russia's most important revolutionary origins, including the leader of the Decembrist rebels (Bestushev), the leader of the People's Will (Sukhanov), where numerous revolts took place. The Bolsheviks referred to the Kronstadt sailors (crucial to carrying out the October Revolution) "the pride and glory of the Revolution" and were astounded when the sailors later revolted against THEM. From the guidebook:
" The eighteen-day Kronstadt Sailors' Revolt of March 1921 went under the slogan "Soviets without Communism." Their manifesto demanded freedom of speech and assembly, with the abolition of the Bolshevik dictatorship and an end to War Communism. Only the ice-locked Gulf (zalif) prevented the rebel cruisers Sevastopol and Petropavlosk from steaming into the Neva basin and holding St. Petersburg hostage. With a thaw imminent, Trotsky warned the rebels: 'Only those who surrender unconditionally can count on the mercy of the Soviet Republic' - but few of them responded.
Two hours before dawn on March 8, 45,000 white-clad Red Army troops advanced on Kronstadt, across the frozen Gulf, unnoticed until they were within 500m of the fortress, when a third of them drowned after Kronstadt's cannons ruptured the ice. The next assault was spearheaded by volunteers from the Tenth Party Congress, who laid ladders between the ruptured ice floes and then swarmed across to establish a beachhead. The fortress was subsequently stormed on the night of March 16-17. Besides the thirty thousand killed on both sides in battle, 2000 sailoers were executed on the spot and many more sent to the Gulag (although 8000 managed to escape across the ice to Finland). The sailors were posthumously pardoned in 1994. "
Also, I think it is relevant to add that Kronstadt remained a significant military location through much of the last century; until 1992 foreigners were not allowed to set foot on the island. When I mentioned this to Masha, she nodded her head, saying "That's right, this was a closed city. But it's an open city, now." And for a moment it struck me how odd those terms sounded--if you said them in America we would understand immediately what was meant, but I think there would be a lag while we tried to fully comprehend them. With the exception of "Area 51" I can't think of any entire cities in America where foreigners are not allowed (and Area 51 is such an exception in and of itself). It took me a second to do the math, too, and figure that Masha lived in Kronstadt during its closed period. Realizations like that--like when we were walking through a birch forest on Thursday, just after discussing the Russian word for "mutt" and just before discussing Russia's Olympic mascot for the 2014 Games, we somehow hit upon Stalin and Masha talked about how her mother lived through that time, how she was afraid constantly. And it's just hard to put into perspective--that world we read about in stupid Tom Clancy novels or think we learn about from James Bond, really happened and really had impacts on real people, who are really quite like us. To digress a bit, that day we also stopped at a Chainikoff and I had (wonder of wonders!) cold tea and (really?) a hot sandwich. I was overwhelmed. We talked about Russian and American music, and TV, and their obvious merger, MTV. I asked if Russia still had music on MTV--they do--and started to describe to her the horrors of a show called "Next." "It's--it's just a stupid show. It's a show without a point," I said. Now imagine MY horror when she came back and said, "Oh, there's a show like that, without a point, on MTV. My friends and I just can't believe it--it would never happen in Russia. For example, in the show, three boys sit in a van while one girl goes in their houses and looks in their rooms and closets..."
Yes. Room Raiders. In Russia. Let us add "really stupid MTV shows" to the list of things not to export to other countries, shall we?
But back to Kronstadt. So, imagine how much of a crazy collective memory Russia already has. Now, add everything you learned about Kronstadt to it--people here live with the knowledge that their ancestors were spirited, principled rabble-rousers; that's a pretty cool legacy, in my opinion. And they still give proper reverence to most everything on the island (it was easily one of the cleanest places I've been, regardless of the fact that nowadays it's mostly a factory town). Anyway, Masha could tell me just about anything about any monument or canal on the whole island (her dad is really into history), and she was friends with the curator of the local museum, and it was almost more fun to hear stories about this one reservoir that she fell into--she was sitting on the rocks when a fish swam by, and without thinking about it, she reached out to grab it, lost her balance, and fell in--then the tales of the admiral standing on his monument, watching over the Russian navy that he had lead for so well and so long. But the coolest part about this trip was meeting Masha's boyfriend, Vladimir (Volodya, Vova) and seeing them together. I've heard a lot about it (his age, how he loves Metallica, etc) and seen pictures, but it was so different to meet him! And him and Masha have so much about them that's different--she seems very proper and nice (not letting me cross the street if the light is red) and he's a little more rough-edged, with the Metallica music and the not-quite-PC jokes ("Vova! Don't tell Jaclyn those!" "What?! They're true, and it'll help her Russian.") but they are just so cute together. We went to the beach (one of the cleanest on the Zalif) and dipped our feet in, surveyed the European-clad bathers there; saw two beautiful parks, in furtive rain and sun; a giant cathedral; saw long shiny ships floating out along a guarded dock; and had a delicious lunch which, once again, I was not allowed to pay for (Marina Nikolaevna later told me that this is Russian custom--you don't invite someone somewhere unless you can pay their way too, but I still feel uncomfortable about it).
I yawned on the ride home, while Volodya actually fell asleep, rushed home to change and wolfed down some dinner before meeting Liza downtown. We originally made for Liverpool, a Beatles bar off of Nevsky, but ended up at Money Honey, probably the only popular country bar in Russia. Popular, of course, is a relative term--the people there looked like locals (including the cat in red and a black Stetson who had feet that moved in black blurs and hands that stayed right at his waist) and the leather jacket gang, who pounded on the tables after each song. The band was actually quite good, although it took me two songs to figure out that they WERE singing in English; they were all talented at their instruments, and seemed to really get into the music (where do Russians hear country?), while the lead singer had this clean-cut look that reminded me of Johnny Cash. The bar was big, and its walls covered with knick-knacks like band posters, cowboy boots, and murals of the open West (our West, not Russia's). Everything was wood, from the uncomfortable chairs to sturdy tables to wagon wheels holding plastic candles from the ceiling, and the music was pleasantly loud. Two happy-looking toughs with sagging cheeks, receding hair and bulging Harley-Davidson jackets sat at the table next to us, and behind them this amazing couple swing-danced better than anybody I've ever seen in real life. Walking around was a really smiley, big older guy with a chopper cap on his head and a t-shirt reading "Milwaukee Wild Men" (which of course made me think of Professor Gasperetti) peeping through his weathered leather vest; he would stop at various tables and make conversation in a voice that sounded like Sam the Eagle's (a blue bird from the Muppets), which just made me burst out laughing whenever he opened his mouth.
We got to talking with the guys next to us--when I tried to figured out what a Blue Lagoon was called in Russian (big surprise, it's "Blue Lagoon"), and that made for some interesting moments. You're always wary here of being too talkative with people (not to mention big old biker types) because you never know how things will go, so all conversation was rather stunted--but they were from Moscow, and believed we were from Canada, and although we stopped talking to them when the Milwaukee Wild Man ambled over ("Have you been to Milwaukee?" "I am a Milwaukee wild man!" ...close enough), they paused their conversation in order to shout "Canada forever! Long live Canada! Russia is [crappy] [poop]!" before we left.
Today was more rest and relaxation and homework--you'd think with finals this week they'd be easing off on all the homework they're giving us, but no, if anything it's worse--although some relation of our family's came over to help do the last wall. He took a hammer and chisel to it, tapping in little dents that showered concrete all over the kitchen floor. He was really nice, and kept up a stream of conversation as he worked, and it struck me how helpful Russians are--which of course relates back to them being closer to their close friends/relations than most Americans are. Who would drop everything and come from a soccer match to spend all day schlacking tile and wallpaper to their grandma's or neighbor's or I don't know what's (missed that part of the introduction) without a complaint--indeed, with a smile that didn't have any hint of "you owe me one" behind it?
Well, for this week, we have a tour of the Baltika beer factory on Wednesday, after which Jessica and I are going to go see Harry Potter 5, and hopefully sometime during the week I'll get to Club Chaplin (a comedy club), a nice Banya, and we should be able to hit Liverpool, if I can find it in my guidebook, too. Friday is our end of year banquet, and the day the hot water gets turned back on, and the last day of classes, and my jubilee (have I explained how Russians start "jubilees" at age twenty, and then celebrate them every ten years?), and basically I'm going to be completely exhausted for Saturday, the day Curtis gets back up here, the day we have to take our end-of-program exams, the day the Rolling Stones play in town, and the night before we leave for our long trip to Suzdal, Vladimir, and Moscow. Phew. I wish we had more time, less homework!
That being said though, I also am really really looking forward to getting home--you know how it is, once that time starts approaching, you start thinking about home more and more.
Well, it started on Friday, the day where I did nothing, including not going to a banya like I'd intended, and fell asleep early. I woke up around 2 and kept waking up about every half hour, so I think the going to bed early balanced things out; I also meant to get up early and try to buy Harry Potter 7 from the English bookstore, but all my waking up in the night had left me vaguely tired once morning came around and everything was fine, so I fell asleep for a good hour and ended up sleeping late. When I called, the lady told me that all the books had been sold, (for over $40 apiece) but they were expecting a new shipment next week, and they would have many more copies then (this time, for ONLY $40). I told her thanks, hung up, and decided I could wait until I get back to the States. Besides, I had a Nabokov novel to work on until then--after reading Reading Lolita in Tehran I was really intrigued by Nabokov as a writer, being unable to find Zemyatin's We at the Dom Knigi outlet Masha and I visited on Thursday, out towards the edge of the city, I grabbed Lolita (the only interesting of the 10 books they had in English there). So now, perhaps one day I will collect all my memoirs and title them Reading Lolita in Tehran in Russia or maybe Reading Lolita in St. Petersburg Thanks to Reading Lolita in Tehran (I seem to have forgotten that "brevity is the soul of wit" and I'm so wiped out that my jokes don't even make me smile, so don't feel bad if you don't get it).
Saturday--only yesterday--I met Masha by Anichkov Most and we rode the metro out to a far north metro station, where we took a marshrytka to Kronstadt. Now, you must know that I'd had two, very differing introductions to Kronstadt: one, from Niel and my guidebook, which painted it as a sort of old and boring relic from the times when Russia's navy (when anyone's navy, in fact) was significant; and Masha made Kronstadt seem like a place of endless relaxation, calm and quiet and clean (a regular antithesis to Petersburg). I am happy to say that it is a bit of both: quiet green parks littered with maritime reminders of its storied and clanging past, and fountains in the shapes of forts that children run across while music plays. A bit of history, just to give a background--and by this I mean I'm going to relate the details about Kronstadt's history that I find most interesting:
Kronstadt has been home to some of Russia's most important revolutionary origins, including the leader of the Decembrist rebels (Bestushev), the leader of the People's Will (Sukhanov), where numerous revolts took place. The Bolsheviks referred to the Kronstadt sailors (crucial to carrying out the October Revolution) "the pride and glory of the Revolution" and were astounded when the sailors later revolted against THEM. From the guidebook:
" The eighteen-day Kronstadt Sailors' Revolt of March 1921 went under the slogan "Soviets without Communism." Their manifesto demanded freedom of speech and assembly, with the abolition of the Bolshevik dictatorship and an end to War Communism. Only the ice-locked Gulf (zalif) prevented the rebel cruisers Sevastopol and Petropavlosk from steaming into the Neva basin and holding St. Petersburg hostage. With a thaw imminent, Trotsky warned the rebels: 'Only those who surrender unconditionally can count on the mercy of the Soviet Republic' - but few of them responded.
Two hours before dawn on March 8, 45,000 white-clad Red Army troops advanced on Kronstadt, across the frozen Gulf, unnoticed until they were within 500m of the fortress, when a third of them drowned after Kronstadt's cannons ruptured the ice. The next assault was spearheaded by volunteers from the Tenth Party Congress, who laid ladders between the ruptured ice floes and then swarmed across to establish a beachhead. The fortress was subsequently stormed on the night of March 16-17. Besides the thirty thousand killed on both sides in battle, 2000 sailoers were executed on the spot and many more sent to the Gulag (although 8000 managed to escape across the ice to Finland). The sailors were posthumously pardoned in 1994. "
Also, I think it is relevant to add that Kronstadt remained a significant military location through much of the last century; until 1992 foreigners were not allowed to set foot on the island. When I mentioned this to Masha, she nodded her head, saying "That's right, this was a closed city. But it's an open city, now." And for a moment it struck me how odd those terms sounded--if you said them in America we would understand immediately what was meant, but I think there would be a lag while we tried to fully comprehend them. With the exception of "Area 51" I can't think of any entire cities in America where foreigners are not allowed (and Area 51 is such an exception in and of itself). It took me a second to do the math, too, and figure that Masha lived in Kronstadt during its closed period. Realizations like that--like when we were walking through a birch forest on Thursday, just after discussing the Russian word for "mutt" and just before discussing Russia's Olympic mascot for the 2014 Games, we somehow hit upon Stalin and Masha talked about how her mother lived through that time, how she was afraid constantly. And it's just hard to put into perspective--that world we read about in stupid Tom Clancy novels or think we learn about from James Bond, really happened and really had impacts on real people, who are really quite like us. To digress a bit, that day we also stopped at a Chainikoff and I had (wonder of wonders!) cold tea and (really?) a hot sandwich. I was overwhelmed. We talked about Russian and American music, and TV, and their obvious merger, MTV. I asked if Russia still had music on MTV--they do--and started to describe to her the horrors of a show called "Next." "It's--it's just a stupid show. It's a show without a point," I said. Now imagine MY horror when she came back and said, "Oh, there's a show like that, without a point, on MTV. My friends and I just can't believe it--it would never happen in Russia. For example, in the show, three boys sit in a van while one girl goes in their houses and looks in their rooms and closets..."
Yes. Room Raiders. In Russia. Let us add "really stupid MTV shows" to the list of things not to export to other countries, shall we?
But back to Kronstadt. So, imagine how much of a crazy collective memory Russia already has. Now, add everything you learned about Kronstadt to it--people here live with the knowledge that their ancestors were spirited, principled rabble-rousers; that's a pretty cool legacy, in my opinion. And they still give proper reverence to most everything on the island (it was easily one of the cleanest places I've been, regardless of the fact that nowadays it's mostly a factory town). Anyway, Masha could tell me just about anything about any monument or canal on the whole island (her dad is really into history), and she was friends with the curator of the local museum, and it was almost more fun to hear stories about this one reservoir that she fell into--she was sitting on the rocks when a fish swam by, and without thinking about it, she reached out to grab it, lost her balance, and fell in--then the tales of the admiral standing on his monument, watching over the Russian navy that he had lead for so well and so long. But the coolest part about this trip was meeting Masha's boyfriend, Vladimir (Volodya, Vova) and seeing them together. I've heard a lot about it (his age, how he loves Metallica, etc) and seen pictures, but it was so different to meet him! And him and Masha have so much about them that's different--she seems very proper and nice (not letting me cross the street if the light is red) and he's a little more rough-edged, with the Metallica music and the not-quite-PC jokes ("Vova! Don't tell Jaclyn those!" "What?! They're true, and it'll help her Russian.") but they are just so cute together. We went to the beach (one of the cleanest on the Zalif) and dipped our feet in, surveyed the European-clad bathers there; saw two beautiful parks, in furtive rain and sun; a giant cathedral; saw long shiny ships floating out along a guarded dock; and had a delicious lunch which, once again, I was not allowed to pay for (Marina Nikolaevna later told me that this is Russian custom--you don't invite someone somewhere unless you can pay their way too, but I still feel uncomfortable about it).
I yawned on the ride home, while Volodya actually fell asleep, rushed home to change and wolfed down some dinner before meeting Liza downtown. We originally made for Liverpool, a Beatles bar off of Nevsky, but ended up at Money Honey, probably the only popular country bar in Russia. Popular, of course, is a relative term--the people there looked like locals (including the cat in red and a black Stetson who had feet that moved in black blurs and hands that stayed right at his waist) and the leather jacket gang, who pounded on the tables after each song. The band was actually quite good, although it took me two songs to figure out that they WERE singing in English; they were all talented at their instruments, and seemed to really get into the music (where do Russians hear country?), while the lead singer had this clean-cut look that reminded me of Johnny Cash. The bar was big, and its walls covered with knick-knacks like band posters, cowboy boots, and murals of the open West (our West, not Russia's). Everything was wood, from the uncomfortable chairs to sturdy tables to wagon wheels holding plastic candles from the ceiling, and the music was pleasantly loud. Two happy-looking toughs with sagging cheeks, receding hair and bulging Harley-Davidson jackets sat at the table next to us, and behind them this amazing couple swing-danced better than anybody I've ever seen in real life. Walking around was a really smiley, big older guy with a chopper cap on his head and a t-shirt reading "Milwaukee Wild Men" (which of course made me think of Professor Gasperetti) peeping through his weathered leather vest; he would stop at various tables and make conversation in a voice that sounded like Sam the Eagle's (a blue bird from the Muppets), which just made me burst out laughing whenever he opened his mouth.
We got to talking with the guys next to us--when I tried to figured out what a Blue Lagoon was called in Russian (big surprise, it's "Blue Lagoon"), and that made for some interesting moments. You're always wary here of being too talkative with people (not to mention big old biker types) because you never know how things will go, so all conversation was rather stunted--but they were from Moscow, and believed we were from Canada, and although we stopped talking to them when the Milwaukee Wild Man ambled over ("Have you been to Milwaukee?" "I am a Milwaukee wild man!" ...close enough), they paused their conversation in order to shout "Canada forever! Long live Canada! Russia is [crappy] [poop]!" before we left.
Today was more rest and relaxation and homework--you'd think with finals this week they'd be easing off on all the homework they're giving us, but no, if anything it's worse--although some relation of our family's came over to help do the last wall. He took a hammer and chisel to it, tapping in little dents that showered concrete all over the kitchen floor. He was really nice, and kept up a stream of conversation as he worked, and it struck me how helpful Russians are--which of course relates back to them being closer to their close friends/relations than most Americans are. Who would drop everything and come from a soccer match to spend all day schlacking tile and wallpaper to their grandma's or neighbor's or I don't know what's (missed that part of the introduction) without a complaint--indeed, with a smile that didn't have any hint of "you owe me one" behind it?
Well, for this week, we have a tour of the Baltika beer factory on Wednesday, after which Jessica and I are going to go see Harry Potter 5, and hopefully sometime during the week I'll get to Club Chaplin (a comedy club), a nice Banya, and we should be able to hit Liverpool, if I can find it in my guidebook, too. Friday is our end of year banquet, and the day the hot water gets turned back on, and the last day of classes, and my jubilee (have I explained how Russians start "jubilees" at age twenty, and then celebrate them every ten years?), and basically I'm going to be completely exhausted for Saturday, the day Curtis gets back up here, the day we have to take our end-of-program exams, the day the Rolling Stones play in town, and the night before we leave for our long trip to Suzdal, Vladimir, and Moscow. Phew. I wish we had more time, less homework!
That being said though, I also am really really looking forward to getting home--you know how it is, once that time starts approaching, you start thinking about home more and more.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
July 18, 2007 (Part II) || "Ice"/Pavlosk
Well, it's the middle of the week here... Harry Potter comes out in theaters tomorrow, and I've already scouted out a book store that should get English copies of the 7th book on Saturday (you know where I'll be Saturday morning)--hopefully I'll get there before they sell out, because I refuse to pay the sky-high prices at Dom Knigi for English books. This weekend I really should be visiting Kronstadt with Masha, we're going out somewhere tomorrow night, and I'm trying to put more plans in place. I found a comedy club I really want to check out, and I'm seriously thinking about cutting class to go to the beach on Friday... but next week are exams, and I could use all the extra practice I can get...
As our time here is winding down, we're going through all sorts of changes... starting to think about our lives back in the States and getting excited to be back, getting a bit burned out on Russian homework, feeling like we've got to do souvenir shopping and sightseeing and homework and sleep somewhere in there, so it's been busybusy day-in and day-out. This might be my last post for awhile, depending on finals and everything, but I'll try to squeeze in some time before we leave on our long trip to Vladimir, Suzdal, and Moscow.
Anyway, Tuesday night Anna, Liza, Trista and I went to a bar called "Ice." Everything there was made of--you guessed it--ice. We had to don big insulated coats and furry boots that they provided before stepping into the ice area... and literally, EVERYTHING was ice. The walls, the tables, the couch, the shot glasses, the bar... and everything was really pretty, carved nicely, and there were flowers frozen in the ice. It was a really pricey bar, so we only stayed for one drink before heading over to Dacha (a bar right next to the infamous Fidel), but what an experience! It was really, really cold in there (-10C), but the drinks were good and the atmosphere was really fun. And, you know, you had to try licking part of the place at least once.
Wednesday--ie, today--we had an excursion to Pavlosk, another Russian palace/park estate. The park here was two or three times as big as Peterhof's and lovely in a more wild way. I definitely want to come back to Pavlosk one day and have a nice picnic and just go exploring along the paths and through the woods. It was really peaceful and nice, a great break from the hustle and bustle of the city. Plus it's littered with ornate pavilions and statues and bridges that are basically works of art, so there's always a good destination to walk to. The best thing about today though, was the fact that 13 of the 15 people in our group were all together, and we just sat out in this big open grassy field and had a picnic, eating lunches we'd brought (or picking from the offerings some people threw in of candy, fruit, cookies, and tea breads--this is an extensive topic that I should cover later, because there are billions of snacks you can have with tea). Then, according to whim, we played badminton or catch, or laid out in the sun or drew or listened to music, or played hackey-sack and soccer with an uneaten orange. But then we all got together to play Red Rover, and even got Neil to join in. THAT was fun--Red Rover is just such a good nostalgic game in itself, but especially with new friends in the middle of Russia... I don't know how to explain it, it was just a really cool communal feeling. And Katya told us the Russian words! Apparently they play it just like we do, just say the words a little differently (I'll have to ask Masha--one day we're going to sit down and do Russian tongue-twisters and kids songs... already I've written down their equivalent of Roy G. Biv and the Alphabet song--for some reason, these are things that I really want to know and hang onto... hopefully my kids will grow up bilingual). So then, of course, we were all yelling these random Russian phrases back and forth at each other and just--it was a wonderful day.
Jessica and I jumped on the elektrichka (kind of like a day train) home early, not really sure if we were even headed in the right direction, and we really got a chance to talk... I love having her around because I'm really homesick for Notre Dame, and I think that's she's got the right opinions about all kinds of stuff.
I'm not sure what else to tell, since I'm wiped out--I basically got off the elektrichka, grabbed my computer, and headed over. There's a literally party at the apartment; hopefully Uncle Yuri, Polina, Danya, and Nora will all be there when I get back--Polina's mom told Nora she could get her ears pierced today! "I'm scared but I really want to do it," Nora said. She is the sweetest little girl ever, constantly asking if she can help me with my homework, helping her great-grandma around the house, painting my nails (which are now chipping silver like crazy), but she's got this little fiery streak too--I don't know what she's saying, but she'll definitely talk back to her great-grandpa (who I think is more annoyed by his great grandkids than amused by them) and try to reason things out with her great-grandma. I can't think for the life of me what to get my host family as a parting gift (can anyone think of good gifts for a 70s-ish couple that doesn't seem to need anything in life?), but I think maybe I'll splurge some of my money on a nice pair of earrings for Nora. That is, if I don't burn it all in Moscow, first.
Also, Curtis took a day off from class today and went around town visiting a bunch of the cultural sights he'd been really wanting to see. Throughout the day I'd receive SMSs saying things like "That was SO cool... off to the Pushkin Museum!" and it was good to hear that he was having such a good time.
====You Might Find This Interesting====
Since I mentioned the bar "Dacha" (which is really cozy and decorated inside with wallpaper like a typical Russian home--the Russian homes I've been to seem to really adore wallpaper), I might as well elaborate a bit on what the word means.
The Russian dacha is an integral part of life for city-dwellers. Dachas are basically little cottages that Russians keep far outside the city (normally more than an hour). The nearest comparison I can make to it is "going up North" for people in Michigan--you get out of the city, get away from the TV and telephone, and get to relax in nature. They can be little clapboard shacks or relatively big wooden houses, and might have their own gardens or porches. During the summer, lots of Russians go constantly to their dachas, every weekend, or sometimes they live there (Chris's younger brother, for example, is living at the dacha with their grandma to make more room for him in the apartment).
I just Wikipedia-ed them because they're such a hard concept to communicate, but Wikipedia reports a cool fact: Russia is ranked second in countries whose residents have second homes. Kind of odd, right, considering the financial situation of most Russians, and the difficulty of purchasing a nice apartment in the city? That just goes to show how important dachas are to the average Russian family--even people who live on the poorer end of the spectrum will make ends meet in order to have a dacha. I think this comes from what I see as a deeper connect with nature in Russia--judging from the number of parks in a city and how often they're used, the frequency with which Russians visit palace-estates like Petergof and Pavlosk, and the fact that it is STILL a ridiculously popular Russian past-time to go out into the woods and collect mushrooms.
As our time here is winding down, we're going through all sorts of changes... starting to think about our lives back in the States and getting excited to be back, getting a bit burned out on Russian homework, feeling like we've got to do souvenir shopping and sightseeing and homework and sleep somewhere in there, so it's been busybusy day-in and day-out. This might be my last post for awhile, depending on finals and everything, but I'll try to squeeze in some time before we leave on our long trip to Vladimir, Suzdal, and Moscow.
Anyway, Tuesday night Anna, Liza, Trista and I went to a bar called "Ice." Everything there was made of--you guessed it--ice. We had to don big insulated coats and furry boots that they provided before stepping into the ice area... and literally, EVERYTHING was ice. The walls, the tables, the couch, the shot glasses, the bar... and everything was really pretty, carved nicely, and there were flowers frozen in the ice. It was a really pricey bar, so we only stayed for one drink before heading over to Dacha (a bar right next to the infamous Fidel), but what an experience! It was really, really cold in there (-10C), but the drinks were good and the atmosphere was really fun. And, you know, you had to try licking part of the place at least once.
Wednesday--ie, today--we had an excursion to Pavlosk, another Russian palace/park estate. The park here was two or three times as big as Peterhof's and lovely in a more wild way. I definitely want to come back to Pavlosk one day and have a nice picnic and just go exploring along the paths and through the woods. It was really peaceful and nice, a great break from the hustle and bustle of the city. Plus it's littered with ornate pavilions and statues and bridges that are basically works of art, so there's always a good destination to walk to. The best thing about today though, was the fact that 13 of the 15 people in our group were all together, and we just sat out in this big open grassy field and had a picnic, eating lunches we'd brought (or picking from the offerings some people threw in of candy, fruit, cookies, and tea breads--this is an extensive topic that I should cover later, because there are billions of snacks you can have with tea). Then, according to whim, we played badminton or catch, or laid out in the sun or drew or listened to music, or played hackey-sack and soccer with an uneaten orange. But then we all got together to play Red Rover, and even got Neil to join in. THAT was fun--Red Rover is just such a good nostalgic game in itself, but especially with new friends in the middle of Russia... I don't know how to explain it, it was just a really cool communal feeling. And Katya told us the Russian words! Apparently they play it just like we do, just say the words a little differently (I'll have to ask Masha--one day we're going to sit down and do Russian tongue-twisters and kids songs... already I've written down their equivalent of Roy G. Biv and the Alphabet song--for some reason, these are things that I really want to know and hang onto... hopefully my kids will grow up bilingual). So then, of course, we were all yelling these random Russian phrases back and forth at each other and just--it was a wonderful day.
Jessica and I jumped on the elektrichka (kind of like a day train) home early, not really sure if we were even headed in the right direction, and we really got a chance to talk... I love having her around because I'm really homesick for Notre Dame, and I think that's she's got the right opinions about all kinds of stuff.
I'm not sure what else to tell, since I'm wiped out--I basically got off the elektrichka, grabbed my computer, and headed over. There's a literally party at the apartment; hopefully Uncle Yuri, Polina, Danya, and Nora will all be there when I get back--Polina's mom told Nora she could get her ears pierced today! "I'm scared but I really want to do it," Nora said. She is the sweetest little girl ever, constantly asking if she can help me with my homework, helping her great-grandma around the house, painting my nails (which are now chipping silver like crazy), but she's got this little fiery streak too--I don't know what she's saying, but she'll definitely talk back to her great-grandpa (who I think is more annoyed by his great grandkids than amused by them) and try to reason things out with her great-grandma. I can't think for the life of me what to get my host family as a parting gift (can anyone think of good gifts for a 70s-ish couple that doesn't seem to need anything in life?), but I think maybe I'll splurge some of my money on a nice pair of earrings for Nora. That is, if I don't burn it all in Moscow, first.
Also, Curtis took a day off from class today and went around town visiting a bunch of the cultural sights he'd been really wanting to see. Throughout the day I'd receive SMSs saying things like "That was SO cool... off to the Pushkin Museum!" and it was good to hear that he was having such a good time.
====You Might Find This Interesting====
Since I mentioned the bar "Dacha" (which is really cozy and decorated inside with wallpaper like a typical Russian home--the Russian homes I've been to seem to really adore wallpaper), I might as well elaborate a bit on what the word means.
The Russian dacha is an integral part of life for city-dwellers. Dachas are basically little cottages that Russians keep far outside the city (normally more than an hour). The nearest comparison I can make to it is "going up North" for people in Michigan--you get out of the city, get away from the TV and telephone, and get to relax in nature. They can be little clapboard shacks or relatively big wooden houses, and might have their own gardens or porches. During the summer, lots of Russians go constantly to their dachas, every weekend, or sometimes they live there (Chris's younger brother, for example, is living at the dacha with their grandma to make more room for him in the apartment).
I just Wikipedia-ed them because they're such a hard concept to communicate, but Wikipedia reports a cool fact: Russia is ranked second in countries whose residents have second homes. Kind of odd, right, considering the financial situation of most Russians, and the difficulty of purchasing a nice apartment in the city? That just goes to show how important dachas are to the average Russian family--even people who live on the poorer end of the spectrum will make ends meet in order to have a dacha. I think this comes from what I see as a deeper connect with nature in Russia--judging from the number of parks in a city and how often they're used, the frequency with which Russians visit palace-estates like Petergof and Pavlosk, and the fact that it is STILL a ridiculously popular Russian past-time to go out into the woods and collect mushrooms.
July 18, 2007 || A Rush-Through of the Weekend/Peterhof
Sometimes I'm just too tired to write in this blog, and today is one of those days where I'd rather take a cold shower or a nap than fight with Russia. Sunday I came to my regular cafe only to find out that their wireless wasn't working that day... and today, my 20-hour card popped up as having 0 minutes. Thankfully, the nice girl was working today, and even the mean Vasiliy knows who I am by now, so they put in a call to their boss and they gave me a brand-spanking new card for 20 hours, so all is honky-dory. But still, sometimes you just have to laugh at how hard some of the simplest things here can be.
Quite a lot has happened since my last post... I finally gave my presentation on the G8, which went pretty well, I think. The stress leading up to it was worse than the actual presentation. I'm glad to have that out of the way--but now I'm really starting to get sick of school and have started sacrificing homework for cultural exploration, which means that later I sacrifice sleep for homework.
On Thursday I met my tutor, who said that we were going to go out to an "evening club." I really had no idea what that meant, so I just said okay and met her at our usual spot. Turns out it's just a club that opens early and closes early too. So we meet up, and head to the metro to meet her two Russian friends (who both study English but have been given strict orders from Masha not to speak a word of it to me). We're introduced, and immediately Masha starts apologizing--she read online that the place we're going to is a gay club! Her friend Katya picked it out, having been there already, and keeps telling Masha that it's safe and clean and fine. I'm trying to get across that whatever is fine with me--thinking that at least there's no chance of being hassled at a gay club, right?
The entrance was bedecked with rainbow-colored (think Andy Warhol) pictures of Marilyn Monroe, and there's a disco ball throwing snowflakes of light over everything. An exceptionally homosexual man takes our jackets (which isn't important except for the fact that it reinforced the thought that "Yes, I really am going to a gay club") and we walk down the entrance ramp... into a really cool underground room, covered in paintings of heiroglyphs and Egyptian art, but there's also a bank of TVs playing porn. Like, random Playboy videos of people stripping and pouring water over one another. Kind of disconcerting, okay, so I was really put off by it, but even more so because I suddenly thought "Maybe this isn't a gay club after all." But the next room had drawings in the Greco-Roman vase style of boys and old men, young men, and centaurs all naked and in various stages of arousal. So once again, maybe it IS a gay club. For the whole night I was just really confused by the whole thing--but sex was definitely a prevalent theme. The next room was all dark brick and low-lit, with more TVs. Also, a double-row of what looked like bathroom stalls were lined up in the middle of the room. We were really confused by them at first, but later we found out that they were for rent by the half hour, and inside there was a TV, VCR, and headphones. To round out the "experience" part of this night, you'd have to take a trip to the bathrooms. The door is marked male/female, but wen you go in, you'll realize that it shouldn't have that slash in between. On the right wall are two bathroom stalls, and on the left stand the sinks, and straight in front, in the same room, are urinals semi-screened off by hippie beads. Definitely a way to bond with people, right?
But really, I had a great time--Masha's friends were really great, and we finally broke the hug barrier when I told her friends how Masha is like "my little mother" not letting me cross the street if the light is red, and apologizing for at least 10 minutes when we finally sat down at a table about the TVs in the bar. At one point, they even helped me smuggle money into her purse--she's always footing the bill when we go places, and that's just really hard for me to allow, knowing that they get paid so little. We talked about quite a bit--how I mess up certain words ALL THE TIME, and what kind of music they liked to listen to (foreign lyrics aren't as important as the music, since they can't understand them most of the time), and all sorts of other things. They asked me questions about getting into college (whether bribing occurred frequently, like it apparently does here), whether we ALWAYS keep our doors open, so if we need to we can just walk over to our neighbor's and borrow some salt or sugar ("On TV, Americans always have their doors open"), what the average age of marriage is--and the cost of a wedding--hand gestures (the high-five was a little awkward, but the middle finger still has the same connotation), and all sots of other things. Then we danced in the sketchy heiroglyphic room to an interesting mix of music and called it a night--but again, I don't know where they find our tutors. They are infinitely patient--imagine talking in a really loud bar with your friends. Now add in the fact that one of your friends is speaking what is to her a foreign language and doesn't even know all the words you're saying. Wouldn't that be frustrating? But somehow Masha puts up with me all the time without getting frustrated, and I adore her so much for it (you should hear some of the bad tutor stories).
On Friday some of the girls went back to Fidel and KK met up with Anant there, but I reaaaally needed to shave my legs, so I spent the evening at a banya. Marina mentioned that there was one right by our house, so we called (her 2nd or 3rd cousin had also stopped over to visit) and I actually set up an appointment(!). It was in a really nice building, as as I ascended the trendy, marble-and-glass stairs I was kind of afraid of what I was getting myself into. No old babushkas and rickety wooden benches? Sure enough, I knew I was out of my element when I was escorted to a "rest" room with leather chairs, a bound menu, and a TV. I got a big bed-sheet-esque towel to wrap myself in and plastic tapochki. Then, well... this place was amazing. They had both a Finnish sauna and a Russian one, a cold bath that was big enough for you to stretch out in and not touch either end, a wall of showers, people working there who would scrub you with soap, or mud, or run ice blocks over you in the sauna, walls and benches specifically for laying out on, and even this one area where someone could hose you down with these two high-powered hoses they had. It cost must more than normal, and I never have to go back, but it was a really, really lovely experience, and just what I needed. After I got home, I slept like a baby (almost 12 full hours--UNHEARD OF).
On Saturday Liza, Trista, and Dan, a new Princeton guy, trekked off to Peterhof for the day. Peterhof is one of the more famous of the tsar's palaces/playgrounds/parks, because of the multitudes of fountains that sparkle there in the summer. We took a boat from behind the Hermitage over, passing the SPB Yacht Club, a sailboat regatta, and Finland in the process. Just BEING on a boat made me feel better--if nothing else, I miss being on the water (and I am DETERMINED to get to a beach and go swimming in Russia). The day we visited happened to be the same day as the place's founding, so there were fireworks, and people in costumes dancing, and all sorts of music everywhere. The fountains were amazing, and all of the named ones bear looking at (The Grand Cascade, Samson and the Lion, The Chessboard Cascade, The Tree, The Umbrella, The Sun, The Roman Fountain, Adam, Eve, The Lion Cascade, The Golden Cascade, The Square Fountains, The Neptune Fountain, The Oak Fountain). Peter was crazy about fountains and waterworks and commissioned many of these to be built, just because they were such cutting-edge feats of technology at the time. My particular favorites were his "joke" fountains, which were originally constructed in order to surprise visitors and spray them with water (they are typically sculpture in their own right, which would shoot out water when people got too close). Most of these today are too leaky to scare anyone so they're turned on 'round the clock, but there are a few patches of cobblestones that are frequented by children and still scare some folks.
I took a lunch and wandered off (I know, I know Mom, but this place was safe), meadering through fountains and mini-palaces and hedged gardens and tree-lined promenades. I found myself at the water's edge, on a rocky beach looking out onto Finland, where I ate my sandwich while people wandered down to poke a finger into the water. We all met up for "tea" which we ate at a cafe on the grounds. The menu itself was worth the trip, what with its hilarious translations. After, we decided to go to You-known-na (it seems so much harder to transliterate things now) Market, an outdoor flea-market where you could find anything... sandals, leather jackets, DVDs, flat-screen TVs, hunting camo, old toys, books, sink faucets... automatic weapons... and the bullets to put in them... it was all very overwhelming (if you decide to visit, go to the bathroom before you leave because this is one place where you're to find the famed "hole in the floor" masquerading as a toilet) so we didn't stay very long.
Later that night Liza and I ventured out to find the JFC Jazz Club, a wonderful tiny club that was packed with people by the time we got there. The singer was American, her band Russian, and everyone was loving it. We stood/danced the whole time, but it was worth it--I never realized how much I like jazz, and how much I wish Notre Dame had more of a cultural scene.
Sunday, of course, was my day for homework--I finished early and tried to find an internet cafe, but ran into too much trouble... but I'm here now, and I'm going to try to upload my pictures from today before writing the next post.
====You Might Find This Interesting====
> Russian grading is conducted on a 0-5 scale, 5 being the highest and 0 being not even worth it. And I thought the French were stingy with 20! ... but I suppose it's equivalent to our 4.0, although Russians aren't as free with grading
>You ALWAYS address your professor in the formal form, and call them by their name and patronymic
>You should ALWAYS greet your professor with hello, and thank them and say goodbye at the end of a lesson.
>Russian professors are much more a part of your life, often asking you how you are, how your weekend was, recommending things to eat and places to go, telling you you're not dressed warmly enough, etc.
>Supposedly the Russian university system is easier--Masha's jaw dropped when I said that at home I normally do 4, 5, or more hours of homework a night. Here though I still feel like I'm doing a lot of work (probably because it's in Russian), but they say that more of the burden is placed on the teacher--if the class does poorly, the teacher sees it as a reflection on themselves, instead of it being the fault of the students. In addition, Russian schools before university are much harder, as is the application process--once you get to university, you've apparently done most of the work and now it's more the teacher's responsibility to teach you.
>Communal thought: Russian society stills emphasizes the collective, so teachers also tend to treat students as a collective--if someone is late to class, they'll ask the other students where the missing one is and expect an answer, and teachers have no problem slowing down a lecture or re-explaining a concept (in general) to a single student--most likely they think that this is a problem shared by all the students, as opposed to how American teachers would think (at least I feel that American teachers would be more likely to say "Meet me after class and we'll talk about it" for example).
>Bribery is common in Russia, in order to get into university--and not bribing as in using your connections, although that works as well, but bribing as in handing over lump sums of money
Quite a lot has happened since my last post... I finally gave my presentation on the G8, which went pretty well, I think. The stress leading up to it was worse than the actual presentation. I'm glad to have that out of the way--but now I'm really starting to get sick of school and have started sacrificing homework for cultural exploration, which means that later I sacrifice sleep for homework.
On Thursday I met my tutor, who said that we were going to go out to an "evening club." I really had no idea what that meant, so I just said okay and met her at our usual spot. Turns out it's just a club that opens early and closes early too. So we meet up, and head to the metro to meet her two Russian friends (who both study English but have been given strict orders from Masha not to speak a word of it to me). We're introduced, and immediately Masha starts apologizing--she read online that the place we're going to is a gay club! Her friend Katya picked it out, having been there already, and keeps telling Masha that it's safe and clean and fine. I'm trying to get across that whatever is fine with me--thinking that at least there's no chance of being hassled at a gay club, right?
The entrance was bedecked with rainbow-colored (think Andy Warhol) pictures of Marilyn Monroe, and there's a disco ball throwing snowflakes of light over everything. An exceptionally homosexual man takes our jackets (which isn't important except for the fact that it reinforced the thought that "Yes, I really am going to a gay club") and we walk down the entrance ramp... into a really cool underground room, covered in paintings of heiroglyphs and Egyptian art, but there's also a bank of TVs playing porn. Like, random Playboy videos of people stripping and pouring water over one another. Kind of disconcerting, okay, so I was really put off by it, but even more so because I suddenly thought "Maybe this isn't a gay club after all." But the next room had drawings in the Greco-Roman vase style of boys and old men, young men, and centaurs all naked and in various stages of arousal. So once again, maybe it IS a gay club. For the whole night I was just really confused by the whole thing--but sex was definitely a prevalent theme. The next room was all dark brick and low-lit, with more TVs. Also, a double-row of what looked like bathroom stalls were lined up in the middle of the room. We were really confused by them at first, but later we found out that they were for rent by the half hour, and inside there was a TV, VCR, and headphones. To round out the "experience" part of this night, you'd have to take a trip to the bathrooms. The door is marked male/female, but wen you go in, you'll realize that it shouldn't have that slash in between. On the right wall are two bathroom stalls, and on the left stand the sinks, and straight in front, in the same room, are urinals semi-screened off by hippie beads. Definitely a way to bond with people, right?
But really, I had a great time--Masha's friends were really great, and we finally broke the hug barrier when I told her friends how Masha is like "my little mother" not letting me cross the street if the light is red, and apologizing for at least 10 minutes when we finally sat down at a table about the TVs in the bar. At one point, they even helped me smuggle money into her purse--she's always footing the bill when we go places, and that's just really hard for me to allow, knowing that they get paid so little. We talked about quite a bit--how I mess up certain words ALL THE TIME, and what kind of music they liked to listen to (foreign lyrics aren't as important as the music, since they can't understand them most of the time), and all sorts of other things. They asked me questions about getting into college (whether bribing occurred frequently, like it apparently does here), whether we ALWAYS keep our doors open, so if we need to we can just walk over to our neighbor's and borrow some salt or sugar ("On TV, Americans always have their doors open"), what the average age of marriage is--and the cost of a wedding--hand gestures (the high-five was a little awkward, but the middle finger still has the same connotation), and all sots of other things. Then we danced in the sketchy heiroglyphic room to an interesting mix of music and called it a night--but again, I don't know where they find our tutors. They are infinitely patient--imagine talking in a really loud bar with your friends. Now add in the fact that one of your friends is speaking what is to her a foreign language and doesn't even know all the words you're saying. Wouldn't that be frustrating? But somehow Masha puts up with me all the time without getting frustrated, and I adore her so much for it (you should hear some of the bad tutor stories).
On Friday some of the girls went back to Fidel and KK met up with Anant there, but I reaaaally needed to shave my legs, so I spent the evening at a banya. Marina mentioned that there was one right by our house, so we called (her 2nd or 3rd cousin had also stopped over to visit) and I actually set up an appointment(!). It was in a really nice building, as as I ascended the trendy, marble-and-glass stairs I was kind of afraid of what I was getting myself into. No old babushkas and rickety wooden benches? Sure enough, I knew I was out of my element when I was escorted to a "rest" room with leather chairs, a bound menu, and a TV. I got a big bed-sheet-esque towel to wrap myself in and plastic tapochki. Then, well... this place was amazing. They had both a Finnish sauna and a Russian one, a cold bath that was big enough for you to stretch out in and not touch either end, a wall of showers, people working there who would scrub you with soap, or mud, or run ice blocks over you in the sauna, walls and benches specifically for laying out on, and even this one area where someone could hose you down with these two high-powered hoses they had. It cost must more than normal, and I never have to go back, but it was a really, really lovely experience, and just what I needed. After I got home, I slept like a baby (almost 12 full hours--UNHEARD OF).
On Saturday Liza, Trista, and Dan, a new Princeton guy, trekked off to Peterhof for the day. Peterhof is one of the more famous of the tsar's palaces/playgrounds/parks, because of the multitudes of fountains that sparkle there in the summer. We took a boat from behind the Hermitage over, passing the SPB Yacht Club, a sailboat regatta, and Finland in the process. Just BEING on a boat made me feel better--if nothing else, I miss being on the water (and I am DETERMINED to get to a beach and go swimming in Russia). The day we visited happened to be the same day as the place's founding, so there were fireworks, and people in costumes dancing, and all sorts of music everywhere. The fountains were amazing, and all of the named ones bear looking at (The Grand Cascade, Samson and the Lion, The Chessboard Cascade, The Tree, The Umbrella, The Sun, The Roman Fountain, Adam, Eve, The Lion Cascade, The Golden Cascade, The Square Fountains, The Neptune Fountain, The Oak Fountain). Peter was crazy about fountains and waterworks and commissioned many of these to be built, just because they were such cutting-edge feats of technology at the time. My particular favorites were his "joke" fountains, which were originally constructed in order to surprise visitors and spray them with water (they are typically sculpture in their own right, which would shoot out water when people got too close). Most of these today are too leaky to scare anyone so they're turned on 'round the clock, but there are a few patches of cobblestones that are frequented by children and still scare some folks.
I took a lunch and wandered off (I know, I know Mom, but this place was safe), meadering through fountains and mini-palaces and hedged gardens and tree-lined promenades. I found myself at the water's edge, on a rocky beach looking out onto Finland, where I ate my sandwich while people wandered down to poke a finger into the water. We all met up for "tea" which we ate at a cafe on the grounds. The menu itself was worth the trip, what with its hilarious translations. After, we decided to go to You-known-na (it seems so much harder to transliterate things now) Market, an outdoor flea-market where you could find anything... sandals, leather jackets, DVDs, flat-screen TVs, hunting camo, old toys, books, sink faucets... automatic weapons... and the bullets to put in them... it was all very overwhelming (if you decide to visit, go to the bathroom before you leave because this is one place where you're to find the famed "hole in the floor" masquerading as a toilet) so we didn't stay very long.
Later that night Liza and I ventured out to find the JFC Jazz Club, a wonderful tiny club that was packed with people by the time we got there. The singer was American, her band Russian, and everyone was loving it. We stood/danced the whole time, but it was worth it--I never realized how much I like jazz, and how much I wish Notre Dame had more of a cultural scene.
Sunday, of course, was my day for homework--I finished early and tried to find an internet cafe, but ran into too much trouble... but I'm here now, and I'm going to try to upload my pictures from today before writing the next post.
====You Might Find This Interesting====
> Russian grading is conducted on a 0-5 scale, 5 being the highest and 0 being not even worth it. And I thought the French were stingy with 20! ... but I suppose it's equivalent to our 4.0, although Russians aren't as free with grading
>You ALWAYS address your professor in the formal form, and call them by their name and patronymic
>You should ALWAYS greet your professor with hello, and thank them and say goodbye at the end of a lesson.
>Russian professors are much more a part of your life, often asking you how you are, how your weekend was, recommending things to eat and places to go, telling you you're not dressed warmly enough, etc.
>Supposedly the Russian university system is easier--Masha's jaw dropped when I said that at home I normally do 4, 5, or more hours of homework a night. Here though I still feel like I'm doing a lot of work (probably because it's in Russian), but they say that more of the burden is placed on the teacher--if the class does poorly, the teacher sees it as a reflection on themselves, instead of it being the fault of the students. In addition, Russian schools before university are much harder, as is the application process--once you get to university, you've apparently done most of the work and now it's more the teacher's responsibility to teach you.
>Communal thought: Russian society stills emphasizes the collective, so teachers also tend to treat students as a collective--if someone is late to class, they'll ask the other students where the missing one is and expect an answer, and teachers have no problem slowing down a lecture or re-explaining a concept (in general) to a single student--most likely they think that this is a problem shared by all the students, as opposed to how American teachers would think (at least I feel that American teachers would be more likely to say "Meet me after class and we'll talk about it" for example).
>Bribery is common in Russia, in order to get into university--and not bribing as in using your connections, although that works as well, but bribing as in handing over lump sums of money
Just a Plea
While I'm waiting for my pictures to upload, I thought I'd throw this out there...
Mom tells me that's she's given the address to this blog out to lots of people, which makes me glad, but I have no idea who's reading it, which makes me sad. I would really, really, really appreciate even the tiniest comment, even if it's "Hey Jackie you smell bad so I'm sure you fit right in with the Russians!" (which isn't entirely true) just so I know that there's someone out there. We're on an 8-hour time difference, so it's almost impossible to connect through phone calls, and internet access is so iffy that e-mails are sometimes an inefficient means of communicating (although I appreciate those too). Here, though, I can pop in and see if anyone's said hi, and think "Oh good, there are people back home who are wondering if I'm dead yet."
Don't worry about anybody else reading your comments--I think everyone who comes here is well-intentioned. So do it! Just go to the Comments link at the bottom of this post (it's got a little pencil next to it), write something, be sure to add your name at the bottom so I know who you are, and check "anonymous" to leave a note with no-strings-attached (otherwise you have to set up an account with the blogging service). And then I will say hi back and it will make my day! Also, if you ever have any questions, or want to say "That's just plain weird" or want to know how something works in more detail, ASK! I'm happy to try and explain this stuff, even though sometimes I may come up short. As of now, I'm personally under the impression that everyone's got to come here sometime in their life, but I know that can't happen, so I want to share as much of it as I can, but I'm not always sure what people are interested in hearing.
So once again--let me know you're there!
Mom tells me that's she's given the address to this blog out to lots of people, which makes me glad, but I have no idea who's reading it, which makes me sad. I would really, really, really appreciate even the tiniest comment, even if it's "Hey Jackie you smell bad so I'm sure you fit right in with the Russians!" (which isn't entirely true) just so I know that there's someone out there. We're on an 8-hour time difference, so it's almost impossible to connect through phone calls, and internet access is so iffy that e-mails are sometimes an inefficient means of communicating (although I appreciate those too). Here, though, I can pop in and see if anyone's said hi, and think "Oh good, there are people back home who are wondering if I'm dead yet."
Don't worry about anybody else reading your comments--I think everyone who comes here is well-intentioned. So do it! Just go to the Comments link at the bottom of this post (it's got a little pencil next to it), write something, be sure to add your name at the bottom so I know who you are, and check "anonymous" to leave a note with no-strings-attached (otherwise you have to set up an account with the blogging service). And then I will say hi back and it will make my day! Also, if you ever have any questions, or want to say "That's just plain weird" or want to know how something works in more detail, ASK! I'm happy to try and explain this stuff, even though sometimes I may come up short. As of now, I'm personally under the impression that everyone's got to come here sometime in their life, but I know that can't happen, so I want to share as much of it as I can, but I'm not always sure what people are interested in hearing.
So once again--let me know you're there!
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
July 10, 2007 (Part II) || Food, Anyone?
This is a topic I've long wanted to discuss, and yet I feel like I should wait until the very end of the trip, because I keep experiencing new and exciting dishes on a weekly basis!
To start with, Russians certainly treat dining as a different experience; they typically eat light dinners and breakfasts, saving their big meals for lunch time (like many Europeans). The idea of hospitality is central to a Russian household, and it is therefore a necessity to encourage guests to eat as much as possible. Part of me wants to point out that maybe this stems from a collective memory of time when food was much harder to come by, and so forcing food on guests is understood to be the ultimate gift. In either case, it's really hard to make your hostess stop at one, two, three, FOUR scoops of whatever it is that's for dinner. Traditionally, as well, Russians have appetizers (which are typically delicious) followed by a first course of soup, and a second course, or main meal. I have only had a cold drink here once, when Masha told me to try the "Cold Tea" at a local diner--and this is considered an exotic drink. In Russia, all drinks are hot; along with other superstitions, most Russians believe that you increase your chances of catching a cold or getting a sore throat by drinking cold beverages. So, predictably, I've drank mostly tea at home--breakfast, lunch, dinner, 11 o'clock at night--which I've had to fortify with copious amounts of milk (I just don't do bitter too well). Also, Russian meals stretch on for as long as possible, and each dish is served as it's made, which makes eating out an interesting and lengthy experience.
As for my personal experience, the food here has been delicious--always fresh. The freshness of the food (we all hope and are trying to convince ourselves) cancels out all the butter and oil with which its prepared, and the copious amounts of mayonnaise or sour cream that is added to everything (salads, soups, pancakes, you name it--we joked once that after vodka, sour cream is the most important part of a Russian's diet--keep in mind also that sour cream is MUCH different over here). For breakfast, I am typically forced to eat a container of yogurt, a piece of bread with cheese, a hard-boiled egg, kasha, and a cup of tea. I eat lunch at school most times, and therefore get served my big meal at night--always a giant bowl of soup, followed by a meal of lots of vegetables and a little meat, and typically some kind of starch. I've had borsht, schii, chicken soup, mushroom soup, sausage soup, potato soup (some of these are my unofficial names) and others, I'm sure... and I've loved them all, with and without sour cream. Of the more interesting dishes I've been served are the following: an omelette with green onions and boiled noodles strewn in it (we ran out of bacon); pasta with red caviar (makes a tasty supplement for Ragu); vegetables and rice with small hot dogs (regarded as standard and good meat). However, none of this compares to what they were serving the Iowa students at the hotel/dorm. One day we were all eating in the same cafe (in the same building) when Nate brought over a plate to our table. "Wanna try some?" They were hot dogs sliced down the middle with a little bit of cheese wrapped inside, wrapped with bacon. "What are these?" "THIS is what they think we eat." We all just cracked up laughing, and some of us had a bite. Like Nate said, "The first day I thought 'Hey, these're pretty good,' but after day 4 I couldn't handle them anymore."
Well, I didn't get myself as much time as I ought to have; but I think this is a small taste of what things have been like, food-wise, over here. Everyone's got fun stories about what their host families think Americans eat, and everybody has stories where they're eating who-knows-what, but it's absolutely delicious.
PS. There's only been one dish that I didn't like here--some fried dumpling with grapes we had for breakfast--other than that, even the weird stuff's been great. And for those of you (ahem, NANA) who had to pay me a quarter to try something new when I was a kid, rest assured that those days of such picky eating are long gone.
To start with, Russians certainly treat dining as a different experience; they typically eat light dinners and breakfasts, saving their big meals for lunch time (like many Europeans). The idea of hospitality is central to a Russian household, and it is therefore a necessity to encourage guests to eat as much as possible. Part of me wants to point out that maybe this stems from a collective memory of time when food was much harder to come by, and so forcing food on guests is understood to be the ultimate gift. In either case, it's really hard to make your hostess stop at one, two, three, FOUR scoops of whatever it is that's for dinner. Traditionally, as well, Russians have appetizers (which are typically delicious) followed by a first course of soup, and a second course, or main meal. I have only had a cold drink here once, when Masha told me to try the "Cold Tea" at a local diner--and this is considered an exotic drink. In Russia, all drinks are hot; along with other superstitions, most Russians believe that you increase your chances of catching a cold or getting a sore throat by drinking cold beverages. So, predictably, I've drank mostly tea at home--breakfast, lunch, dinner, 11 o'clock at night--which I've had to fortify with copious amounts of milk (I just don't do bitter too well). Also, Russian meals stretch on for as long as possible, and each dish is served as it's made, which makes eating out an interesting and lengthy experience.
As for my personal experience, the food here has been delicious--always fresh. The freshness of the food (we all hope and are trying to convince ourselves) cancels out all the butter and oil with which its prepared, and the copious amounts of mayonnaise or sour cream that is added to everything (salads, soups, pancakes, you name it--we joked once that after vodka, sour cream is the most important part of a Russian's diet--keep in mind also that sour cream is MUCH different over here). For breakfast, I am typically forced to eat a container of yogurt, a piece of bread with cheese, a hard-boiled egg, kasha, and a cup of tea. I eat lunch at school most times, and therefore get served my big meal at night--always a giant bowl of soup, followed by a meal of lots of vegetables and a little meat, and typically some kind of starch. I've had borsht, schii, chicken soup, mushroom soup, sausage soup, potato soup (some of these are my unofficial names) and others, I'm sure... and I've loved them all, with and without sour cream. Of the more interesting dishes I've been served are the following: an omelette with green onions and boiled noodles strewn in it (we ran out of bacon); pasta with red caviar (makes a tasty supplement for Ragu); vegetables and rice with small hot dogs (regarded as standard and good meat). However, none of this compares to what they were serving the Iowa students at the hotel/dorm. One day we were all eating in the same cafe (in the same building) when Nate brought over a plate to our table. "Wanna try some?" They were hot dogs sliced down the middle with a little bit of cheese wrapped inside, wrapped with bacon. "What are these?" "THIS is what they think we eat." We all just cracked up laughing, and some of us had a bite. Like Nate said, "The first day I thought 'Hey, these're pretty good,' but after day 4 I couldn't handle them anymore."
Well, I didn't get myself as much time as I ought to have; but I think this is a small taste of what things have been like, food-wise, over here. Everyone's got fun stories about what their host families think Americans eat, and everybody has stories where they're eating who-knows-what, but it's absolutely delicious.
PS. There's only been one dish that I didn't like here--some fried dumpling with grapes we had for breakfast--other than that, even the weird stuff's been great. And for those of you (ahem, NANA) who had to pay me a quarter to try something new when I was a kid, rest assured that those days of such picky eating are long gone.
July 10, 2007 || Taking a Break
The fact that I've got to spend so much time online to do this report is both a blessing and a curse--it means I have more chances to add things online, but also that I get distracted from doing my work, so I have to spend twice as much time on it.
For the past few posts I've basically been running through and saying "I went here, I went there!" but there's so much more to living in a foreign country than that--in some ways, those records are the least important of all. It's what you learn by living here (I think) that is the much harder to capture and more important aspect of life abroad. I'm not sure if I'm changing to suit the country or just becoming more aware--and sometimes I think that maybe these are the one and the same--but when I really notice it or think about it, this is more interesting to me than learning new verb forms.
I still can't fully describe what it is I'm trying to say, but I'd like to give it a shot. For starters, language itself. Pretty simple subject, on the surface, but languages have always seemed so tantalizing to me. I remember being young at Immaculate Conception, when we had a brief set of Spanish lessons--I never learned the words well (although I can still remember some colors and numbers), but I remember being delighted at rolling them around in my mouth, making some new and strange sound jump off my tongue. In high school, French was consistently my favorite subject--nothing seemed more satisfying than being able to use new words to describe my same old thoughts. In the beginning, French was just a secret code--you trade this word in English for that word in French, and you've got a prettier way of saying "How are you?" But early on you're forced to stop doing that, exchanging things word for word (even though of course, I kept trying); for example, in French, to say how old you are, you say "J'ai __ ans." Literally, this translates out to "I have ___ years." So in that case, it's impossible to just substitute English words for French ones. The French word "gourmand" forced the point further--there is actually no word in English for a "gourmand." So, after a certain point, your mind begins to think a little differently--after a certain point, in your head, you don't translate your teacher's phrases into English anymore; you just hold them in your head in French, and understand them in French.
This is all so very hard to describe. If anyone wants to help, please feel free to jump in and leave a comment.
I have a friend at school, Mike (big surprise), who mentioned once how the language of philosophers was at one point French, and how it made them actually THINK differently. I could comprehend what he was saying, but I didn't fully empathize with it until a few weeks later when, after a cram session for a French test, my brain was stuck in la langue de l'amour, and I had a thought that was somehow... different. I'm sure it was an arbitrary thought, but it was formed in French, and so in this thought, or sentence, were comprised little nuances that it would've been impossible to imply in English... and so, I actually THOUGHT in a different way.
I've been trying to get to that point with Russian, and I hope I'm getting close. I can definitely think in Russian, and I'm starting to change up my mental word order like a Russian, but I haven't quite hit the point where I'm actually thinking like a Russian.. I'm starting to comprehend like one, though.
Here's another example (of what, I'm not exactly sure; maybe just that languages have these incredible subtle intricacies that are fascinating and crucial to understanding culture as well): Curtis and I were briefly discussing this, and he understood: "I know what you mean. I'm where I understand that when my teacher says "три часа," she doesn't mean "3 o'clock," but "три часа." " It's imperative to really learning a language to not translate it word for word--you've got to learn to just be content with its original meaning, in its original language.
This in itself can be a struggle... more than once I've found myself in class, drifting off. Now, according to an old high school teacher of mine, I've got a great "short-term memory," so I can normally recall what's just been said. Coming out of my daydream or whatever, the teacher's last sentence replays in my head in Russian, and I understand what's going on. But if I don't catch myself in time, I'll try to translate it into an English equivalent, and in that moment I lose my understanding entirely.
Part of the problem is how Russian minces words so differently from English--sometimes, they "break" one of our words into a hundred different ones. For example, verbs of motion:
идти = to go one time, by foot; to go by foot, stressing results (ie. The car was broken, so yesterday, I walked to school.)
ходить = to go many times, by foot; to go by foot, stressing process (ie. Normally I go by car to school.)
ехать = to go one time, by vehicle, to go by vehicle, stressing results (ie. Last weekend I drove up north.)
ездить = to go many times, by vehicle; to go by vehicle, stressing process (ie. Every day I go by bus to work.)
прийти = to arrive, by foot, one time, stressing results (ie. They arrived from America 5 weeks ago.)
уйти = to leave, by foot, one time, stressing results (ie. They will leave Russia in 3 weeks.)
войти = to enter, by foot, stressing results (ie. He walked into the room right as the clock struck 7.)
выйти = to exit, by foot, stressing results (ie. She stepped out of the room to smoke a cigarette.)
>> And so on, with more prefixes stressing process or denoting movement by vehicle and different aspects of motion (going up, going down, going behind, in front of, stopping by, starting out)
And sometimes, a thousand different meanings get "bundled" up into one word, like давай, which is literally the imperative form of the verb for "to give," but can also mean "Let's go," "Let me see," "Get outta here," "Hurry up," "That's all," and so on.
Language is key to understanding culture, too. Homophobia is rampant in Russia; some attribute it to the fact that AIDs (currently on a sky-high rise in Russia) is still seen as a "gay," disease, and there are tons of different interpretations, but in any case it will take quite a struggle, in my opinion, to get most Russians to even accept gays. The whole concept of two men or women loving each other and living together is a foreign concept to the language--the Russian meaning "to be married" is based on gender. For men, женат (жена is the gender-bound word for wife), and for women, замужем (this literally breaks down to "behind her husband"). Since marriage isn't gender-neutral, how hard must it be for an idea like gay marriage to penetrate the social subconscious? I ran across this same question when talking to Curtis about Arabic--this general idea of language influencing culture. In Arabic, the word for "thanks" is literally something like "Allah Be Praised" -- no wonder the idea of a secular system has such trouble taking hold, when even the most basic words have religious connotations.
Ah geez, look at the time... I'm going to see if maybe I can turn out a little bit more, and then I want to have a post entirely about food. =)
For the past few posts I've basically been running through and saying "I went here, I went there!" but there's so much more to living in a foreign country than that--in some ways, those records are the least important of all. It's what you learn by living here (I think) that is the much harder to capture and more important aspect of life abroad. I'm not sure if I'm changing to suit the country or just becoming more aware--and sometimes I think that maybe these are the one and the same--but when I really notice it or think about it, this is more interesting to me than learning new verb forms.
I still can't fully describe what it is I'm trying to say, but I'd like to give it a shot. For starters, language itself. Pretty simple subject, on the surface, but languages have always seemed so tantalizing to me. I remember being young at Immaculate Conception, when we had a brief set of Spanish lessons--I never learned the words well (although I can still remember some colors and numbers), but I remember being delighted at rolling them around in my mouth, making some new and strange sound jump off my tongue. In high school, French was consistently my favorite subject--nothing seemed more satisfying than being able to use new words to describe my same old thoughts. In the beginning, French was just a secret code--you trade this word in English for that word in French, and you've got a prettier way of saying "How are you?" But early on you're forced to stop doing that, exchanging things word for word (even though of course, I kept trying); for example, in French, to say how old you are, you say "J'ai __ ans." Literally, this translates out to "I have ___ years." So in that case, it's impossible to just substitute English words for French ones. The French word "gourmand" forced the point further--there is actually no word in English for a "gourmand." So, after a certain point, your mind begins to think a little differently--after a certain point, in your head, you don't translate your teacher's phrases into English anymore; you just hold them in your head in French, and understand them in French.
This is all so very hard to describe. If anyone wants to help, please feel free to jump in and leave a comment.
I have a friend at school, Mike (big surprise), who mentioned once how the language of philosophers was at one point French, and how it made them actually THINK differently. I could comprehend what he was saying, but I didn't fully empathize with it until a few weeks later when, after a cram session for a French test, my brain was stuck in la langue de l'amour, and I had a thought that was somehow... different. I'm sure it was an arbitrary thought, but it was formed in French, and so in this thought, or sentence, were comprised little nuances that it would've been impossible to imply in English... and so, I actually THOUGHT in a different way.
I've been trying to get to that point with Russian, and I hope I'm getting close. I can definitely think in Russian, and I'm starting to change up my mental word order like a Russian, but I haven't quite hit the point where I'm actually thinking like a Russian.. I'm starting to comprehend like one, though.
Here's another example (of what, I'm not exactly sure; maybe just that languages have these incredible subtle intricacies that are fascinating and crucial to understanding culture as well): Curtis and I were briefly discussing this, and he understood: "I know what you mean. I'm where I understand that when my teacher says "три часа," she doesn't mean "3 o'clock," but "три часа." " It's imperative to really learning a language to not translate it word for word--you've got to learn to just be content with its original meaning, in its original language.
This in itself can be a struggle... more than once I've found myself in class, drifting off. Now, according to an old high school teacher of mine, I've got a great "short-term memory," so I can normally recall what's just been said. Coming out of my daydream or whatever, the teacher's last sentence replays in my head in Russian, and I understand what's going on. But if I don't catch myself in time, I'll try to translate it into an English equivalent, and in that moment I lose my understanding entirely.
Part of the problem is how Russian minces words so differently from English--sometimes, they "break" one of our words into a hundred different ones. For example, verbs of motion:
идти = to go one time, by foot; to go by foot, stressing results (ie. The car was broken, so yesterday, I walked to school.)
ходить = to go many times, by foot; to go by foot, stressing process (ie. Normally I go by car to school.)
ехать = to go one time, by vehicle, to go by vehicle, stressing results (ie. Last weekend I drove up north.)
ездить = to go many times, by vehicle; to go by vehicle, stressing process (ie. Every day I go by bus to work.)
прийти = to arrive, by foot, one time, stressing results (ie. They arrived from America 5 weeks ago.)
уйти = to leave, by foot, one time, stressing results (ie. They will leave Russia in 3 weeks.)
войти = to enter, by foot, stressing results (ie. He walked into the room right as the clock struck 7.)
выйти = to exit, by foot, stressing results (ie. She stepped out of the room to smoke a cigarette.)
>> And so on, with more prefixes stressing process or denoting movement by vehicle and different aspects of motion (going up, going down, going behind, in front of, stopping by, starting out)
And sometimes, a thousand different meanings get "bundled" up into one word, like давай, which is literally the imperative form of the verb for "to give," but can also mean "Let's go," "Let me see," "Get outta here," "Hurry up," "That's all," and so on.
Language is key to understanding culture, too. Homophobia is rampant in Russia; some attribute it to the fact that AIDs (currently on a sky-high rise in Russia) is still seen as a "gay," disease, and there are tons of different interpretations, but in any case it will take quite a struggle, in my opinion, to get most Russians to even accept gays. The whole concept of two men or women loving each other and living together is a foreign concept to the language--the Russian meaning "to be married" is based on gender. For men, женат (жена is the gender-bound word for wife), and for women, замужем (this literally breaks down to "behind her husband"). Since marriage isn't gender-neutral, how hard must it be for an idea like gay marriage to penetrate the social subconscious? I ran across this same question when talking to Curtis about Arabic--this general idea of language influencing culture. In Arabic, the word for "thanks" is literally something like "Allah Be Praised" -- no wonder the idea of a secular system has such trouble taking hold, when even the most basic words have religious connotations.
Ah geez, look at the time... I'm going to see if maybe I can turn out a little bit more, and then I want to have a post entirely about food. =)
Monday, July 9, 2007
July 9, 2007 || Awful/Awesome Weekend
Nothing turned out this weekend like it was supposed to.
Here was the game plan:
Friday
Have dinner at an Indian restaurant, have some hookah, head home early because the rest of the weekend was going to be a long one.
Saturday
Leave at 11 a.m. for Kronstadt with Masha
Leave Kronstadt in the evening for Vyborg and Castle Dance
Dance the night away at Vyborg until coming home around 5 a.m. in order to...
Sunday
Wake up around 8 a.m. to attend the ACTR picnic on the zalif
Swim and mostly sleep on the beach
Do as much homework as possible before crashing that night
Here's what happened: on friday
Friday night began well enough... classes ended and we all headed home--me, to my first shower in a bucket. The water was turned off Friday morning, so we boiled water in the kettle and poured it into a bucket, where I scooped it into a second bucket and mixed it with cold water until it was the right temperature for washing my hair. We haven't perfected the system yet, but I've worked my way down from 2 teapots, to one pot of water and half a teapot, to just one pot of water. It was surprisingly refreshing, as wary as I was--I'm almost content not to go to a banya, except I'm going to have to shave every now and again, and I really need an accessible supply of hot water for that (my definitions of what I "need" have been constantly changing, typically downgraded--so I suppose that really, I just don't want to give that up yet).
Afterwards, I called the restaurant we'd picked out to make a reservation. About 12 people had expressed interest in eating out, and Marion had talked about bringing Nate, our friend from the Iowa (YES IOWA) group of Russian students, so I thought it might be best to make sure there was a table big enough for all of us. This is where I hit the first obstacle--miscommunication. The gentleman on the phone didn't want to let me have a table, telling me to try back tomorrow, the restaurant was closed (but not really closed). We kept talking, and finally he put down the phone--I heard whispers in the background and the word "Englishwoman" repeated a few times. Then, the phone was picked up again.
"Hello?" the man asked.
"Здравствуйте," I replied.
"Do you speak English?"
"Да, Я говорю по-англиский." ..and then I realized what a mess I was making of everything and switched into English. The guy, however, had a really thick Indian accent, and said "like" after just about every word (obviously he's spent some time in California), so it would almost have been better if we'd just spoken Russian. Turned out that there was a wedding party that had rented out the restaurant, but if we had a big group, we could still get a table. I agreed, putting the number around 12 or 13, and we hung up.
I headed out for the metro station we'd agreed to meet at early, hoping that everyone else would do the same (our meeting time was 6:30; I'd made reservations for 7). Jessica had called to say she couldn't come, but I was still hoping for a pretty good turn-out. Well, by 6:50, only Trista and KK had showed up--I finally gave Liza a call, who told us that she'd tried to walk to the metro and gotten lost (after spending all day walking around the city looking for a decent internet cafe) and she told me that Anna and Marion would be late, and that Chris and Natalie probably wouldn't be coming. "Great," I thought. Marion and Anna showed up a few minutes later, with the news that Joe and Nate had both decided to go to the Elton John concert that night, and I texted Chris and Natalie, who definitely weren't coming. So from a possible 12 we could at best hope for 6, and one of them was lost. We gave Liza some general directions and went up the street a ways to meet her. Then, it started to rain. And not your typical, light, 5-minute St. Petersburg rain. It rained long, and it rained hard. Liza called back a little while later rather flustered, really lost, so we found her on a map and gave her really specific instructions on where to go, telling her that it'd be okay and we'd go to the restaurant and get everything taken care of. Did I mention that my tutor was supposed to call me around 7? So while I'm on the phone with Liza, Masha is beeping in, and before I can even really say goodbye to Liza my minutes cut out, so thankfully Masha calls again as we're walking in the rain to try and find a bus, and I gave the girls the address to the restaurant and asked them to find a bus that would get us there while I talked to Masha. Masha had learned that you couldn't go straight to Vyborg from Kronstadt, and if I wanted to go to both Kronstadt and the concert then I would have to go back to St. Petersburg first (it's about an hour to Kronstadt, and about 3 to Vyborg from SPB), and Masha wasn't prepared to let me do that. I was so stressed out, and getting soaked, and it was so hard to speak Russian, that I told Masha I just wouldn't go to the concert--at that point, all I wanted was a relaxing day, all the better spent at some lush location that Masha is so fond of. She told me, "Listen, Jaclyn, you've been talking a lot about this concert--and you spent money on it. It's okay. We can go again." I was so thankful I just wanted to cry--this girl is so understanding and awesome; I know she'd really been looking forward to it. At the end of our conversation, I blurted out "I love you Masha" which just made her crack up laughing (we're at this awkward stage where I think we both want to hug each other when we see each other, but we just kind of run up real close, pause, and then go "So, to the gardens!" or whatever). That handled, we found the right bus and headed down Bolshoy Prospekt, getting let out at some super-shady street corner. I ducked into a nearby grocery store to get directions--while it continued to pour--and we headed back up the road (I'd gotten the address wrong by one number: 93 instead of 91). We were so relieved to see a red sign reading "Restaurant" on the side of the building, and we passed windows that opened onto a beautiful table spread with linens and silverware--we were all really hungry, too. So we finally get inside, shake out our umbrellas, heave a collective sigh, and look around. We can hear the wedding through the doors, and already we're warming up, when the greeter asks, "Jackie, right?" and I say yes and then--he points out the door. We're snuck BACK outside, AROUND the restaurant, IN a back door, THROUGH the kitchen area, and into a separate back room--we catch a glimpse of the wedding party as we pass through a corridor, but clearly we're not supposed to be here (we're almost positive that the wedding planners rented out the entire restaurant, and we were last-minute illegal additions). Our waiter and busboy and greeter were all the same man, the gentleman who spoke English to me on the phone, and he was wonderful. They all were--we felt like we were their private secret, and we were all having a good-natured joke at the expense of the wedding party. Honestly, it felt like playing at a kids game, sneaking around like that (did I mention that whenever our server/greeter left the room, he'd shut the door?). We ordered some bottles of Azerbaijanii wine and had a glass waiting for Liza when she finally made it, dripping wet. We all ordered--the food was soooo spicy and I'm pretty sure it's the cause for my stomachache today, but excellent.
Afterward, we got a hookah and I had my first experience. It also became very clear that I'm probably the most sheltered girl of all the people here, haha. But that only means that my friends have enjoyed the experience of teaching me new things--like, how to not cough when you first smoke a hookah (thank you KK!). The rest of the night more than made up for the beginning; we had a great time together and all got home before the metro closed, and sneaking back OUT of the Indian restaurant was just as fun as sneaking in--saying goodbye and thanks so much to everyone on our way out (I've never seen so many Russians smile in a single place!)
Here's What Happened: on saturday
First of all, I slept in--and it was wonderful. Then I took a nice shower and did a big of homework; Liza and I had agreed to meet at the train station around 2:30ish (I think) while Chris, Natalie, and Trista had jumped on an earlier train. I beat Liza to the metro, who had called to say she was a little behind schedule. We actually ended up missing the first train out to Vyborg, then bungled our way through buying a ticket for the next train, which left after about an hour. So we bummed around Findlanskii Vokzal (the station where Lenin triumphantly returned to Russia), grabbed some chocolate, etc., until it was time for our train. Also, our train ticket didn't give us any information--we only knew that our train was leaving at around 4:05. When the 4:05 came up on the schedule, it listed a destination city different than Vyborg. We headed out to the platforms, chatted with the conductor, and ended up taking a seat on the train. About 3 minutes before the train departed, I realized I'd forgotten my ticket for the concert. Liza and I had to make a decision quick--should we get off, or should I try to sneak in?
We decided on getting off, since you do NOT mess with Russian security (good thing too; apparently there were at least 2 checkpoints getting into the castle, we later found out). In the rain on the way home, we discussed how we were kind of relieved not to be making such a long trip out there (the train's seats were basically wooden benches bolted to the ground), and that both of us, it turned out, had had regrets about going from the start. We found our way to the patio of the restaurant Il Patio, where Liza mistakenly ordered a pitcher of beer and we talked about life, Russia, and all things interesting. We got started on life-changing events, which of course led to talk of loss, and how life absolutely needs to be lived to the fullest all the time. I got dinner, and we whiled away some of the day, waiting for night to come--we'd called Marion and Anna, and were planning on a nice night out at Fidel. Around this time we all got text messages from Neil saying that the picnic for Sunday had been canceled due to iffy weather.
We headed to Anna's next, stopping to pick up some drinks and a pack of cards--they wanted to teach Katya (Marion's tutor) (and me in the process!) the game of Kings. We beat everybody there, and had fun trying on a couple of Anna's tops, eventually picking something out to where for the night. Anna is super nice and generous--she told us how she used to literally GIVE her clothes away at college, and she can just doesn't seem to get upset by anything. Her family was out at the dacha for the weekend, so Katya, Marion, Liza, KK, and I were all going to spend the night at her house. Katya and Marion showed up with champagne, and then KK arrived too, so we started by teaching Katya Kings. She was HILARIOUS. For example, every time a 9 turns up in the game, you have to pick a word for the other people to rhyme with. Most people pick things like "box" or "free," but Katya picked "affection" and "forsake." Needless to say, we didn't get very far with those words.
It was really nice just hanging out in an empty apartment, drinking from mismatched glasses with a group of girls--it's been a while since I've had a fully girls' night out. We got started singing this Russian ballad we all knew, with Katya giving us pronunciation tips, and then we talked about how all Russian songs are sad. Eventually, we headed out to Fidel, where the DJ played the same funky-awesome mix of American and international music from all over time. We danced for a few songs, and I decided that I wanted to try something knew--so I ordered a B-52 (first in Russian, and then in English when the bartender didn't understand me). He didn't have shot-stoppers on the bottles, so he fixed straws to the end of them--giving an extra to me--and poured through these straws. After, he lit it on fire and pushed it towards me. What?! I can't drink something that's on fire?! ...can I? There were a frenzied few minutes where I tried to find someone who'd had a B-52 and ask them, but nobody knew, and then the bartender was tapping me on the shoulder and telling me to drink it, so I finally blew out the flames and had a taste--deeeeelishious (though I'm pretty sure I let all the alcohol burn out).
While at Fidel we met some guys from Princeton--Anant, John, and Rob. John spent the first hour chatting up Liza, who excused herself to take Anna home and stayed away for the rest of the night. I first talked with Anant, who was really laid-back and cool. He talked about how, being Indian, he was still going to sell out (like everyone at Princeton, apparently) and study business, while Russian was going to be his secret repressed passion--he's going to grow up to be that weird old man down the street who quotes Tolstoy and hands out tattered copies of Crime and Punishment to kids. He was also wearing a sweater--a sweater!!--in the bar, which he said his Babyshka had made him put on before heading out--and we could all relate. Rob was also really laid-back, although he mentioned his farm back home in Texas with horses (which made me think "Clearly, he's from Princeton"), but John was just ridiculous. He was from Ohio, so of course I mentioned Cedar Point. "No, I've never been. I'm afraid of the mob mindset of middle-class America." So what's your major? "I'm going to be a historian--one that makes the best-seller list, but one that other historians also respect." Oh... "And I also entertain modest aspirations of maybe becoming a senator, or even President... if that doesn't work, then a speech-writer; I think that even if we can't fulfill our overblown promises, we need to improve the rhetoric--to not just sound so stupid." ...I couldn't figure out if this kid was serious or not, but turns out he definitely was. We spent much of the night talking with them--KK really cozied up to Anant--especially after being slowly shoved out of our table by two Russians playing chess. At one point I convinced them that we were Canadian, and they stopped talking at me when I started speaking French--but really, who brings a chess set to a bar on a Saturday night?
We called it a night around 4 a.m. and all crashed at Anna's; 2 to a bed in most cases. I got up around 7 to head home; I was pleased that even so tired my Russian was good enough to strike up a short conversation with two tourists from some town down south who wanted me to take their picture in front of Kazanskii Cobor. I told Igor that there was no picnic, and promptly dropped into bed for a few hours.
Here's What Happened: on sunday
When I woke up around 11, I was starving. I had myself some breakfast and climbed back into bed with a book--I had much more free time than I'd planned on, so I started Bely's The Silver Dove and took a short nap. Then I did homework like crazy; my thought process was that if I did enough last night, Monday's load would be easy, and I'd have time to get online--which has proved to be true! The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, but I went to bed early to do some serious catching-up on sleep.
And today. There's so much more I want to add--realizations I'm having about language, about culture, about people, and the fact that I'm already starting to miss St. Petersburg--but it's nigh midnight and I haven't even begun what I wanted to do, which is work on my G-8 project. This Friday! I apologize for the lack of "You Might Find This Interesting" but I swear they'll return when I can carve out some more time.
Here was the game plan:
Friday
Have dinner at an Indian restaurant, have some hookah, head home early because the rest of the weekend was going to be a long one.
Saturday
Leave at 11 a.m. for Kronstadt with Masha
Leave Kronstadt in the evening for Vyborg and Castle Dance
Dance the night away at Vyborg until coming home around 5 a.m. in order to...
Sunday
Wake up around 8 a.m. to attend the ACTR picnic on the zalif
Swim and mostly sleep on the beach
Do as much homework as possible before crashing that night
Here's what happened: on friday
Friday night began well enough... classes ended and we all headed home--me, to my first shower in a bucket. The water was turned off Friday morning, so we boiled water in the kettle and poured it into a bucket, where I scooped it into a second bucket and mixed it with cold water until it was the right temperature for washing my hair. We haven't perfected the system yet, but I've worked my way down from 2 teapots, to one pot of water and half a teapot, to just one pot of water. It was surprisingly refreshing, as wary as I was--I'm almost content not to go to a banya, except I'm going to have to shave every now and again, and I really need an accessible supply of hot water for that (my definitions of what I "need" have been constantly changing, typically downgraded--so I suppose that really, I just don't want to give that up yet).
Afterwards, I called the restaurant we'd picked out to make a reservation. About 12 people had expressed interest in eating out, and Marion had talked about bringing Nate, our friend from the Iowa (YES IOWA) group of Russian students, so I thought it might be best to make sure there was a table big enough for all of us. This is where I hit the first obstacle--miscommunication. The gentleman on the phone didn't want to let me have a table, telling me to try back tomorrow, the restaurant was closed (but not really closed). We kept talking, and finally he put down the phone--I heard whispers in the background and the word "Englishwoman" repeated a few times. Then, the phone was picked up again.
"Hello?" the man asked.
"Здравствуйте," I replied.
"Do you speak English?"
"Да, Я говорю по-англиский." ..and then I realized what a mess I was making of everything and switched into English. The guy, however, had a really thick Indian accent, and said "like" after just about every word (obviously he's spent some time in California), so it would almost have been better if we'd just spoken Russian. Turned out that there was a wedding party that had rented out the restaurant, but if we had a big group, we could still get a table. I agreed, putting the number around 12 or 13, and we hung up.
I headed out for the metro station we'd agreed to meet at early, hoping that everyone else would do the same (our meeting time was 6:30; I'd made reservations for 7). Jessica had called to say she couldn't come, but I was still hoping for a pretty good turn-out. Well, by 6:50, only Trista and KK had showed up--I finally gave Liza a call, who told us that she'd tried to walk to the metro and gotten lost (after spending all day walking around the city looking for a decent internet cafe) and she told me that Anna and Marion would be late, and that Chris and Natalie probably wouldn't be coming. "Great," I thought. Marion and Anna showed up a few minutes later, with the news that Joe and Nate had both decided to go to the Elton John concert that night, and I texted Chris and Natalie, who definitely weren't coming. So from a possible 12 we could at best hope for 6, and one of them was lost. We gave Liza some general directions and went up the street a ways to meet her. Then, it started to rain. And not your typical, light, 5-minute St. Petersburg rain. It rained long, and it rained hard. Liza called back a little while later rather flustered, really lost, so we found her on a map and gave her really specific instructions on where to go, telling her that it'd be okay and we'd go to the restaurant and get everything taken care of. Did I mention that my tutor was supposed to call me around 7? So while I'm on the phone with Liza, Masha is beeping in, and before I can even really say goodbye to Liza my minutes cut out, so thankfully Masha calls again as we're walking in the rain to try and find a bus, and I gave the girls the address to the restaurant and asked them to find a bus that would get us there while I talked to Masha. Masha had learned that you couldn't go straight to Vyborg from Kronstadt, and if I wanted to go to both Kronstadt and the concert then I would have to go back to St. Petersburg first (it's about an hour to Kronstadt, and about 3 to Vyborg from SPB), and Masha wasn't prepared to let me do that. I was so stressed out, and getting soaked, and it was so hard to speak Russian, that I told Masha I just wouldn't go to the concert--at that point, all I wanted was a relaxing day, all the better spent at some lush location that Masha is so fond of. She told me, "Listen, Jaclyn, you've been talking a lot about this concert--and you spent money on it. It's okay. We can go again." I was so thankful I just wanted to cry--this girl is so understanding and awesome; I know she'd really been looking forward to it. At the end of our conversation, I blurted out "I love you Masha" which just made her crack up laughing (we're at this awkward stage where I think we both want to hug each other when we see each other, but we just kind of run up real close, pause, and then go "So, to the gardens!" or whatever). That handled, we found the right bus and headed down Bolshoy Prospekt, getting let out at some super-shady street corner. I ducked into a nearby grocery store to get directions--while it continued to pour--and we headed back up the road (I'd gotten the address wrong by one number: 93 instead of 91). We were so relieved to see a red sign reading "Restaurant" on the side of the building, and we passed windows that opened onto a beautiful table spread with linens and silverware--we were all really hungry, too. So we finally get inside, shake out our umbrellas, heave a collective sigh, and look around. We can hear the wedding through the doors, and already we're warming up, when the greeter asks, "Jackie, right?" and I say yes and then--he points out the door. We're snuck BACK outside, AROUND the restaurant, IN a back door, THROUGH the kitchen area, and into a separate back room--we catch a glimpse of the wedding party as we pass through a corridor, but clearly we're not supposed to be here (we're almost positive that the wedding planners rented out the entire restaurant, and we were last-minute illegal additions). Our waiter and busboy and greeter were all the same man, the gentleman who spoke English to me on the phone, and he was wonderful. They all were--we felt like we were their private secret, and we were all having a good-natured joke at the expense of the wedding party. Honestly, it felt like playing at a kids game, sneaking around like that (did I mention that whenever our server/greeter left the room, he'd shut the door?). We ordered some bottles of Azerbaijanii wine and had a glass waiting for Liza when she finally made it, dripping wet. We all ordered--the food was soooo spicy and I'm pretty sure it's the cause for my stomachache today, but excellent.
Afterward, we got a hookah and I had my first experience. It also became very clear that I'm probably the most sheltered girl of all the people here, haha. But that only means that my friends have enjoyed the experience of teaching me new things--like, how to not cough when you first smoke a hookah (thank you KK!). The rest of the night more than made up for the beginning; we had a great time together and all got home before the metro closed, and sneaking back OUT of the Indian restaurant was just as fun as sneaking in--saying goodbye and thanks so much to everyone on our way out (I've never seen so many Russians smile in a single place!)
Here's What Happened: on saturday
First of all, I slept in--and it was wonderful. Then I took a nice shower and did a big of homework; Liza and I had agreed to meet at the train station around 2:30ish (I think) while Chris, Natalie, and Trista had jumped on an earlier train. I beat Liza to the metro, who had called to say she was a little behind schedule. We actually ended up missing the first train out to Vyborg, then bungled our way through buying a ticket for the next train, which left after about an hour. So we bummed around Findlanskii Vokzal (the station where Lenin triumphantly returned to Russia), grabbed some chocolate, etc., until it was time for our train. Also, our train ticket didn't give us any information--we only knew that our train was leaving at around 4:05. When the 4:05 came up on the schedule, it listed a destination city different than Vyborg. We headed out to the platforms, chatted with the conductor, and ended up taking a seat on the train. About 3 minutes before the train departed, I realized I'd forgotten my ticket for the concert. Liza and I had to make a decision quick--should we get off, or should I try to sneak in?
We decided on getting off, since you do NOT mess with Russian security (good thing too; apparently there were at least 2 checkpoints getting into the castle, we later found out). In the rain on the way home, we discussed how we were kind of relieved not to be making such a long trip out there (the train's seats were basically wooden benches bolted to the ground), and that both of us, it turned out, had had regrets about going from the start. We found our way to the patio of the restaurant Il Patio, where Liza mistakenly ordered a pitcher of beer and we talked about life, Russia, and all things interesting. We got started on life-changing events, which of course led to talk of loss, and how life absolutely needs to be lived to the fullest all the time. I got dinner, and we whiled away some of the day, waiting for night to come--we'd called Marion and Anna, and were planning on a nice night out at Fidel. Around this time we all got text messages from Neil saying that the picnic for Sunday had been canceled due to iffy weather.
We headed to Anna's next, stopping to pick up some drinks and a pack of cards--they wanted to teach Katya (Marion's tutor) (and me in the process!) the game of Kings. We beat everybody there, and had fun trying on a couple of Anna's tops, eventually picking something out to where for the night. Anna is super nice and generous--she told us how she used to literally GIVE her clothes away at college, and she can just doesn't seem to get upset by anything. Her family was out at the dacha for the weekend, so Katya, Marion, Liza, KK, and I were all going to spend the night at her house. Katya and Marion showed up with champagne, and then KK arrived too, so we started by teaching Katya Kings. She was HILARIOUS. For example, every time a 9 turns up in the game, you have to pick a word for the other people to rhyme with. Most people pick things like "box" or "free," but Katya picked "affection" and "forsake." Needless to say, we didn't get very far with those words.
It was really nice just hanging out in an empty apartment, drinking from mismatched glasses with a group of girls--it's been a while since I've had a fully girls' night out. We got started singing this Russian ballad we all knew, with Katya giving us pronunciation tips, and then we talked about how all Russian songs are sad. Eventually, we headed out to Fidel, where the DJ played the same funky-awesome mix of American and international music from all over time. We danced for a few songs, and I decided that I wanted to try something knew--so I ordered a B-52 (first in Russian, and then in English when the bartender didn't understand me). He didn't have shot-stoppers on the bottles, so he fixed straws to the end of them--giving an extra to me--and poured through these straws. After, he lit it on fire and pushed it towards me. What?! I can't drink something that's on fire?! ...can I? There were a frenzied few minutes where I tried to find someone who'd had a B-52 and ask them, but nobody knew, and then the bartender was tapping me on the shoulder and telling me to drink it, so I finally blew out the flames and had a taste--deeeeelishious (though I'm pretty sure I let all the alcohol burn out).
While at Fidel we met some guys from Princeton--Anant, John, and Rob. John spent the first hour chatting up Liza, who excused herself to take Anna home and stayed away for the rest of the night. I first talked with Anant, who was really laid-back and cool. He talked about how, being Indian, he was still going to sell out (like everyone at Princeton, apparently) and study business, while Russian was going to be his secret repressed passion--he's going to grow up to be that weird old man down the street who quotes Tolstoy and hands out tattered copies of Crime and Punishment to kids. He was also wearing a sweater--a sweater!!--in the bar, which he said his Babyshka had made him put on before heading out--and we could all relate. Rob was also really laid-back, although he mentioned his farm back home in Texas with horses (which made me think "Clearly, he's from Princeton"), but John was just ridiculous. He was from Ohio, so of course I mentioned Cedar Point. "No, I've never been. I'm afraid of the mob mindset of middle-class America." So what's your major? "I'm going to be a historian--one that makes the best-seller list, but one that other historians also respect." Oh... "And I also entertain modest aspirations of maybe becoming a senator, or even President... if that doesn't work, then a speech-writer; I think that even if we can't fulfill our overblown promises, we need to improve the rhetoric--to not just sound so stupid." ...I couldn't figure out if this kid was serious or not, but turns out he definitely was. We spent much of the night talking with them--KK really cozied up to Anant--especially after being slowly shoved out of our table by two Russians playing chess. At one point I convinced them that we were Canadian, and they stopped talking at me when I started speaking French--but really, who brings a chess set to a bar on a Saturday night?
We called it a night around 4 a.m. and all crashed at Anna's; 2 to a bed in most cases. I got up around 7 to head home; I was pleased that even so tired my Russian was good enough to strike up a short conversation with two tourists from some town down south who wanted me to take their picture in front of Kazanskii Cobor. I told Igor that there was no picnic, and promptly dropped into bed for a few hours.
Here's What Happened: on sunday
When I woke up around 11, I was starving. I had myself some breakfast and climbed back into bed with a book--I had much more free time than I'd planned on, so I started Bely's The Silver Dove and took a short nap. Then I did homework like crazy; my thought process was that if I did enough last night, Monday's load would be easy, and I'd have time to get online--which has proved to be true! The rest of the day was pretty uneventful, but I went to bed early to do some serious catching-up on sleep.
And today. There's so much more I want to add--realizations I'm having about language, about culture, about people, and the fact that I'm already starting to miss St. Petersburg--but it's nigh midnight and I haven't even begun what I wanted to do, which is work on my G-8 project. This Friday! I apologize for the lack of "You Might Find This Interesting" but I swear they'll return when I can carve out some more time.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
July 5, 2007 || Still Playing Catch-Up
So I was going to start this post by telling you that yesterday made me more homesick than any other day here--I was missing Curtis, whose visit had made it feel like things had returned somewhat to normal, even though we were in a foreign country, and I went to the zoo, and I also forgot that it was the 4th of July! I came home from a day of "excursions," and my host grandpa asked me "You had a holiday today, right?" I had totally forgotten, so I said no. "You're an American, aren't you?" And then it hit me and I felt even worse--how could I forget? The 4th of July is one of my favorite holidays, spent out at the cottage with family, toasting marshmallows or setting off our own fireworks while watching the 3, 4, 5 different counties/private homes from across the North Channel have their own fireworks festival. Thankfully, Nora was over, and she jumped up and started shaking my hand and congratulating me, and everybody cheered a little--it was really funny, and it made me feel somewhat better.
And then! I check my inbox today and what do I have? An e-mailed 4th of July card from Grandma, which made me really happy--so I just had my own private party in the internet cafe, with that card followed by the song from The Sandlot that plays when they have their yearly night game.
Speaking of which! (I know this post is really scatterbrained, but I left my diary at the apartment) I want to say thankyou thank you THANK YOU for the letters I received--the way they're delivered is completely arbitrary; dry spells followed by floods, and the letters are delivered all out of order (cards postmarked the 11th of June showing up before those postmarked the 9th). It means so much to hear anything from home--I live for the meager comments on here (this is a shameless attempt to once again encourage anybody and everybody to leave comments) and the letters are like gold to me. I actually take them everywhere with me, in the "Important Folder" I keep in my bag. Aside from my passport and money pouch, I probably check that most frequently.
So, back to me being homesick--well, as for Wednesday in general, we started by going to Dostoevsky's old home for our excursion. It was really cool, actually--you could see that some of the kids were just being overwhelmed by the fact that they were standing in Dostoevsky's house--THIS was the place where he wrote "The Brothers K," HERE was where he ate meals with his family, THIS is the painting of Mary he would look to for inspiration while "Crime and Punishment" took shape. Personally, I don't really like Dostoevsky (hearsay for a Russian major), but I'm sure I will be just as awed when I get myself out to Blok's old apartment, or if I get to see Bulgakov's museum in Moscow. After, Chris, Natalie and I shelled out a bundle for tickets to Castle Dance, which is a huge technofest being held in a castle off the coast west of St. Petersburg. It's an all night festival, running from 9pm Saturday 'til 9am Sunday, so I probably won't be getting any blogging done this weekend, either. There's over 30 DJs that are going to be there, and tons of people... don't worry, we've already all talked about the best ways to be safe, and that's what we're taking a semi-biggish group.
After that, I met Masha and we walked through the Summer Garden, a beautiful garden commissioned by Peter the I that backs up onto the Neva. It used to be chock-full of amazing Italian fountains and sculptures, but a flood ruined about 40 of the installations. I was extremely happy to be able to recognize some of the statues from my childhood obsession with Greek mythology--Apollo and Artemis were the first pair we ran across, then Mars, (please excuse the mixing of Greek and Roman appellations) and then there was a small courtyard held down by the statues "Dawn," "Midday," "Dusk," and "Night." Also, there was a large monument to the Russian fable writer Krilov. The garden was smaller than I expected and we finished with it quickly, so Masha took me over to the Petrograd side and we ended up going to the zoo ("What do you think about going to the zoo?" "I'd LOVE to! I love animals! Yesyesyes!" "Haha, I really like animals too.") We walked through the large park I've passed once or twice (on visits to the Musuem of Political History, and the Georgian restaurant is located out this way--really, I should get a map and mark all this stuff), and it's really interesting--imagine a park, big grassy area with trees, and I mean really big. Add in some big carts with small tables set out front selling beer and snacks. Through the massive theater Balticheskii Dom right in the middle--out in front of THAT, have blow-up moon bounces and giant slides, and people offering pony rides. Keep going further down until you see a super-mini version of the Joan of Arc festival; bumper cars, teacup-ish rides, a ship, etc. It's really kind of bizarre--then again, the whole permanent-carnival idea seems wrong somehow to me, too.
[My computer battery is really low, so I might end this right in the middle of my story, but what can you do?]
So we get to the zoo, and again, Masha and I have a tiny argument about who was going to pay (there was a lot of "Masha." "Jaclyn." "Masha." "Jaclyn." "I'm paying." "No, I'M going to pay." going on), and finally we went inside. Now, in my guidebook, it warned that adults might find the zoo... uncomfortable--not up to Western standards. After seconds, I could see what they meant. The animals were literally kept in iron-barred cages, and much smaller than what we'd think necessary. The fish aquariums were either bright, unhealthy green or exceptionally foggy.
For the first time in my life, I saw a panther and a polar bear pace their cages, looking like nothing if not lost. At the same time, the animals were much more lively--and the kids and people just loved looking at them. It was a really strange mixture of feelings, for me--I can appreciate how much joy seeing animals can bring... and I wouldn't want to take away that experience from anyone, especially not kids... but at the same time, these animals weren't exactly living the high life. I'll have to get pictures up soon, and then you can see.
[Okay, my computer is telling me that things are "critical" now. Time to shut down. I'm getting so backed up on all the things I want to share!]
And then! I check my inbox today and what do I have? An e-mailed 4th of July card from Grandma, which made me really happy--so I just had my own private party in the internet cafe, with that card followed by the song from The Sandlot that plays when they have their yearly night game.
Speaking of which! (I know this post is really scatterbrained, but I left my diary at the apartment) I want to say thankyou thank you THANK YOU for the letters I received--the way they're delivered is completely arbitrary; dry spells followed by floods, and the letters are delivered all out of order (cards postmarked the 11th of June showing up before those postmarked the 9th). It means so much to hear anything from home--I live for the meager comments on here (this is a shameless attempt to once again encourage anybody and everybody to leave comments) and the letters are like gold to me. I actually take them everywhere with me, in the "Important Folder" I keep in my bag. Aside from my passport and money pouch, I probably check that most frequently.
So, back to me being homesick--well, as for Wednesday in general, we started by going to Dostoevsky's old home for our excursion. It was really cool, actually--you could see that some of the kids were just being overwhelmed by the fact that they were standing in Dostoevsky's house--THIS was the place where he wrote "The Brothers K," HERE was where he ate meals with his family, THIS is the painting of Mary he would look to for inspiration while "Crime and Punishment" took shape. Personally, I don't really like Dostoevsky (hearsay for a Russian major), but I'm sure I will be just as awed when I get myself out to Blok's old apartment, or if I get to see Bulgakov's museum in Moscow. After, Chris, Natalie and I shelled out a bundle for tickets to Castle Dance, which is a huge technofest being held in a castle off the coast west of St. Petersburg. It's an all night festival, running from 9pm Saturday 'til 9am Sunday, so I probably won't be getting any blogging done this weekend, either. There's over 30 DJs that are going to be there, and tons of people... don't worry, we've already all talked about the best ways to be safe, and that's what we're taking a semi-biggish group.
After that, I met Masha and we walked through the Summer Garden, a beautiful garden commissioned by Peter the I that backs up onto the Neva. It used to be chock-full of amazing Italian fountains and sculptures, but a flood ruined about 40 of the installations. I was extremely happy to be able to recognize some of the statues from my childhood obsession with Greek mythology--Apollo and Artemis were the first pair we ran across, then Mars, (please excuse the mixing of Greek and Roman appellations) and then there was a small courtyard held down by the statues "Dawn," "Midday," "Dusk," and "Night." Also, there was a large monument to the Russian fable writer Krilov. The garden was smaller than I expected and we finished with it quickly, so Masha took me over to the Petrograd side and we ended up going to the zoo ("What do you think about going to the zoo?" "I'd LOVE to! I love animals! Yesyesyes!" "Haha, I really like animals too.") We walked through the large park I've passed once or twice (on visits to the Musuem of Political History, and the Georgian restaurant is located out this way--really, I should get a map and mark all this stuff), and it's really interesting--imagine a park, big grassy area with trees, and I mean really big. Add in some big carts with small tables set out front selling beer and snacks. Through the massive theater Balticheskii Dom right in the middle--out in front of THAT, have blow-up moon bounces and giant slides, and people offering pony rides. Keep going further down until you see a super-mini version of the Joan of Arc festival; bumper cars, teacup-ish rides, a ship, etc. It's really kind of bizarre--then again, the whole permanent-carnival idea seems wrong somehow to me, too.
[My computer battery is really low, so I might end this right in the middle of my story, but what can you do?]
So we get to the zoo, and again, Masha and I have a tiny argument about who was going to pay (there was a lot of "Masha." "Jaclyn." "Masha." "Jaclyn." "I'm paying." "No, I'M going to pay." going on), and finally we went inside. Now, in my guidebook, it warned that adults might find the zoo... uncomfortable--not up to Western standards. After seconds, I could see what they meant. The animals were literally kept in iron-barred cages, and much smaller than what we'd think necessary. The fish aquariums were either bright, unhealthy green or exceptionally foggy.
For the first time in my life, I saw a panther and a polar bear pace their cages, looking like nothing if not lost. At the same time, the animals were much more lively--and the kids and people just loved looking at them. It was a really strange mixture of feelings, for me--I can appreciate how much joy seeing animals can bring... and I wouldn't want to take away that experience from anyone, especially not kids... but at the same time, these animals weren't exactly living the high life. I'll have to get pictures up soon, and then you can see.
[Okay, my computer is telling me that things are "critical" now. Time to shut down. I'm getting so backed up on all the things I want to share!]
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
July 2nd, 2007 || Curtis Comes to Town!
July 2, 2007
It’s been a long time since I’ve just been able to sit down and write. Even now, I’m squeezing time in during my lunch break (a hearty meal of bread, cheese, and pepperoni—y thinking is that if I don’t eat out at the café every day during the week, I’ll have more money to spend on the weekends; so it’s a simple sandwich and occasionally a banana for me) to try and record at least some of my impressions from over the last few days. I have to make myself write this—or else one day, I’ll forget it all.
It’s been over a week since Алые Паруса, and I’ve done a lot. At the top of my memory is Curtis’s visit, which ended less than 24 hours ago. All Friday I was a little bit nervous and a lot excited, waiting for him—is train didn’t get in until 11, and Trisha and Liza and I walked around Apraskin Dvor after classes—well, after Happy Hour at the local Evrasia, where you get double of everything you ordered—it was great, most of the group was there, and everybody was trading drinks and food, and it was just good to be able to speak English together (especially on a Friday afternoon), and to have our sushi and whatnot for next to nothing. Apraskin Dvor houses tons of shops and Money Honey, this relaxed-looking bar that apparently has live rockabilly music (I so wanna go!). It was in one of these gaudy squares where cheap stores selling plastic earrings and fake belt buckles backed up to both semi-high-end boutiques and second-hand shops. Here, a lot of the outdoor stalls seemed to be owned by foreigners, but they were mostly empty—I’m not sure if it was because of recent government crack-downs or the light rain. Either way, I got home late, took a twenty minute nap, and went to meet Curtis at the platform (just like in any good Russian romance, though nobody dies at the end of the trip). It was so good to see him! We walked (all of 2 blocks) to his hostel, got him all checked in, and walked to this nice nearby café, slipping into Russian when other people got too close. The café had great live music (the guitarist strummed “Stairway to Heaven” before closing his set) and had beer and wine with French fries (had to pay extra for the ketchup, but it’s amazing what you’ll do for a taste of home). Words just spilled out under the – cover of music; it’s strange, how you can feel safe in a place here and still try to keep your English as quiet as possible. We talked about classes, people in our classes, our excursions, our families,
The next day we agreed to wake up early—I wanted to show Curtis some important parts of town, those I liked best, and we planned on dinner at a nice restaurant—I just wanted everything to be perfect, for him to love
Finally, I got bandaged up and we continued our tour—down to Dvorstsaya Ploshad, where this strange hodge-podge group of dancers who looked like the offspring of the Komsomol—they danced to a song whose refrain basically went, “My Russia, my country… my Russia, my friends.” New age propaganda, if you ask me—but at least it looked like they were having fun (which I guess is the whole point). We turned through the Admiralty and Alexander garden, marveled at
We left around 1, hurrying back up the island in order to beat the bridges’ raisings at 1:55. We stopped here and there to marvel at the people thronging the embankment, grab a quick kiss under the darkening sky, or take pictures of the bridge and the
We said goodbye and it wasn’t until then that I’d realized how much I’d missed him, and how much I will miss him. He was like the best gift I could’ve had from home—he knows my friends and family and school, and he can reminisce about the same memories, but he’s going through the same problems and adjustments that I am right now, which made him a perfect person to relate to. Well, I hate to say it, but I really really want to read. Aunt Chris loaned my Reading Lolita in Tehran (talk about fitting right? Girl in
===You Might Find This Interesting====
World War II: I probably should've explained about this back when we visited Piskarov Cemetery, but I can't articulate to you vividly Russians still remember WWII. For example, when Jessica told her hostess that she was alright with eating left-overs, she rejoiced (quite a few Russians have been surprised that their American students are okay with left-overs; we Americans don't do that? I know my family does). Apparently, in her family, they never let food go to waste. "We still remember during the war, during the siege, when there was no food." Keep in mind that Jessica's hostess is a university student about our age.
Also, it's not called World War II. In Russia, it's called the Great War of the Fatherland. And every year, they hold a celebration to remember it, and those that died (fireworks, parades; it's like the soldiers return home every year). They wear orange and black ribbons on this day to commemorate the dead, although I've seen them everywhere (and the holiday was months ago). To put things in perspective, over 60% of all Allied casualties were Soviets. Breaking that down into hard numbers, look at it this way: Americans lost roughly 420,000 people in the war (.3% of the wartime population). The Soviet Union lost 23,600,000 people (that's 23 MILLION now, a whole extra set of 3 zeros, or almost 15% of their population); that's more than any other country, even Germany and China, by at least 4 million people. Almost no one was untouched by the war (and by touched I mean affected negatively).
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