I'm Alive, Really

It's been about a week since I've posted, and mom mentioned that she'd started to question my existence. Sorry about taking so long, but things have really started to get busy. We've all hit the halfway point and suddenly it seems like we have no time left here, and still there's so much to do! So we're cramming our schedules, but at the same time, we've still got a lot of homework to keep up with too. For example, the REAL reason I jumped online is to research my project (due next week) on the latest G8 Summit. Can I at least get a little sympathy that they're making me do a PRESENTATION on the freaking G8 in RUSSIAN?! As if we cover political vocab in Russian 202. But, at the same time, it's making me work really hard and learn a lot of new things, so that's good too, I suppose.

This past week (this would be much easier if I had my calendar in front of me) we went to the Museum of Political History, walked down to a sketchy outdoor market, had individual meetings with our Resident Director (kind of like mid-terms and mid-term reports), visited Apraskin Dvor (I suppose a tiny mall like Gostiniy Dvor, but... shadier), and Masha and I hung out for a huuuuuge stint of time (you'd think I'd run out of Russian things to say after 4 hours together). They other biggie was that Curtis visited this weekend--which was great; we walked all over the city, got stuck on Vasilevsky Ostrov, discovered this really cool Russian restaurant/cafe/hang-out and basically had ourselves a merry time. I promise to try and get things in a fun and easy-to-read format soon, but I don't have as much time as I used to--Wednesday we're visiting Dostoevsky's apartment, Saturday Masha and I are going to Kronstadt, and Saturday night (hopefully!) a bunch of us are going to Castle Dance, and then on Sunday we've got a big picnic and day out at what I'm going to call "the beach" (because I can't remember the Russian word for the title). And then next week is the Museum of the Blockade, my report, a trip to Moscow... then hopefully a week of souvenir hunting, our long trip through some parts of the Golden Ring, and I come home!

....boy, I'm really running out of time here.

Pictures Revisited

Okay, so I finally found a better Internet Cafe and got things working again! Pictures are updated, and for those of you who'd rather take the short tour of my trip, I've placed links at what I think are relevant places throughout my blog posts that will direct you to a picture of exactly what I'm talking about (that way you can visualize, see what I was seeing, as you read). For those of you who want to see more, here's the link to my photo website again:
http://community.webshots.com/user/ndjacquerieRUS

June 24, 2007 || Aly Paryca

June 24, 2007

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

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

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

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

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

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

====You Might Find This Interesting====

>Russian Names

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

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

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

June 22/23, 2007 || Georgian Cafe/Russian Play/Kunstkammer/Banya/Russian Movie

June 22/23, 2007

I LOVE talking to Liza. She’s so smart, and a perfect balance of opinion and open-mindedness. I feel like she could offer an educated appraisal of anything (and if she couldn’t she’d let you know) but still fairly listen to your ideas, too. Today we spent a lot of time talking Russian identity, and identity in general (typically defining oneself in relation to an “other”), which is such a complex and interesting subject with multitudes of examples that I could talk about it for days. We also talked about how life sometimes moves both too fast and too slow… for example, living in Saint Petersburg, there’s so many once-in-a-lifetime experiences to be had—but which am I doing for the actual experience, and which am I doing just to say I did it? Or more basically, is it worth doing something that’s a “once-in-a-lifetime” experience if you wouldn’t want to do it otherwise? I’ve never gone quite to that extreme, but sometimes I find myself blowing through events without really savoring them—and I don’t think I should do that. I’m not sure, either, if it’s a personal character flaw or a result of our society.

We went and saw Master & Margarita today, which was fabulous. We walked up to this massive theater, crossed a nice plush waiting area, climbed a flight of marble stairs (ohmigosh ohmigosh this is going to be GREAT it’s like a theater back home!) turned the corner and BAM! … bleachers. Bleachers, and folding chairs set up for us to sit on. We’d bought seats that didn’t even exist (the rows were numbered until about 23, and I had seat 27), so KK and Joe and I crammed into the front row, while Diane and Liz climbed up into the bleachers. The front row was great—we came eye to eye with the devil and had pillows thrown over our heads. The makeup was fantastic—I actually jumped when Azazello (kind of like an "angel of death" demon) first appeared, and because of his face powder, for the whole first scene, Woland/Satan literally smoked under the lights. I also really liked how most of the characters were dressed in black AND white—although Woland wore all white—attesting to their dual roles of agents of both good and evil. Begemot (Behemoth) was of course my favorite—his mannerisms drew my attention even when the stage action was far from him. It was strange, because it was a budget theater, and some of the special effects included looped clips of eerie Indian chants and Halloween USA-esque voice modifiers. The also added a character whom I could not place (a woman in black who shadowed almost every scene, and was only noticed by the characters onstage from time to time; she seemed linked especially to Margarita and dueted with her). The kicker was the huge projection screen that served as a backdrop; it made the whole project seem very art-house and intellectual, but it actually worked and served the play well. Sometimes it showed the owner of the voice coming through the other end of the telephone, sometimes eerie close-ups of Woland, seeming to imply that he saw all, sometimes it integrated itself into a scene, displaying rushing water during the scene with the river, and more than once it showed video of Stalin and his soldiers (the play is set during Stalinist times), and fighting. The whole thing was a wild and new theater experience.

New also: Georgian cuisine. Pretty sure I could live on this food. Tending to be meaty while heavy on vegetables and ALWAYS fresh, it was a bit spicy but just delicious. Georgia is, in classical history, the land where the Golden Fleece hung, and there is a legend that describes Caucasian food as “The Scraps from God’s Table.” I had Tamol, which felt Greek—pork, chicken, and rice wrapped in grape leaves with a tasty sauce, and also tried some sausages, chicken shashlyk (like a kabob), veal, and all were phenomenal—I really want to go there again with Curtis next week when he comes to visit.

Speaking of cultural experiences, Jessica and Trisha and I went to the Kunstkammer for the first time. My basic response to it was really conflicted—morbid fascination, a sense of how bizarre it all was, pity, and even understanding, too. As I told Marina Nikolaevna, it was interesting, but I could only look at so many dead babies who have been bottled, and then that’s enough. It was also an ethnographical museum, the first museum in St. Petersburg (Peter the Great was fascinated with early cultures) and had artifacts from Eskimos, early Chinese culture, a section on Africa, and one on India. It was bizarre to see figures in glass cases wearing animal skins and seeing them labeled “Iroquois” or “American Indian.” And when you think that this might be someone’s only exposure to these other cultures… well, it was interesting to think about what sort of inferences a tour group of school children might draw from them—and it made me think about what I had taken away from my first exposures to other cultures (what did my teachers focus on? What were the legends I heard? What were my impressions of these early people? Were they fair?) The Kunstkammer itself was only one room, and technically, photographs weren’t allowed—but I managed to grab a quick shot before a babyshka told me to knock it off (she didn’t make me erase the picture, thinking I was Russian—score!) It houses all Peter the Great’s bizarre findings; he trained himself as a doctor and surgeon and wanted to pioneer science relating to the human body. As such, he offered to pay subjects in his kingdom for anomalies in nature that they stumbled across; a woman who gave birth to a baby with no legs, or one with a conjoined twin; a two-headed calf; an armadillo, a pangolin; he bought dwarves and human giants to keep in his retinue. So, basically, this room is what’s left of it—there are babies’ heads floating in jars, dismembered hands, the skeleton of the calf, colored brains sitting next to a collection of beetles and diagrams of a person’s insides. It was disturbing, especially to think that these kids, in particular, never had a chance at life—a harelip, a missing arm—we can cope with these problems now and give people who have them relatively normal lives. But we can only do that, I guess, because back then “scientists” cut these people up and found out what was wrong with them; the whole museum is both relic and monument to the early days of trial-and-error, experimental science.

And, for the ULTIMATE cross-cultural experience, we went to the banya on Wednesday. A banya is basically a public bathhouse. I know my first conceptions of banyas were grand and wild and rather Eastern (or at least something like a swimming pool I saw in the Hearst mansion)—tiled pools, waterfalls from the ceilings, decorated columns and big jars of hot water. Then I kind of scaled things back and imagined great big saunas with pools of water in the floor, ready for you to jump in. Then I decided that that must be wrong too, so I tried to clear myself of expectations and just take it for what it was worth—prepared to either like it or dislike it. I wasn’t sure what to expect, either, from my classmates, since Americans are so hung up on body image and NO WAY being naked.

So anyway, we walk into this old apartment and climb 4 flights of stairs, and step into what looks like a swimming locker room (once more I was sooo glad that I chose to swim in high school). And, like a swimming locker room, there were a few naked older women just hanging around getting dressed, no problem. There were giggles, but then WE were supposed to get undressed, and there was a sort of nervous tension as we all modestly changed under our towels, keeping the important parts covered (except for Liz, because there is nothing on earth that could shame that girl--and I mean that in a good way). We next walked down a hallway, through a door into a big open room. The two long walls of this rectangle were lined with either low benches (to the left) or water taps (to the right) and all in the middle of the room were more benches strewn with big buckets. The other two walls were lined with open shower stalls (in one the faucet had been replaced with a bucket and chain—this would end up becoming one of my favorite “stations”) and in one corner there was what appeared to be a dunking tank with a ladder climbing its front. And, of course, there were more naked old women—walking around, scrubbing themselves with soap, rinsing under a shower, or filling up buckets with hot water at the taps. So, we followed suit (Cardinal Rule #1 in ACTR: If you don’t know what to do, just watch a Russian and do what they’re doing). I filled up a big bucket and set it on a bench, letting my veniki (a bunch of supple birch branches—still with leaves) soak while I rinsed off—the air was already 10 degrees warmer in here, hot and humid. It took awhile, but we all got decently acclimated with all the nudity, and finally a bunch of us walked through a door at the end of the room to the sauna room. It was SO hot, and it just kept getting hotter. This is where I first saw women whacking each other with veniki. I thought it looked ridiculous, but after a few minutes, those of us with branches gave it a shot—and it made the experience ten times better. It was like a little massage anywhere, and you could control the intensity.

When it got too hot I went back to the water room and rinsed off before taking my first dunk in the tank—the water was ice cold but felt SO good. You’re to climb to the top of the ladder and just drop in, so it hits you all at once—the hardcore banya-goers go outside and roll in the snow between hot room trips in the winter. After that, I alternated between the tank and pulling the bucket down on my head (which was full of cold water and always came as a bigger shock).

By the time we finished, I think we were all more comfortable with each other—it wasn’t a problem at all after we saw how nakedness wasn’t a big deal, and I felt really good—warm, relaxed, really clean, and my skin seemed so soft. Everyone probably felt the same way, and I don’t think there’s many bonding experiences better than getting naked with a group of people, and then taking turns hitting each other with branches (I know this probably sounds bizarre, but don’t knock it ‘til you try it—I’m definitely going back to the banya when our hot water gets turned off).

It was so funny to try and explain all this to Masha when we met later to go see a movie. We talked (or TRIED talking—the limited vocabulary forces you to really focus on the important aspects of your subject and think really creatively about how to say what) about the banya and Americans’ awkwardness with nudity, and somehow we progressed to President Bush and religion, and I tried to explain the No Child Left Behind Act (Read: BIG mistake; did nothing but confuse the hell out of both of us), and from there we got to the public school systems in both countries and respect for elders and parental responsibility and the Russian and American conceptions of one another (apparently, the majority of them DON’T hate us; in fact, they maybe kinda like us), and Cold War mentalities…and it was fascinating. Masha is so wonderful—patient and nice and I feel like although we’re from such different worlds, we’re on the same wavelength. At one point, I was starting on a touchy subject (probably the war in Iraq) and I wanted to make it clear that I didn’t want her taking all my words as the rule for Americans and America—and she cut me off. Don’t worry, I understand—these are your opinions, and things aren’t like this everywhere, or all the time. And she mirrored my concerns on the Cold War fixation, and we both wanted to see a cartoon (me because I’m lame and love cartoons and because I think they’d be easier to understand than a real movie—could you imagine Oceans 13 {called “The 13 Friends of Ocean” in Russian} in Russian??—and Masha just because she enjoyed animated films like Shrek and Pixar movies) and she’s really laid-back (likes to listen to music and read)—and we were listening to some great international music on her phone and I was trying to scribble down all their names and she asked, Why don’t I just make you a CD? (Answer: Um, that would be awesome!) and she’s also really really determined to make me speak only Russian… which is a good thing, I guess, but sometimes it’s very frustrating to know that I have so much to say, but I don’t have the words to say it. In return, I tease her every time she says “super” even though it’s a common word in Russian. I don’t know when we’re next doing something, but I can’t wait.

I also can’t wait to have my Bely Nochi experience tonight—this free concert, gylyating (a play on the Russian word “gool-yacht” = to frolic/have fun) around the city, and taking (hopefully) wonderful pictures of the city at night, and the ship with red sails, and the bridges broken and upright over the sparkling Neva, and the Fontaka.

====You Might Find This Interesting====

>The Master and Margarita Actually, you probably won’t find what I have to say interesting, but you have just got to read this book. It’s fascinating, written in Soviet times by a wonderful but censored author whom Stalin toyed with like a mouse (refusing to let him leave the country, et cetera), and it speaks volumes about the Stalinist regime—it wasn’t published until the 60s abroad, and even later in Russia; but now most Russians know and love the book, and there was a 10-part TV series of it done about 5 years ago (which I hope to buy) that EVERYONE watched. Basically, if you come to Russian and drop its name (pronounced Master ee Margarita in Russian) you’ll have some instant friends. So, for the bare-bones plot, it follows three narratives: The first is a retelling of the Christ story; we meet Pilate, who views Jesus as an enigmatic philosopher (Jesus, for his part, claims that most of his deeds have been simple and grossly magnified by Matthu Levi); the second narrative follows Satan, who (with a few of his buddies) has come to Moscow to see if the people have changed (Stalin’s whole plan was to make a new kind of human, “The New Soviet Man” who would be completely superior—morally, physically, intellectually—from any who had come before). He tests the people of Moscow and causes all kinds of havoc. The third narrative is a love story, of that between the Master, the writer of a controversial novel who goes mad when the censors destroy his life before the work is even published, and his extremely complex lover and heroine, Margarita (this part draws much from Bulgakov’s own life, and last wife). All three intersect; but I don’t want to give too much away. If I had to list major themes, I’d say (obviously) Stalinist Moscow; the ability of people to rationalize anything (ie things like meeting someone who is clearly the devil in Moscow or the obviously unnatural disappearance of one’s neighbors); the importance of writing; and the idea that those things we take to be purely evil rarely ever are. The devil and his fellows are entertaining characters, although clear workers of black magic; the novel opens with a quote from Faust or Mephistopheles, I believe (which is heavily referenced in the book), that reads something like “I am the force which eternally wills evil but eternally does good.”

>Really, seriously, READ Master and Margarita.

>Banya Know-How:

1) If you go to the banya, buy veniki. Hitting yourself with them improves your circulation and blood flow, allowing for a better experience.

2) “If you don’t bring something to cover your head with, it will either a) get cold or b) explode (depending on who you ask).” The truth of this is that as all the heat escapes through your head, leaving it uncovered will dry your hair out really, really badly; so do bring a small towel to wear on your head, or buy one of the nice sets with a little hat and matching gloves.

3) That other towel—make sure you also bring a towel to lay or sit on in the sauna room—the benches are really, REALLY hot; this is also different from the towel you’ll dry off with.

4) Common sense: the higher you climb, the hotter it gets; steam rises, so if someone throws water on the rocks, it’s going to rise up AT you; shower AFTER you’re done sweating

5) Bring sandals—it is a public place, after all

6) Not sure I have to repeat this, but: buckets are not for bathing in.

June 20, 2007 || Quick Post

June 20, 2007

So after I hung up the phone last night with Mom, I thought I was going to take a shower but there were more fun things than that to do! Like… change the wallpaper. The other day, a huge tear had been scraped in the wallpaper (not by me, thank God) so Marina decided it was time for a change. When I walked into the kitchen, she was digging at the wall with a knife, pulling a huge swath of green down. “Can I help?” And so I got to experience tearing huge strips of wallpaper haphazardly from the wall (have to say, it was pretty therapeutic). Now I’m staring at a brownish wall, and when I get back from the Banya and hopefully a movie with Masha today we’ll have a pink, blue, and green kitchen!

The past few days have been busy—trying to set up the blog, struggling with pictures (and a slow internet connection, and of course, class (due Friday: an essay on the topic "How to Stop Terrorism"). Some days are better than others. And hopefully, things are going to get a lot busier—a lot of us have talked and really want to do everything that we can in Saint Petersburg, because we’ve so little time here. So… we’ve started overloading our calendars as much as we feel able (which is still a struggle, since we’re wiped out after class and all). One of our “events” is to go out on the town this Saturday, to the city’s celebration for those who have finished high school. They get a concert, and a speech from the governor, an all night festival complete with legends and banners, and a huge ship anchored in the river with big red sails… I wish OUR cities turned out for us like that when we finished school.

====You Might Find This Interesting====

Ways to quickly make Russian friends (by keying in on popular culture):

1) Check out Che-Byrashka, national cartoon hero. Kids and teens alike will relate to you (he was so popular that he was actually their Olympic mascot one year; he is ridiculously cute and is clay-animated like the old-school Rudolph).

2) Find out who Sergei Balabonov Jr. is (note: he died a few years ago at a young age, so make sure you don’t ask “What’s he been up to lately?”)

3) Read, read, READ Russian literature—Pushkin’s poetry especially (PS it’s worth it).

4) Buy them drinks (this works in the U.S. too)

5) Drop one of these lines at appropriate times: “Pushkin knows.” … Пушкин знает. (when someone asks a question like ‘Does anybody know where Mike is today?’); Good morning, bandits,” ... Здорово бандиты. (when greeting a group of friends to be); “No questions” ... Нет бопросы. (said very forcefully when someone asks “Any questions?”)

Regarding Pictures

Alright, so I was hoping to maybe be able to put pictures up on this site, but it's not going to happen. I hope to go back through my journal after I get photos figured out and put links for some things (ie. at a part where I wrote "We saw such and such fantastic monument" I'll put a link to a picture of the fantastic monument), reason being that nobody really cares about my 10 pictures of birch trees or the 40 pictures of a graveyard I took--those are the sorts of pictures that happened when I went "Wow this is beautiful I want to remember it forever--!" and cameras never really do those moments justice... but they can serve to jog the memory pretty well.

So, aside from those links, so far I only plan on having two other sections--first, Living in Russia, where I'll put pictures of the rooms I've stayed in (since anybody who's visited here or seen out pictures from Russia knows how different that can be) and Friends/People. I'll probably try to classify the other pictures by location, but most of them (sorry mom, I know you hate this) don't have any people in them, and aren't really all that interesting, unless you're into that sort of thing (admit it, you're always more excited to see 4 pictures of your buddy partying in a London bar than 20 pictures of some fancy whosawhatsit that was built hundreds of years ago out of diamonds and hemp).

BUT when that does become active, you'll be able to find my pictures at:
http://community.webshots.com/user/ndjacquerieRUS
...but I'll be sure to let you know once it's working, and give the link again. =)

June 16, 2007 || Nora and Danya

June 16, 2007

Spent most of my day avoiding homework and playing with Danya and Nora. We played a board game, dominoes, and checkers in the morning (checkers is slightly different—you HAVE to jump or you lose that piece; unkinged pieces can jump backwards when they must; and kings can jump along their whole diagonals—Nora almost beat me the first time around, until I got the hang of the rules).

Marina did my laundry (I’m SO grateful, considering I’m out of underwear). My clothes are hanging all in the bathroom, and in the kitchen and along the window seats in my room, too. The washing machine is small but fierce—it’s tiny, but shakes like mad so the dishes rattle when it hits the spin cycle.

Nora also had a nosebleed today, which she was kinda embarrassed by, but I said how I get them all the time and helped her clean up. The kids really liked my camera and laptop (a “notebook” in Russian), so they wanted to take lots of pictures and listen to music. We also played a few games with a tennis ball and some ping pong paddles (every free second, Danya spent today bouncing the ball on his paddle which totally wouldn’t have been allowed in our house—in the kitchen while Marina was cooking, in the hallway by the table, in the main room while we were watching TV). First Nora laid down on the carpet to watch a movie (an old black-and-white American film that we put on after Charlie Chaplin) and Danya and I bounced the ball over her (she was our net)—and if we accidentally hit her, she would get up and flick us on the forehead. Also we played where the “line” person would move their legs up and down and the other two had to take turns rolling the ball under them. Whoever missed became the next line person.

Kids are the same everywhere. After breaking the “touch” barrier by tickling her until she dropped the tennis ball, Nora holds my hand everywhere, sits real close on the couch, and feels confident enough to play with some of my things—my hairbrushes, my headbands, etc. She really liked my Che Burashka, and my moose, too (which Danya accidentally asked if it was from my husband, giving us all a good laugh). At dinner, those two started talking about big numbers, billions and trillions and other made-up numbers. Then talk turned to what you could buy with that much money, and Marina said you could buy anything. “Anything? What about a house? Cards? A store? A planet? President Putin?”—No, he and planets aren’t for sale. Even though things will be harder in class tomorrow for it, I’m glad I spent most of the day with them. I really really like the kids, and it makes me wish I had a little brother or sister (which, of course, reminds me of Mark, who cares more about his little sister than anyone I know, and was the first person to ever make me wish I had a much younger sibling). Thankfully, even though I don’t have any brothers or sisters, I have enough younger cousins to make up for it, from all different ages. Not only are they always fun (well, almost always), but I’ve never had to do the dirty work for them—punish them, baby-sit them for free, change their diapers (okay, so that’s not entirely true for KPW or KEW, but I can forgive them that—it’s not like they could control their poopy selves).

Last night was so great. The weather was beautiful, and Liza, Trisha and I talked about SO much—religion, Russia, culture, our futures, the past, responsibility, Russia, our host fams, the war in Iraq, feminism, Russia, AIDs, education, Westernization, affirmative action/reverse discrimination, Russia… it was the kind of talk that left me happy and sad and confused and confident all at once. And I think everyone needs one of those talks every once in a while (the fact that we were in a foreign country made me feel very ex-pat-ish and Hemingway-esque).

====================You Might Find This Interesting====================

Neil’s Story (as best as I can remember)…told after I mentioned a few of my embarrassing word mix-up stories in order to show that EVERYONE messes up in Russia and it’s not a big deal:

Pre-Req Class: Banya = a bath house; very popular in Russia, to have both public and private ones; you attend these naked

Dacha = a very small cottage kept by urbanites outside the city; they’re frequented on weekends and are typically cheaply made and packed with trinkets and such

“Понил!” = “I understand!”

“So, I went up to my friend Olga’s dacha for the weekend. This was after I’d had like 6 months of Russian, right? And it was my first time ever using a banya. Now, their banya was brand-spanking new, beautiful wood everywhere—the dacha was your regular crumbling old dacha, but the banya was beautiful. So I got naked, right, like you do in a banya, and Olga’s father opened the door and put in two buckets of water, a rag, and shampoo, which was fine. Now, I’ve done this before, I know how to take a bucket bath, right? But I’m looking at this banya and it’s just GOT to be too nice to be splashing water all over and getting the wood all wet and everything. So I climbed into the bucket. And I’m splashing water from the other bucket onto me, awkwardly naked standing in this bucket, taking my shower. And Olga’s father is out in the yard and he’s planting something or—I don’t know what he’s doing, but he sees me through this one window set at the very top of the banya, standing naked in this bucket, and the door bangs open and he lifts me out of the bucket and dumps the over one over my head, pours the shampoo on my head, splashing everywhere, scrubbing my hair—did I mention I was NAKED? Him, not so much, but me, definitely naked, and being WASHED by my friend’s DAD. “Понил! Понил!” …so basically, don’t worry if you do something embarrassing in front of your host family—Russians like to laugh and get over that stuff pretty quick.”