I get irritated by the following: a new Russian acquaintance asks me questions about where I'm from, what I'm doing here, where I live, and what I study. After maybe five minutes of conversation covering topics from chapter one of every second-year Russian textbook, the interlocutor declares my Russian language skills to be "very good!"
Hey. Try asking me about the origin of Halloween and its traditions, whether the Dakotas are actually ceding from the US, or why the Iowa and New Hampshire primaries are so important, and then see how good my Russian is. My host mother asks such questions -- perhaps she is the only non-professor that knows the true limits of my Russian. She probably overestimates my listening comprehension, though, since I tend to nod understandingly more often than I should.
I composed this in my head last night as I was trying to fall asleep. And then I realized that the real reason I can't answer my host mom's questions about American life is not because I don't have the vocabulary or grammar necessary to do so, but because I simply don't know the answer.
It's unsettling. Maybe I should have learned all this stuff in elementary school, but missed out thanks to homeschooling (not complaining, Mom!). Maybe I should have been more inquisitive about holidays and civics, but it's hard to be inquisitive about the ordinary. And now I'm in a foreign country, where my ordinary is the foreign, and those around me are inquisitive on my behalf.
Just as quickly as I learn about Russian culture, I stumble headlong into gaps in my knowledge about American culture. I give a half-heartened attempt to explain something about pagans, Native Americans, or Hilary Clinton. Then I might realize the futility of my endeavor, and end with, "Ya he zhayu, kak skazat' po-russki" (I don't know how to say it in Russian) if I want to blame my incapacity to answer based on vocabulary: "All Saints' Day," "eve," "to cede," "tribe," "reservation," "caucus," "delegates," etc.
And sometimes I just admit the humiliating truth: "He zhanyu, kak obisnit', dazhe po-angliiski" (I don't know how to explain, even in English).
Monday, December 24, 2007
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Well, it's like this
Dear readers,
I have been sitting on a handful of adventures about which I have not had time to blog. RSL exams were this week, as it turns out. I sat in the Bobrinsky computer lab for two hours, painstakingly typing out my Razgovornaya Praktika paper. I figure it took an hour per handwritten page to type; thank goodness it was only three pages. Not only was I busy with conquering the Russian keyboard, but also with some translating work (adventure #2). But RSL finals are over over over! We had an awards lunch — I got an award for being the most interested in things happening in and outside of Smolny, and also in and outside St. Petersburg, and also for being Bryan's personal hairdresser.
"I need a trim," he added.
But the adventures! I will title and number them, and see how far I get in telling them.
Carly, Amy, and I had just finished checking out a photography exhibit at the Stroganhoff Palace on Nevsky Prospect and were on our way to Riv Gosh (posh store) to abuse the perfume samples. Carly was feeling especially lightfooted, having traded in her winter boots for loafers. She pranced about in front of Kazansky Sobor before setttling down to wait for the light to change. Amy and I caught up with her, and I got stuck behind a man who wasn't crossing the street even though there were no cars-never mind that the light was still red, I wanted to get across the street!
The light finally turned. I started to cross — and then suddenly became aware that someone was messing with my purse. I glanced down: It was open, and my bright red wallet was gone. I wheeled around in the middle of the street. "Nyet, nyet, nyet," I said loudly, grabbing futilely at strangers' midsections. I noticed a man with a hat in one hand, into which he was slipping my wallet.
"Hyet, eto MOY bumazhnik!" I said (No, that's MY wallet), snatching it out of his hand. "O, tvoy?" he said (Oh, it's yours?). I turned and walked as quickly as I could into Riv Gosh to find Carly and wait for my heart to stop pounding.
So that's the shortest, and most intense adventure yet, I would say. I feel like I finally experienced life in the Big City. Not that I wanted to have my wallet stolen, but it's one of those things, you know? At least I recovered it.
Back at the apartment, my host-mom demonstrated how I should carry my purse, hugging it closely to my chest. I think I'll settle for making sure it's zipped shut.
I have been sitting on a handful of adventures about which I have not had time to blog. RSL exams were this week, as it turns out. I sat in the Bobrinsky computer lab for two hours, painstakingly typing out my Razgovornaya Praktika paper. I figure it took an hour per handwritten page to type; thank goodness it was only three pages. Not only was I busy with conquering the Russian keyboard, but also with some translating work (adventure #2). But RSL finals are over over over! We had an awards lunch — I got an award for being the most interested in things happening in and outside of Smolny, and also in and outside St. Petersburg, and also for being Bryan's personal hairdresser.
"I need a trim," he added.
But the adventures! I will title and number them, and see how far I get in telling them.
- Pickpocketed on Nevsky Prospect!
- Drinking Tea with a Corporate Party Organizer, his Wife, and their Two Parrots.
- A Business Meeting for the Future of Smolny.
Pickpocketed on Nevsky Prospect!
Carly, Amy, and I had just finished checking out a photography exhibit at the Stroganhoff Palace on Nevsky Prospect and were on our way to Riv Gosh (posh store) to abuse the perfume samples. Carly was feeling especially lightfooted, having traded in her winter boots for loafers. She pranced about in front of Kazansky Sobor before setttling down to wait for the light to change. Amy and I caught up with her, and I got stuck behind a man who wasn't crossing the street even though there were no cars-never mind that the light was still red, I wanted to get across the street!
The light finally turned. I started to cross — and then suddenly became aware that someone was messing with my purse. I glanced down: It was open, and my bright red wallet was gone. I wheeled around in the middle of the street. "Nyet, nyet, nyet," I said loudly, grabbing futilely at strangers' midsections. I noticed a man with a hat in one hand, into which he was slipping my wallet.
"Hyet, eto MOY bumazhnik!" I said (No, that's MY wallet), snatching it out of his hand. "O, tvoy?" he said (Oh, it's yours?). I turned and walked as quickly as I could into Riv Gosh to find Carly and wait for my heart to stop pounding.
So that's the shortest, and most intense adventure yet, I would say. I feel like I finally experienced life in the Big City. Not that I wanted to have my wallet stolen, but it's one of those things, you know? At least I recovered it.
Back at the apartment, my host-mom demonstrated how I should carry my purse, hugging it closely to my chest. I think I'll settle for making sure it's zipped shut.
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Ch-ch-ch-changes
Ways I have become more Russian and yet retained my foreignness:
I bought a sweet black and white kepka (cap) at the market behind Gostiny Dvor but I did not successfully haggle for it.
I've started wear boots more often but they are not black, high-heeled, or reach my knees.
I expect chai after every meal but sometimes I drink it 'empty,' that is, without an accompanying sweet.
I've stopped compulsively doing homework but I still come to class, and usually on time, too.
I carry two bags: my small purse and an extra one for class materials, dictionary, etc. but it is not a plastic, multicolored checked bag from Рив Гош (Riv Gosh), as are about half the "second purses" I see around town.
I can't put any of my belongings on the floor, because it is categorically too dirty but sometimes I walk around barefoot in my apartment. When no one else is around, of course.
If I really wanted to assimilate to the Russian Woman stereotype, I would have to
- lose about 7 kilos, preferably by skipping dinner,
- obsessively clean my black, shiny, high-heeled boots,
- wear makeup every day of my life,
- dress to the nines for everything, and
- dye my hair dark red.
Sometimes you have to know where to draw the line.
I bought a sweet black and white kepka (cap) at the market behind Gostiny Dvor but I did not successfully haggle for it.
I've started wear boots more often but they are not black, high-heeled, or reach my knees.
I expect chai after every meal but sometimes I drink it 'empty,' that is, without an accompanying sweet.
I've stopped compulsively doing homework but I still come to class, and usually on time, too.
I carry two bags: my small purse and an extra one for class materials, dictionary, etc. but it is not a plastic, multicolored checked bag from Рив Гош (Riv Gosh), as are about half the "second purses" I see around town.
I can't put any of my belongings on the floor, because it is categorically too dirty but sometimes I walk around barefoot in my apartment. When no one else is around, of course.
If I really wanted to assimilate to the Russian Woman stereotype, I would have to
- lose about 7 kilos, preferably by skipping dinner,
- obsessively clean my black, shiny, high-heeled boots,
- wear makeup every day of my life,
- dress to the nines for everything, and
- dye my hair dark red.
Sometimes you have to know where to draw the line.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Priklyuchnie
Last Monday night was the stuff memories are made of. Or at least I get good practice with prefixed verbs of motion while re-telling the story a couple of times in Fonetika and then to my Russian friends.
The premise: I wanted to see "Pikovaya Dama," a Tchaikovsky opera — music by Pyotr Ilyich, libretto by the composer's brother Modest based on Pushkin's short story. I read the story when I was still enrolled in "Russian Classics on the World Screen," an intriguing title for a class that amounted to... nothing I could stomach.
The location: Mariinsky Theater. I've been there four times now, three operas and a ballet. If you get into the line on the left as you enter, you can get cheap student tickets. If you get into the line on the right, you get expensive seats in the 3 yarus (top balcony that has uncomfy benches).
The crew: Um, just me. The usual suspects had printmaking, The Count decided against it, and I didn't think my Russian friends would be ready to spring for a night at the opera just like that, the day of (I'm not one for advanced planning, sometimes).
The problem: Operas are really long! I got thirsty and had to buy 30 ruble bottled water during the first break so that I could pay attention to the second act. Then I got really hungry, but had no food, so I did homework during the second break. And then I noticed the time as the curtain rose for the third and final act 10:45. Yikes. Not only did I still have homework for tomorrow, but the metro closes soon after midnight, and then all public transportation grinds to a halt.
I left before the curtain call, mainly because the women in my row were trying to leave and it was easier to leave when they did. From this point, I have a record of the time from when I exited the theater to, well, let's see.
01.32 The two dudes at the table ahead of me have left. There are 4 women at 2 tables in this room, and a table of three in the other (for some reason, there are three screens above the cash register showing the movements of all the guests in the separate dining rooms, and then other showing the kitchen?). My last mouthful of chai is cold, bitter, and saturated with sugar.
Karli sez [via SMS]: Khanushka eto takoi-to uzhas! Ty dolzhno vyzbat' takci! [Hannah, darling, that's a horror! You should call a taxi!)]
01.59 Dvoe (devushki) prishli, sidya za stol, ocvobozhdenny drugimi dvoimi. [Two women have arrived, and are sitting at the table vacated by another pair of women].
02.05 Okazalos', chto dvoe za spinoi slushashchie. Not yawning yet. Zhelayu, chto Chainaya Loazhka byla by kruglostutohno. [It turns out that the women behind me are employees. ... I wish that Chainaya Lozhka were open 24-hours. --Teaspoon: a fast-food place that serves blini, but really, I wouldn't have wanted to stay there all night, it's too orange and not as comfortable as the couch I was sitting on.]
02.20 The blue-smocked cleaning lady approaches.
02.45 Andei pozvonil mne, khotelos' bylo by znat', gde ya. Vsyo normal'no. [Andrei called me, wanting to know where I was. Everything's ok.] Guess it would've been prilichno [polite] of me to call home, huh?
Still have not even finished my homework. Also, I'm cold.
03.33 Still working on R.P. d/z [hw]
03.54 Sean Kingston, again? [This cafe had a bunch of TVs tuned to World Music, which meant that I was surrounded by music videos from the moment I stepped in to the moment I stepped out.]
Just finished first draft. Now to perepisat'. [Re-write.]
04.30 Halfway through the perenicanie. [Rewriting.]
04.44 Finished! How long until the buses start running?
05.19 Finished first draft of my skit-ette [a satire of Putin's Plan]. Maybe the buses are running now? I'm hungry. I mean, I've been hungry for the past five hours, but you know.
Also, I recognized a music video and I was so ashamed.
05.37 I'm getting out of here.
Here the log ends. I walked to one of my favored bus stops, on 8th line between Sredny and Maly prospekts. Most buses start running around 5:30, but I didn't catch the 151 (my favorite for getting home from that neighborhood) until 6. I got to my stop in a record six minutes. It was amazing! A run of the mill city bus will take 3045 minutes to get from the 8th line to Nalichinaya (close to home), the 151 often takes 15 at the very best, and here I was, whisked home in a trice! I was pumped.
I entered the apartment quietly. Tatiana Ivanova was already up, of course. When I went into the kitchen to get the phone to wish my Dad a happy birthday, she chuckled and said, "Gde ty propala, Khana?" [Where did you lose yourself, Hannah?]
Afterword: I spent the rest of the morning wishing my father a happy birthday and doing more homework. I was afraid that if I fell asleep, I'd never get up again. I eventually took a nap at 6, when I got back home, and was intensely disoriented when I woke up. Other than that, though, I suffered no repercussions from losing a night of sleep. I was gently shocked.
The premise: I wanted to see "Pikovaya Dama," a Tchaikovsky opera — music by Pyotr Ilyich, libretto by the composer's brother Modest based on Pushkin's short story. I read the story when I was still enrolled in "Russian Classics on the World Screen," an intriguing title for a class that amounted to... nothing I could stomach.
The location: Mariinsky Theater. I've been there four times now, three operas and a ballet. If you get into the line on the left as you enter, you can get cheap student tickets. If you get into the line on the right, you get expensive seats in the 3 yarus (top balcony that has uncomfy benches).
The crew: Um, just me. The usual suspects had printmaking, The Count decided against it, and I didn't think my Russian friends would be ready to spring for a night at the opera just like that, the day of (I'm not one for advanced planning, sometimes).
The problem: Operas are really long! I got thirsty and had to buy 30 ruble bottled water during the first break so that I could pay attention to the second act. Then I got really hungry, but had no food, so I did homework during the second break. And then I noticed the time as the curtain rose for the third and final act 10:45. Yikes. Not only did I still have homework for tomorrow, but the metro closes soon after midnight, and then all public transportation grinds to a halt.
I left before the curtain call, mainly because the women in my row were trying to leave and it was easier to leave when they did. From this point, I have a record of the time from when I exited the theater to, well, let's see.
I stood on the corner that we usually stand on [after seeing something at the Mariinsky] — and not a single marshrutka or private bus went by. I waited from 23.45 to 00.00. Then I walked to Ploshchad' Truda [Hardship Square] and waited a couple minutes 'til the 6 [bus] def. wouldn't be coming. Then I puttered around, called Carly [for advice], and crossed the bridge. I SMSed Jen [who lives just across the birdge and with whom I might be able to spend the night] in a ditch effort — no reply. I walked down 6th line, feeling fine minus icy toes. I reaalized that I couldn't walk home [not dressed well enough, too late, too unpopulated], so I looked for a kruglostutohno mesto [24 hour place]. Lido brosilo v glaza. [The cafe Lido caught my eye]. Prishla okolo 00.45, zakazala chyorny chai [I arrived around quarter to one, ordered tea][served in a French press — fancy] i kartofel' po derevenski [and potatoes in the style of the village] (cottage fries? potatos wedges?). They came with 'salsa!' Am working on razgov. hw. [Rasgovornaya Praktika homework — Conversational Practice. I had to retell a story using specific verbs] Will keep a log.
01.32 The two dudes at the table ahead of me have left. There are 4 women at 2 tables in this room, and a table of three in the other (for some reason, there are three screens above the cash register showing the movements of all the guests in the separate dining rooms, and then other showing the kitchen?). My last mouthful of chai is cold, bitter, and saturated with sugar.
Karli sez [via SMS]: Khanushka eto takoi-to uzhas! Ty dolzhno vyzbat' takci! [Hannah, darling, that's a horror! You should call a taxi!)]
01.59 Dvoe (devushki) prishli, sidya za stol, ocvobozhdenny drugimi dvoimi. [Two women have arrived, and are sitting at the table vacated by another pair of women].
02.05 Okazalos', chto dvoe za spinoi slushashchie. Not yawning yet. Zhelayu, chto Chainaya Loazhka byla by kruglostutohno. [It turns out that the women behind me are employees. ... I wish that Chainaya Lozhka were open 24-hours. --Teaspoon: a fast-food place that serves blini, but really, I wouldn't have wanted to stay there all night, it's too orange and not as comfortable as the couch I was sitting on.]
02.20 The blue-smocked cleaning lady approaches.
02.45 Andei pozvonil mne, khotelos' bylo by znat', gde ya. Vsyo normal'no. [Andrei called me, wanting to know where I was. Everything's ok.] Guess it would've been prilichno [polite] of me to call home, huh?
Still have not even finished my homework. Also, I'm cold.
03.33 Still working on R.P. d/z [hw]
03.54 Sean Kingston, again? [This cafe had a bunch of TVs tuned to World Music, which meant that I was surrounded by music videos from the moment I stepped in to the moment I stepped out.]
Just finished first draft. Now to perepisat'. [Re-write.]
04.30 Halfway through the perenicanie. [Rewriting.]
04.44 Finished! How long until the buses start running?
05.19 Finished first draft of my skit-ette [a satire of Putin's Plan]. Maybe the buses are running now? I'm hungry. I mean, I've been hungry for the past five hours, but you know.
Also, I recognized a music video and I was so ashamed.
05.37 I'm getting out of here.
Here the log ends. I walked to one of my favored bus stops, on 8th line between Sredny and Maly prospekts. Most buses start running around 5:30, but I didn't catch the 151 (my favorite for getting home from that neighborhood) until 6. I got to my stop in a record six minutes. It was amazing! A run of the mill city bus will take 3045 minutes to get from the 8th line to Nalichinaya (close to home), the 151 often takes 15 at the very best, and here I was, whisked home in a trice! I was pumped.
I entered the apartment quietly. Tatiana Ivanova was already up, of course. When I went into the kitchen to get the phone to wish my Dad a happy birthday, she chuckled and said, "Gde ty propala, Khana?" [Where did you lose yourself, Hannah?]
Afterword: I spent the rest of the morning wishing my father a happy birthday and doing more homework. I was afraid that if I fell asleep, I'd never get up again. I eventually took a nap at 6, when I got back home, and was intensely disoriented when I woke up. Other than that, though, I suffered no repercussions from losing a night of sleep. I was gently shocked.
Friday, November 23, 2007
Den' Blagodareniya
Happy Thanksgiving!
I and another student on the program organized a Thanksgiving feast for the students on our program and selected guests. And it was great. Peeling parsnips in Bryan's apartment, I thought about how my family was probably preparing for Thanksgiving at the same time, nine time zones away. But then guests started arriving, I was faced with a flood of dishes that needed warming (a distinct problem given that the oven was occupied with a tiny 3 kg turkey) and shooing them out of the kitchen, and I got distracted from thoughts of home by the whirl of activity and worrying about why the turkey breast, stuffing, and gravy crew hadn't arrived, where the roaster of the current turkey had run off to, and when the gentleman bringing all the plates and utensils would show up.
I had a great time shopping for food. I went to so many stores and markets! And I came across so many random food products -- soy mayonnaise, corn on the cob in a jar, corn on the cob in plastic, vodka in the shape of a AK-47, American Peanut Butter, pickled eggplant, etc. etc. Unfortunately, sweet potatoes, my heart's desire, was nowhere to be found. Mashed pumpkin had to suffice.
Tonight we clean up. And eat more. We had thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis many desserts and lots of snackies -- tonight will not be healthy. Hey, the Spirit of Thanksgiving lives on!
I and another student on the program organized a Thanksgiving feast for the students on our program and selected guests. And it was great. Peeling parsnips in Bryan's apartment, I thought about how my family was probably preparing for Thanksgiving at the same time, nine time zones away. But then guests started arriving, I was faced with a flood of dishes that needed warming (a distinct problem given that the oven was occupied with a tiny 3 kg turkey) and shooing them out of the kitchen, and I got distracted from thoughts of home by the whirl of activity and worrying about why the turkey breast, stuffing, and gravy crew hadn't arrived, where the roaster of the current turkey had run off to, and when the gentleman bringing all the plates and utensils would show up.
I had a great time shopping for food. I went to so many stores and markets! And I came across so many random food products -- soy mayonnaise, corn on the cob in a jar, corn on the cob in plastic, vodka in the shape of a AK-47, American Peanut Butter, pickled eggplant, etc. etc. Unfortunately, sweet potatoes, my heart's desire, was nowhere to be found. Mashed pumpkin had to suffice.
Tonight we clean up. And eat more. We had thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis many desserts and lots of snackies -- tonight will not be healthy. Hey, the Spirit of Thanksgiving lives on!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
The Stolitsa, Part Two
Back to the heart: the Kremlin. We had a tour within the walls, and though I kept my eyes peeled, because before I left, my host brother told me to say hi to Putin. Also, there were no sightings of our dear Vladimir Vladimirovich. As it turns out, the Kremlin is home to the world's largest cannon, and the world's largest bell, which is featured on the right. The young fellow standing in front of the behemoth of a bell is the tallest member of our group. He's well over six feet. But the bell well over two hundred tons. And is six meters. My money's on the bell. (Photo courtesy of Tess S. via facebook.com)Or rather, under the bell. (Photo courtesy of Carly C. via facebook.com)
The highlight of this tour was end, when we went into one of the churches, where it was warm. Also, there was a totally sweet chandelier with grain on the top, and grapes hanging from the bottom. Geddit?! I'm pretty sure there were also some famous bones lying around, but again, end of the tour, tired of listening to the endless Russian, didn't catch names. After the tour ended, spurred by a desire for warmth and prompted by our Stalinist Culture class, Margo, Carly, Ana and I rode the Moscow metro and ogled the stations constructed 
during the time of Stalin which featured socialist realist art, a topic recently covered in class. We were at it for hours. I got really warm. Unfortunately, taking pictures of the metro is strictly forbidden, luckily, there are pictures online. One of my favorite stations is Park Kultury, which features reliefs of young soviets engaging in enlightening pastimes. Check out the proletarians reclaiming the art of ballroom dancing from the aristocracy! (Photo from beeflowers.com/Metro)
The next day, we went to the Novodevichy Convent and Monastery, conveniently located a few blocks away from our hotel. Our program director thought the tour was really interesting and keep talking about it during the lunch that followed, but he was in a different group and is fluent in Russian. I looked at the buildings, the falling snow, the icons, and occasionally asked questions of Liza, my hotel roomie and Russian tutor. She explained to me how to weave with silver and pearls. That was interesting. The other part I got into was a visit to the neighboring cemetery, where many prestigious Russian are buried. I spotted Rostropovich, famous cellist and conductor, freshly sunk into the ground, and Kruschev (Photo courtesy of Carly C. via facebook.com). I didn't see too many other famous grave sites due to lack of a map, guide, and time. I'm ok with that. I can always go back. They aren't going anywhere.
The highlight of the trip, hands down, was visiting ВДНХ - Выставка Достижений Народного Хозяйства (VDNKh - Vystavka Dostizheniy Narodnovo Khozyaystva, Exhibition of the Achievements of the National Economy), also a recent topic of "Stalinist Culture Before WWII." Constructed between 1935 and 1939, this massive exhibition was originally planned to celebrate the mighty and multifaceted USSR. Each republic had their own pavilion showing what they contributed to the economy of the CCCP in the style of their own culture, etc. etc. To the right is the fountain Дружба народов (Druzhba narodov -- Friendship of Nations), fifteen (15?) maidens, one from each nation, circling a sheaf of grain. (Photo courtesy of Carly C. via facebook.com.)Grain was a running theme at this place. Can you spot some on the Central Pavilion, behind the fountain?
Nowadays, the pavilions are less exhibitions and more places to sell honey, underwear, and dishes. We went into Aremenia and found excellent truffles, mediocre baklava, and white mystery khalva, discovered by yours truly at Tsarskoe Selo and beloved by Margo, Ana, et al. We also watched a sweet but cryptic movie at the Theater of 360 degrees. That is, there were twelve (12?) rectangular screens hung on the walls of the circular room onto which were projected twelve images of, well, the countryside, the forest, or art -- whatever struck the director's fancy. It was a trip.
Unfortunately, not all the highlights of the exhibition were present: the giant statue of Stalin was taken down long ago, as well as the statue of Рабочий и колхолница (Rabochi i kolkholnitsa - Worker and Kolkhoz Woman). The latter was taken down for restoration in 2003, but then Moscow didn't get to host the World's Fair and they didn't have money for it, and now they say that it has been irrevocably damaged and will probably never return.
I'd better quit before I add more links.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
The Stolitsa, Part One
Moscow, the object of much anticipation. Moscow, the sometimes capital of the Russia country. Moscow, in contrast to St. Petersburg. And so on and so forth.
Red Square, St. Basil's Cathedral, Kitay Gorod, GUM, Arbat, etc. etc. we walked highlights of the city, as lead by our friendly tour guide, Mikhail Pavlovich. He was a riot, especially if you could understand his Russian. Anything of historical interest about the city I'm sure you could google to you satisfaction, much better than I can explain. So I will provide my впечатления (vpechatleniya - impressions), in roughly chronological order.
But I am getting ahead of myself. How did we get to the столица (stolitsa -- capital)? Train! What kind of train? Sleeper! When did it leave St. Petersburg? Eleven o'clock at night! Not many people slept on the way there, but I sneakily selected low-key coupe mate (i.e., Russians) and fell asleep at a reasonable hour. Or at least "fell" as in on to my bed. It wasn't too easy or pleasant to sleep on the upper bunk, especially as I didn't take the time to fully make my bed or put on pj's.
We arrived bleary eyed on Saturday morning. I had set my alarm for 6:45, fifteen minutes before our scheduled arrival. Turns out there was no need for such precautions: cheesy Russian pop music jolted me from my sleep sleep half an hour from arrival. The train had it's own radio "station": Dorooooozhnoe radioooooo! goes the jingle.
Skip the checking into the hotel, fast forward to Red Square.
It was smaller than I expected, чесно говоря (chesno govorya - frankly speaking), and I was surprised to notice that, standing in front of the State History Museum on one end and looking at St. Basil's cathedral at the other end, the latter looks sunk into the ground. I guess the square is built on a hill? There's one difference between St. Petersburg and Moscow -- the latter is far more curvy. Moscow would be far more interesting on a bike than dear ol' built-on-a- river-delta Piter. This impression was reinforced the next night: Amy and I were watching a movie, Статский Советник (Statsky Sovetnik), which takes place in Moscow. The final shot of film was of Oleg Menshikov, the most attractive Russian actor I've laid eyes on, walking away from St. Basil's Cathedral. First, I was excited that I had just been were he was walking, and second, I noticed that he seemed level with the domes, rather than the entrance.
ГУМ (GUM -- think "goo" plus m) lines one side of Red Square. This State Universal Store (it sounds better in Russian) is crammed with high-end stores, into which I was afraid to enter while sporting my large, unclassy coat. I did make it into one store with the goal of gasping at the prices. I found the tag on a fashionable shirt, and if I remember correctly, it was 5000 roubles. I don't even want to translate that into dollars. Everything is expensive in Moscow, since it is home to the more billionaires than any other city in the world. Side note: the man that compiled the list of the billionaires, published by Forbes soon after died, presumably bumped off by one of the men he named.
Features of the building that puzzled me: fake trees planted on a strip of fake grass (an the woman that was tying dark ribbons around the trunks). Feature of the building that pleased me: a round, white bed, piled with pillows. It was realllly comfortable and covered with people on our program from the time we found it 'til the time our guided tour began.
Храм Христа Спасителя (khram Khrista Spasitelia -- Cathedral of Christ the Savior), formerly a swimming pool under the Soviet regime was a highlight because also under the Soviet regime, it was the site for the Palace of the Soviets, a MASSIVE construction that never came to light, but which we studied in my class, "Stalin Culture before World War II." The kram is huge -- the Palace of Soviets was going to be even huger. The statue of Stalin that was going to top the building was planned to be taller than the Eiffel tower. Crazy!
Well, I'd better wrap it up -- I want to get to the Thursday evening service at the Lutheran church not far from here. Tonight I will make sure to get a bulletin, which should do wonders for my comprehension of the богослужение (bogocluzhenie - divine service). I don't know how cold it is now that the sun is down, but I've got my long underwear on, never fear.
Red Square, St. Basil's Cathedral, Kitay Gorod, GUM, Arbat, etc. etc. we walked highlights of the city, as lead by our friendly tour guide, Mikhail Pavlovich. He was a riot, especially if you could understand his Russian. Anything of historical interest about the city I'm sure you could google to you satisfaction, much better than I can explain. So I will provide my впечатления (vpechatleniya - impressions), in roughly chronological order.
But I am getting ahead of myself. How did we get to the столица (stolitsa -- capital)? Train! What kind of train? Sleeper! When did it leave St. Petersburg? Eleven o'clock at night! Not many people slept on the way there, but I sneakily selected low-key coupe mate (i.e., Russians) and fell asleep at a reasonable hour. Or at least "fell" as in on to my bed. It wasn't too easy or pleasant to sleep on the upper bunk, especially as I didn't take the time to fully make my bed or put on pj's.
We arrived bleary eyed on Saturday morning. I had set my alarm for 6:45, fifteen minutes before our scheduled arrival. Turns out there was no need for such precautions: cheesy Russian pop music jolted me from my sleep sleep half an hour from arrival. The train had it's own radio "station": Dorooooozhnoe radioooooo! goes the jingle.
Skip the checking into the hotel, fast forward to Red Square.
It was smaller than I expected, чесно говоря (chesno govorya - frankly speaking), and I was surprised to notice that, standing in front of the State History Museum on one end and looking at St. Basil's cathedral at the other end, the latter looks sunk into the ground. I guess the square is built on a hill? There's one difference between St. Petersburg and Moscow -- the latter is far more curvy. Moscow would be far more interesting on a bike than dear ol' built-on-a- river-delta Piter. This impression was reinforced the next night: Amy and I were watching a movie, Статский Советник (Statsky Sovetnik), which takes place in Moscow. The final shot of film was of Oleg Menshikov, the most attractive Russian actor I've laid eyes on, walking away from St. Basil's Cathedral. First, I was excited that I had just been were he was walking, and second, I noticed that he seemed level with the domes, rather than the entrance.
ГУМ (GUM -- think "goo" plus m) lines one side of Red Square. This State Universal Store (it sounds better in Russian) is crammed with high-end stores, into which I was afraid to enter while sporting my large, unclassy coat. I did make it into one store with the goal of gasping at the prices. I found the tag on a fashionable shirt, and if I remember correctly, it was 5000 roubles. I don't even want to translate that into dollars. Everything is expensive in Moscow, since it is home to the more billionaires than any other city in the world. Side note: the man that compiled the list of the billionaires, published by Forbes soon after died, presumably bumped off by one of the men he named.Features of the building that puzzled me: fake trees planted on a strip of fake grass (an the woman that was tying dark ribbons around the trunks). Feature of the building that pleased me: a round, white bed, piled with pillows. It was realllly comfortable and covered with people on our program from the time we found it 'til the time our guided tour began.
Храм Христа Спасителя (khram Khrista Spasitelia -- Cathedral of Christ the Savior), formerly a swimming pool under the Soviet regime was a highlight because also under the Soviet regime, it was the site for the Palace of the Soviets, a MASSIVE construction that never came to light, but which we studied in my class, "Stalin Culture before World War II." The kram is huge -- the Palace of Soviets was going to be even huger. The statue of Stalin that was going to top the building was planned to be taller than the Eiffel tower. Crazy!
Well, I'd better wrap it up -- I want to get to the Thursday evening service at the Lutheran church not far from here. Tonight I will make sure to get a bulletin, which should do wonders for my comprehension of the богослужение (bogocluzhenie - divine service). I don't know how cold it is now that the sun is down, but I've got my long underwear on, never fear.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Moskva
Here is is, proof that I made it to Moscow, entered the walls of the Kremlin, and listened intently to the tour. I wanted to let you all know that I am still alive and kicking, but have not yet found sufficient computer time to give more details on life in the second half of my time in Petersburg.
It's cold.
But I can deal.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Second Hand
I'm sure you all -- some more than others- will be relieved to know that today I purchased a Winter Coat. It is long, black, hooded, and Big. It has that second-hand odour -- inoffensive, yet a trifle troubling.
"You know," it says, "you're not the first person to have worn this coat. You have no idea who the previous owner was. There may have even been more than one previous owner. But don't worry too much. I'm mostly clean."
So I don't worry, I just giggle whenever I catch a glimpse of my bloated reflection.
Tra-la-la, I have a large bubble of warm air surrounding my person.
"You know," it says, "you're not the first person to have worn this coat. You have no idea who the previous owner was. There may have even been more than one previous owner. But don't worry too much. I'm mostly clean."
So I don't worry, I just giggle whenever I catch a glimpse of my bloated reflection.
Tra-la-la, I have a large bubble of warm air surrounding my person.
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Warning: Adventure Ahead
Last night I tried to buy tickets for a performance of a collection of Chekhov's short plays. It was the most harrowing two hours of my time here. In the process of finding the woman who was to sell me tickets, I got crushed in two massive rush-hour metro lines, tripped a middle-aged woman in the middle of the street, traveled farther north on the red line than I've ever been before, walked around in the autumn darkness that is SIX'O'CLOCK, asked no less than eight people where I could buy tickets, accidentally called my Analytical Reading professor, and almost broke down crying in front of a kindly old man.
Harrowing, I tell you. And Halloween isn't until tomorrow.
But I have my ticket. That's important.
Also important is the weekend in Moscow coming up. I'm writing a note now to hold y'all over for the next week. It's busy around here, midterms and such. In fact, I should get myself home soon soon. So farewell!
Harrowing, I tell you. And Halloween isn't until tomorrow.
But I have my ticket. That's important.
Also important is the weekend in Moscow coming up. I'm writing a note now to hold y'all over for the next week. It's busy around here, midterms and such. In fact, I should get myself home soon soon. So farewell!
Friday, October 26, 2007
No Shirt, No Shoes
"Уважаемые пассажиры..."1 says a female voice over the loudspeakers in the diagonal chute of boredom known as the escalators to the metro. I think she's trying to sell us something, but too bad for her, I can't tell.
Dear readers, I really enjoy public transportation in St. Petersburg. I personally can't begin to imagine the headache that is driving in the city. There are a lot of cars around, but I noticed a couple weeks ago that there is a conspicuous lack of parking ramps and lots. In my neighborhood, there are a slew of towering apartment buildings, but they are unaccompanied by towering parking ramps. The people that do have cars park them wherever they can -- along the 'frontage' road, in the streetlets between buildings, and, well, I have spotted at least one parking lot along the coast.
Riding the bus this week, I suddenly realized that Russians' parking options are almost completely unrestricted by signs. Whereas the streets of American cities are dotted with confusing NO PARKING M-F 11-6 EXCEPT HOLIDAYS, WEEKENDS, AND EVERY OTHER FULL MOON signs, the most you get around here is a hand-crafted МАШИНЫ НЕ СТАВИТЬ 2 on the gates to courtyards.
I solved another sign-puzzle two days ago while I was waiting for the bus, the instigator and incubator for all great culture revelations. Some stores have two phrases that accompany their hours of operation. I saw the word без (bez - without) and something that looked like the word for "shoe," so naturally I assumed that they were proclaiming the familiar "No Shoes, No Service."
"Does that mean I could get service without a shirt?" I thought idly and left it at that. But this Wednesday, I took a closer look at an advertisment posted crookedly on a pillar of the bus stop. It had the same two, familiar phrases, but this time I actually read them and they said:
Без обеда, без выходных. 3
I figuratively gasped and wheeled around to check the hours of the grocery store that constitutes the bulk of the bus stop. Again, Без обеда, без выходных. I had completely misunderstood every single sign up to this point! They didn't care what I was or was not wearing, they were just boasting that they didn't close for an hour for lunch, or take a break on the weekends. See, most every where used to take an hour (or two) in the middle of the day for lunch, the largest and most complex meal of the Russian's day. Even the ticket "office" at my metro station, Primorskaya, a little covered stand-like affair operated by one women, takes a break from 15-16 for obed. Times, however, are changing. Less time for lunch, more time for sales.
And now the program manager is inviting me to tea. How Russian. Except he's from Long Island. Cultural adaptation at work!
1. Uvazhaemy passazhery -- Dear passengers
2. Mashiny ne stavit' -- No parking
3. Bez obeda, bez vykhodnyx -- No lunch, no weekends
Dear readers, I really enjoy public transportation in St. Petersburg. I personally can't begin to imagine the headache that is driving in the city. There are a lot of cars around, but I noticed a couple weeks ago that there is a conspicuous lack of parking ramps and lots. In my neighborhood, there are a slew of towering apartment buildings, but they are unaccompanied by towering parking ramps. The people that do have cars park them wherever they can -- along the 'frontage' road, in the streetlets between buildings, and, well, I have spotted at least one parking lot along the coast.
Riding the bus this week, I suddenly realized that Russians' parking options are almost completely unrestricted by signs. Whereas the streets of American cities are dotted with confusing NO PARKING M-F 11-6 EXCEPT HOLIDAYS, WEEKENDS, AND EVERY OTHER FULL MOON signs, the most you get around here is a hand-crafted МАШИНЫ НЕ СТАВИТЬ 2 on the gates to courtyards.
I solved another sign-puzzle two days ago while I was waiting for the bus, the instigator and incubator for all great culture revelations. Some stores have two phrases that accompany their hours of operation. I saw the word без (bez - without) and something that looked like the word for "shoe," so naturally I assumed that they were proclaiming the familiar "No Shoes, No Service."
"Does that mean I could get service without a shirt?" I thought idly and left it at that. But this Wednesday, I took a closer look at an advertisment posted crookedly on a pillar of the bus stop. It had the same two, familiar phrases, but this time I actually read them and they said:
Без обеда, без выходных. 3
I figuratively gasped and wheeled around to check the hours of the grocery store that constitutes the bulk of the bus stop. Again, Без обеда, без выходных. I had completely misunderstood every single sign up to this point! They didn't care what I was or was not wearing, they were just boasting that they didn't close for an hour for lunch, or take a break on the weekends. See, most every where used to take an hour (or two) in the middle of the day for lunch, the largest and most complex meal of the Russian's day. Even the ticket "office" at my metro station, Primorskaya, a little covered stand-like affair operated by one women, takes a break from 15-16 for obed. Times, however, are changing. Less time for lunch, more time for sales.
And now the program manager is inviting me to tea. How Russian. Except he's from Long Island. Cultural adaptation at work!
1. Uvazhaemy passazhery -- Dear passengers
2. Mashiny ne stavit' -- No parking
3. Bez obeda, bez vykhodnyx -- No lunch, no weekends
Friday, October 19, 2007
Saturday, Part II
After dogging the footsteps of Raskolnikov and Dostoevsky, my companions and I stopped by Shtolle for a bite to eat. Shtolle serves untoppable pirog of all sorts, and has comfy couches along the wall to boot. After finishing our tea, we split up to pursue our own interests: Stephen to the Dostoevsky museum, Jon Earle to a synagogue, and I to the Marble Palace.
I had been looking forward to seeing the Marble Palace ever since I read about it in St. Petersburg: Russia's Window to the West over the summer. The building was commissioned by Catherine the Great for Count Grigory Orlov, one of her favorites. The palace was designed and built in the middle to late 1700s by Antonio Rinaldi, who used 32 (thirty-two!) different types of marble to decorate the interior. The Marble Hall, which still has its original decorations, was my goal; forget the exhibitions of Modern and Pop Art from the Russian Museum which occupy the rest of the building.
I trekked all the way from Shtolle (west of Nevsky and south of Isaakievsky sobor) to the Palace (next to Mars Field and right on the river), entered the courtyard, cast an glance at the equestrian statue of Emperor Alexander III and the facing modern statute of a prehistoric man riding a dinosaur, and tentatively entered. I located the kassa, trying not to look too much like an American, and then saw the Sign of Doom.
Posted on the kassa window was a sign that said: Мраморной зал закрыт (Mramornoy zal zakryt -- The Marble Hall is closed). I was devastated. But I still nursed some hope for the future, so I approached the ticket-seller and asked when it would be open.
- Через два года (cherez dva goda - In two years), she replied.
I remained devastated.
On my way out, I scrutinized the sculptures in the courtyard more carefully, so that my trip out would not be completely in vain. I have nothing interesting to say about them. I continued on my excursion, crossing the Mars field. I stopped to warm up at the eternal flame and gawked inconspicuously at the marriage party taking photos. My destination was Mikhailovsky Zamok, more commonly known as the Engineering Castle, which is also a part of the Russian Museum. I spotted another wedding party at a monument to Peter the First standing in front of the entrance. I noticed that they were all rubbing something on the monument, so I waited until they departed, and then went in a for a closer look.
The monument has a metal facade on its four sides, mostly scenes of the sea, I believe/is my educated guess, seeing as the man was obsessed with boats. In one corner, there is a boatload of men, one of whom is only partly in the boat. His dangling leg is bright yellow, in contrast to the rest of the darkened metal, thanks to all these marriage parties rubbin' it. I did my part: made a little wish and moved on.
My favorite part of going to museums is getting a ticket. It's a tricky game, I like to think, to get the ticket for the Russian Student price, rather than the American Tourist price. I get a little thrill when I pay a trifling 30 rubles for entrance to a museum instead of 185 or something like that.
The moat, the courtyard, the building's interior and exterior were all equally as fascinating as the exhibit of the Grand Duchess Olga's water colors and the exhibit of Chinese art, both stamps and modern paintings. Unfortunately, I couldn't stay long -- I arrived just before (под) closing time.
I walked along the Summer Gardens on my way back to Nevsky, planning to take the inimitable 7 avtobus home. Once I got to the Neva, I could see the sky in all its glory, and it was amazingly glorious. The whole sky was covered with round, grey, pillow-y clouds. The setting sun gave a hint of color to them, and through the cracks between the clouds you could just make out the blue sky above. It was reminiscent of... marble.
Miracle of miracles, the seven pulled up to the bus stop just as I got there. I got on the crowded conveyance, and was jolted out of balance. A man caught me around my waist, and moved his hands thereabouts far more than was necessary. "A-ha, Mr. Pickpocket," I thought to myself, refraining from eye contact or even letting on that anything out of the ordinary was happening, "You will find nothing in my pockets besides a map of this city." I moved away from the end of the bus to the less crowded lower section at my soonest possible convenience.
Later, I noticed that a sketchy-looking man had also moved to the lower section, and was facing out the window, his back to the rest of the bus -- suspicious. Eventually I procured a seat, and now my back was to him, but I couldn't helping looking around every so often to check on him.
Time passed. I read The House of the Dead. And then I heard it -- the opening strains of "The Final Countdown," as interpreted by a cell phone. I couldn't help myself: I looked around to see who was answering his or her phone and, you guessed it, it was the sketchy man! I felt somehow gratified.
And that was my Saturday.
Well, not really -- a lot more stuff happened, but this was the most interesting. Many mundane things happen here in Russia, not just exciting stuff. For example, it would appear that my laptop screen is dead. My host mom served me approximately 800 grams of black beans for dinner last night. The kitchen sink doesn't work. The Smolny printer is broken. Our program manager got hit by a car. I saw Swan Lake at the Mariinksy theater on Wednesday. Ok, some of these are bad examples of the mundane. And I have work to do for one of my volunteering positions. So farewell and enjoy your weekend -- I sure plan to enjoy mine. Tsarskoe Selo, anyone?
I had been looking forward to seeing the Marble Palace ever since I read about it in St. Petersburg: Russia's Window to the West over the summer. The building was commissioned by Catherine the Great for Count Grigory Orlov, one of her favorites. The palace was designed and built in the middle to late 1700s by Antonio Rinaldi, who used 32 (thirty-two!) different types of marble to decorate the interior. The Marble Hall, which still has its original decorations, was my goal; forget the exhibitions of Modern and Pop Art from the Russian Museum which occupy the rest of the building.
I trekked all the way from Shtolle (west of Nevsky and south of Isaakievsky sobor) to the Palace (next to Mars Field and right on the river), entered the courtyard, cast an glance at the equestrian statue of Emperor Alexander III and the facing modern statute of a prehistoric man riding a dinosaur, and tentatively entered. I located the kassa, trying not to look too much like an American, and then saw the Sign of Doom.
Posted on the kassa window was a sign that said: Мраморной зал закрыт (Mramornoy zal zakryt -- The Marble Hall is closed). I was devastated. But I still nursed some hope for the future, so I approached the ticket-seller and asked when it would be open.
- Через два года (cherez dva goda - In two years), she replied.
I remained devastated.
On my way out, I scrutinized the sculptures in the courtyard more carefully, so that my trip out would not be completely in vain. I have nothing interesting to say about them. I continued on my excursion, crossing the Mars field. I stopped to warm up at the eternal flame and gawked inconspicuously at the marriage party taking photos. My destination was Mikhailovsky Zamok, more commonly known as the Engineering Castle, which is also a part of the Russian Museum. I spotted another wedding party at a monument to Peter the First standing in front of the entrance. I noticed that they were all rubbing something on the monument, so I waited until they departed, and then went in a for a closer look.
The monument has a metal facade on its four sides, mostly scenes of the sea, I believe/is my educated guess, seeing as the man was obsessed with boats. In one corner, there is a boatload of men, one of whom is only partly in the boat. His dangling leg is bright yellow, in contrast to the rest of the darkened metal, thanks to all these marriage parties rubbin' it. I did my part: made a little wish and moved on.
My favorite part of going to museums is getting a ticket. It's a tricky game, I like to think, to get the ticket for the Russian Student price, rather than the American Tourist price. I get a little thrill when I pay a trifling 30 rubles for entrance to a museum instead of 185 or something like that.
The moat, the courtyard, the building's interior and exterior were all equally as fascinating as the exhibit of the Grand Duchess Olga's water colors and the exhibit of Chinese art, both stamps and modern paintings. Unfortunately, I couldn't stay long -- I arrived just before (под) closing time.
I walked along the Summer Gardens on my way back to Nevsky, planning to take the inimitable 7 avtobus home. Once I got to the Neva, I could see the sky in all its glory, and it was amazingly glorious. The whole sky was covered with round, grey, pillow-y clouds. The setting sun gave a hint of color to them, and through the cracks between the clouds you could just make out the blue sky above. It was reminiscent of... marble.
Miracle of miracles, the seven pulled up to the bus stop just as I got there. I got on the crowded conveyance, and was jolted out of balance. A man caught me around my waist, and moved his hands thereabouts far more than was necessary. "A-ha, Mr. Pickpocket," I thought to myself, refraining from eye contact or even letting on that anything out of the ordinary was happening, "You will find nothing in my pockets besides a map of this city." I moved away from the end of the bus to the less crowded lower section at my soonest possible convenience.
Later, I noticed that a sketchy-looking man had also moved to the lower section, and was facing out the window, his back to the rest of the bus -- suspicious. Eventually I procured a seat, and now my back was to him, but I couldn't helping looking around every so often to check on him.
Time passed. I read The House of the Dead. And then I heard it -- the opening strains of "The Final Countdown," as interpreted by a cell phone. I couldn't help myself: I looked around to see who was answering his or her phone and, you guessed it, it was the sketchy man! I felt somehow gratified.
And that was my Saturday.
Well, not really -- a lot more stuff happened, but this was the most interesting. Many mundane things happen here in Russia, not just exciting stuff. For example, it would appear that my laptop screen is dead. My host mom served me approximately 800 grams of black beans for dinner last night. The kitchen sink doesn't work. The Smolny printer is broken. Our program manager got hit by a car. I saw Swan Lake at the Mariinksy theater on Wednesday. Ok, some of these are bad examples of the mundane. And I have work to do for one of my volunteering positions. So farewell and enjoy your weekend -- I sure plan to enjoy mine. Tsarskoe Selo, anyone?
Sunday, October 14, 2007
Pug Dog in an Armchair
This past weekend has been super. I would list the highlights, but there're so many and some are kinda obscure and require a lot of explantion – my excitement over hearing the phrase под землю (pod zemlyu), for example. Instead, here's Part One of Saturday the Thirteenth: The Final Countdown.
Before I start in on Saturday, a little background on the song “The Final Countdown” for those of you unfamiliar with Europe’s superhit is in order. The earliest memory I have of this song is when I heard it blasting from the third floor of Plantz during a release hour of last winter term’s exam period. I was immediately taken with the song, purchasing it from iTunes, downloading it onto my iPod, and listening to it whenever I walked home from the co-op. It has the perfect beat for walking to, a smidgen faster then my stride, so I get home faster, plus the incredible music puts me in a untoppable mood. Suffice it to say, the song is catchy.
View Larger Map
My Saturday began with a invigorating run along ulitsa Korablestroiteley, the street on which I live. I usually run up and down just a section of it. Either side of the main road is lined with a median with a well-kept dirt path lined with trees (how the path is maintained is another story for another time), ideal for running, better than anything I found in Appleton. Sometimes, when I’m feeling Energetic, I run up to and along the Smolenka river (yet another story for another time: “The Morning Vasil’evsky Island Was Cloaked in Fog). But this morning, I was feeling Super Energetic and decided to run the length of Korablestroiteley. To help me along my journey, I queued up “The Final Countdown” on my iPod.
Just as I started to run, I noticed how little battery power was left. “Oh, well,” thought I, “we’ll see how long lasts.”
Turns out, it lasted just long enough for “The Final Countdown.” I ran the rest of the way to the tune of whizzing cars, drizzling rain, and the sundry thoughts in my head, which turned to alarm when I saw the militisa checking the documents of a couple of men (I didn’t have mine with me!), but then turned back to sundry thoughts.
Fast forward a couple hours and kilometers to Сенная Плошадь (Sennaya Ploshchad' – Haymarket square). I was planning on meeting one Jon Earle to walk the Crime and Punishment beat – to see possible locations for Raskolnikov's flat, the moneylender's flat, etc. Before the time of our meeting, I had a little time and a need for a bathroom.
Suddenly, I realized that I had left my Kleenex at home. You can never be sure if a restroom will have toilet paper, so будь готов! (byd' gotov – be prepared!). However, remembering the advice of the lovely and aforementioned Sarah (see June) to use MacDonalds for their bathrooms (they can be counted on to have TP and to be too busy to notice), I decided to locate the Чайная Ложка (Chainaya Lozhka – Teaspoon, a popular and ORANGE chain of fast-blini restaurants) that I knew was around, confident that they would be equally busy.
As I walked in, however, I noticed with trepediation a guard keeping tabs on the incoming traffic. I didn't count on such security, foolish on my part, since such guards are as much a part of a store as the касса (kassa – register). Miraculously, there was no line for the WCs, cutting down the amount of time I spent in the small dining area in my conspicuous bright yellow raincoat. As I washed my hands in the tiny sink (they are always tiny), I decided to be sneaky. I shed the rain coat, tucked it into my dark red fleece, wished I had a hat to complete the impromptu quick-change, and strode confidently past the security and out the door. Extreme measures, you say? I'll take 'em, I don't want trouble. Or to pay 10 roubles for a public toilet.
The walking tour was a haphazard affair, much assisted by the Lonely Planet Guide, but much hindered by our collective lack of a sense of direction. One woman, clearly used to wandering bookworms, directed us to the fifth floor of No. 9 Stolyarny pereulok, the most likely location of Paskolnikov's flat. The walls of the staircase are covered with the graffiti of former visitors, most in Russian, some in English, and a few other, scattered tongues. I scratched my own message into the plaster – «Rodya, avoid stairs» (again, whole 'nuther story). I think my favorite part in that building was the man painting on the floor below us – that should make sense to those familiar with the murder sequence. In general, I appreciated the time I got to spend in courtyards. There's something about that space, enclosed by walls, one outlet to the street, quieter, more liminal – really attractive.
That's all for now, folks. Tune in next time for Part II: Disappointment at the Marble Palace, Satisfaction at Mikhailovsky Zamok, and the Ride Home.
Before I start in on Saturday, a little background on the song “The Final Countdown” for those of you unfamiliar with Europe’s superhit is in order. The earliest memory I have of this song is when I heard it blasting from the third floor of Plantz during a release hour of last winter term’s exam period. I was immediately taken with the song, purchasing it from iTunes, downloading it onto my iPod, and listening to it whenever I walked home from the co-op. It has the perfect beat for walking to, a smidgen faster then my stride, so I get home faster, plus the incredible music puts me in a untoppable mood. Suffice it to say, the song is catchy.
View Larger Map
My Saturday began with a invigorating run along ulitsa Korablestroiteley, the street on which I live. I usually run up and down just a section of it. Either side of the main road is lined with a median with a well-kept dirt path lined with trees (how the path is maintained is another story for another time), ideal for running, better than anything I found in Appleton. Sometimes, when I’m feeling Energetic, I run up to and along the Smolenka river (yet another story for another time: “The Morning Vasil’evsky Island Was Cloaked in Fog). But this morning, I was feeling Super Energetic and decided to run the length of Korablestroiteley. To help me along my journey, I queued up “The Final Countdown” on my iPod.
Just as I started to run, I noticed how little battery power was left. “Oh, well,” thought I, “we’ll see how long lasts.”
Turns out, it lasted just long enough for “The Final Countdown.” I ran the rest of the way to the tune of whizzing cars, drizzling rain, and the sundry thoughts in my head, which turned to alarm when I saw the militisa checking the documents of a couple of men (I didn’t have mine with me!), but then turned back to sundry thoughts.
Fast forward a couple hours and kilometers to Сенная Плошадь (Sennaya Ploshchad' – Haymarket square). I was planning on meeting one Jon Earle to walk the Crime and Punishment beat – to see possible locations for Raskolnikov's flat, the moneylender's flat, etc. Before the time of our meeting, I had a little time and a need for a bathroom.
Suddenly, I realized that I had left my Kleenex at home. You can never be sure if a restroom will have toilet paper, so будь готов! (byd' gotov – be prepared!). However, remembering the advice of the lovely and aforementioned Sarah (see June) to use MacDonalds for their bathrooms (they can be counted on to have TP and to be too busy to notice), I decided to locate the Чайная Ложка (Chainaya Lozhka – Teaspoon, a popular and ORANGE chain of fast-blini restaurants) that I knew was around, confident that they would be equally busy.
As I walked in, however, I noticed with trepediation a guard keeping tabs on the incoming traffic. I didn't count on such security, foolish on my part, since such guards are as much a part of a store as the касса (kassa – register). Miraculously, there was no line for the WCs, cutting down the amount of time I spent in the small dining area in my conspicuous bright yellow raincoat. As I washed my hands in the tiny sink (they are always tiny), I decided to be sneaky. I shed the rain coat, tucked it into my dark red fleece, wished I had a hat to complete the impromptu quick-change, and strode confidently past the security and out the door. Extreme measures, you say? I'll take 'em, I don't want trouble. Or to pay 10 roubles for a public toilet.
The walking tour was a haphazard affair, much assisted by the Lonely Planet Guide, but much hindered by our collective lack of a sense of direction. One woman, clearly used to wandering bookworms, directed us to the fifth floor of No. 9 Stolyarny pereulok, the most likely location of Paskolnikov's flat. The walls of the staircase are covered with the graffiti of former visitors, most in Russian, some in English, and a few other, scattered tongues. I scratched my own message into the plaster – «Rodya, avoid stairs» (again, whole 'nuther story). I think my favorite part in that building was the man painting on the floor below us – that should make sense to those familiar with the murder sequence. In general, I appreciated the time I got to spend in courtyards. There's something about that space, enclosed by walls, one outlet to the street, quieter, more liminal – really attractive.
That's all for now, folks. Tune in next time for Part II: Disappointment at the Marble Palace, Satisfaction at Mikhailovsky Zamok, and the Ride Home.
Monday, October 8, 2007
Monday
Ok, guys. It's my day off from classes. I should be all set to make witty observations on Russian culture and my experiences thus far. But I spent the weekend in Novgorod (the city or ELEVEN centuries, founded in 859), frolicking amongst monasteries rather than doing homework. And since I learned in Introduction to Anthropology that observances on cultural differences should be accompanied by analysis, and I haven't formulated my analysis of elaborately folded napkins yet, I will leave you with a little to-do list.
*Call the St. Petersburg Times about volunteering: checking articles for errors and perhaps writing articles in English.
*Go to a meeting at the public library in the foreign language department about volunteering in the American Corner.
*Mail a letter to my brother (Brian, I got your missive Wednesday last: it was great, thanks!)
*Prepare a section of text to read in Phonetics.
*Read a couple pages of Jung -- in Russian. Gah. Maybe I can find it in English at the library....
I hear that MN weather is hot and sticky. How unfortunate. I love October for the crisp air. And the apple crisp. One of these I can enjoy while here. The other.... maybe later.
*Call the St. Petersburg Times about volunteering: checking articles for errors and perhaps writing articles in English.
*Go to a meeting at the public library in the foreign language department about volunteering in the American Corner.
*Mail a letter to my brother (Brian, I got your missive Wednesday last: it was great, thanks!)
*Prepare a section of text to read in Phonetics.
*Read a couple pages of Jung -- in Russian. Gah. Maybe I can find it in English at the library....
I hear that MN weather is hot and sticky. How unfortunate. I love October for the crisp air. And the apple crisp. One of these I can enjoy while here. The other.... maybe later.
Thursday, October 4, 2007
Headaches
To those who comment anonymously: Leave your name, as the lovely Laura does, or hold your tongue.
To everyone else: I saw the end of a car chase on Monday. A car screeched around the corner into the alley where I was walking (and presently flattening myself against the side of a building), followed by a similarly speedy police car, followed by a gaggle of onlookers, the leader of which laughed haughtily at the cornered criminals.
To everyone else: I saw the end of a car chase on Monday. A car screeched around the corner into the alley where I was walking (and presently flattening myself against the side of a building), followed by a similarly speedy police car, followed by a gaggle of onlookers, the leader of which laughed haughtily at the cornered criminals.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Byt - Way of Life
Being in a foreign country makes me acutely aware of differences between daily life in Russia an in America. No surprises there. But I also somehow attach more significance to the daily travails of life in the Russian Federation. So, I would like to share with you things I do/see/wonder practically every day, roughly in order of appearance.
• Knock the hanging ceiling lamp in my room. Usually happens when I’m changing or stretching. It’s right in the center of the room, I can’t help it!
• Eat oatmeal. Unfortunately, the trial period of instant oatmeals is over and I seem to be stuck with the worst brand. Yeah, it takes 0 minutes, but it’s also lumpy and bland.
•Take a multivitamin. I figure the end of the bottle will coincide with the end of my time in Russia.
• Wonder if I am using too much water when brushing my teeth. The water here is dangerous, fear-inspiring, I’m telling you.
• Struggle with the locks on the apartment doors. I’m getting better now that I’ve realized the direction that I turn the key corresponds to the direction that the bolts go. Genius.
• Pass a table piled with watermelons. There are watermelons ALL OVER this city, sold on rickety tables at bus stops, accompanied by other melons, similar to cantaloupe, but elongated. My host mom doesn’t buy watermelon because she got sick from one once, and I don’t think I can eat one quickly enough by myself. I need Sadie with me for that.
• See people drinking in public. Any given day, any given time, someone is drinking a beer on the street. For every one person I see indulging in a nine-o-clock Sunday morning beer while waiting for the bus, there’s probably1870 others. It doesn’t help that alcohol is readily available at many bus stops.
• Use public transportation. I love it. There are half a dozen buses that will get me to or from school, twice as many marshrutki (privately run vans that follow bus routes), and then the darling metro. Maybe ‘darling’ isn’t the right word. But at 14 rubles a pop, it’s magnificently affordable. P.S. I took the metro and a train to Pavlovsk on Sunday (about half an hour out of the city) and transportation for the entire trip cost a little over three dollars. Even for those people who forgot to bust out their student IDs for a discount and who shall remain nameless, it wasn’t much over four dollars. Also on Sunday I bought a bus card for about $16 which grants unlimited bus rides for the month of October. Yesss.
• Use a cell phone. That’s a new one. It’s handy, and not many people call me, so it’s not annoying either. I enjoy pounding out the occasional SMS (text message) in Russian.
• Spill change. My wallet’s change purse isn’t as secure as I’d like. Oh well.
• Look up words in a dictionary. Duh.
• Stare at a Russian woman’s impossible boots. The host mother of one woman on our program was so chagrined that her charge only had flats that she took her shoe shopping.
• Change from “outside” clothes to “inside” clothes. Usually at Lawrence, I put something on and call it a day, but here I need to look nice for school, and then be comfortable at home. Everyone does it; apparently it’s considered ‘dirty’ to lounge in the clothes you’ve been wearing out and about.
• Drink tea. As it turns out, Betsy’s tea-with-every-class was excellent preparation for life in Russia. I like khalva with my tea, or this new thing my host mom gave me – sunflower seeds stuck together with honey.
• Watch the news. It’s my favorite TV program -- I can usually figure out what’s going on thanks to the images, and if I can’t, no worries ‘cause there’ll be a new story in a couple moments. One channel even has abridged subtitles. There’s no complicated plot, and на Первом Канале (na pervom kanale – on Channel One), the intro to the top stories of the day has the best dramatic/fear-mongering theme music EVER. I'm already thinking about how I'm going to miss it once I'm back home.
Ok, I need to print out a paper for Разговорная Практика (razgovornaya praktika – conversational practice) and get some help with it. Midwesterners, enjoy your rain and thunderstorms – I'll be frolicking in a бабье лето (bab'e leto – Indian summer).
• Knock the hanging ceiling lamp in my room. Usually happens when I’m changing or stretching. It’s right in the center of the room, I can’t help it!
• Eat oatmeal. Unfortunately, the trial period of instant oatmeals is over and I seem to be stuck with the worst brand. Yeah, it takes 0 minutes, but it’s also lumpy and bland.
•Take a multivitamin. I figure the end of the bottle will coincide with the end of my time in Russia.
• Wonder if I am using too much water when brushing my teeth. The water here is dangerous, fear-inspiring, I’m telling you.
• Struggle with the locks on the apartment doors. I’m getting better now that I’ve realized the direction that I turn the key corresponds to the direction that the bolts go. Genius.
• Pass a table piled with watermelons. There are watermelons ALL OVER this city, sold on rickety tables at bus stops, accompanied by other melons, similar to cantaloupe, but elongated. My host mom doesn’t buy watermelon because she got sick from one once, and I don’t think I can eat one quickly enough by myself. I need Sadie with me for that.
• See people drinking in public. Any given day, any given time, someone is drinking a beer on the street. For every one person I see indulging in a nine-o-clock Sunday morning beer while waiting for the bus, there’s probably1870 others. It doesn’t help that alcohol is readily available at many bus stops.
• Use public transportation. I love it. There are half a dozen buses that will get me to or from school, twice as many marshrutki (privately run vans that follow bus routes), and then the darling metro. Maybe ‘darling’ isn’t the right word. But at 14 rubles a pop, it’s magnificently affordable. P.S. I took the metro and a train to Pavlovsk on Sunday (about half an hour out of the city) and transportation for the entire trip cost a little over three dollars. Even for those people who forgot to bust out their student IDs for a discount and who shall remain nameless, it wasn’t much over four dollars. Also on Sunday I bought a bus card for about $16 which grants unlimited bus rides for the month of October. Yesss.
• Use a cell phone. That’s a new one. It’s handy, and not many people call me, so it’s not annoying either. I enjoy pounding out the occasional SMS (text message) in Russian.
• Spill change. My wallet’s change purse isn’t as secure as I’d like. Oh well.
• Look up words in a dictionary. Duh.
• Stare at a Russian woman’s impossible boots. The host mother of one woman on our program was so chagrined that her charge only had flats that she took her shoe shopping.
• Change from “outside” clothes to “inside” clothes. Usually at Lawrence, I put something on and call it a day, but here I need to look nice for school, and then be comfortable at home. Everyone does it; apparently it’s considered ‘dirty’ to lounge in the clothes you’ve been wearing out and about.
• Drink tea. As it turns out, Betsy’s tea-with-every-class was excellent preparation for life in Russia. I like khalva with my tea, or this new thing my host mom gave me – sunflower seeds stuck together with honey.
• Watch the news. It’s my favorite TV program -- I can usually figure out what’s going on thanks to the images, and if I can’t, no worries ‘cause there’ll be a new story in a couple moments. One channel even has abridged subtitles. There’s no complicated plot, and на Первом Канале (na pervom kanale – on Channel One), the intro to the top stories of the day has the best dramatic/fear-mongering theme music EVER. I'm already thinking about how I'm going to miss it once I'm back home.
Ok, I need to print out a paper for Разговорная Практика (razgovornaya praktika – conversational practice) and get some help with it. Midwesterners, enjoy your rain and thunderstorms – I'll be frolicking in a бабье лето (bab'e leto – Indian summer).
Monday, September 24, 2007
One down, three to go
I've been here a month now. Yep, a full month, full in many ways. Or at least two.
This weekend was a busy one, with visits to the Museum of Anthropology and Ethnology, the Dostoevsky Museum, and St. Isaac's Cathedrale. Good thing I don't have class on Monday, because my homework has been piling up. Here's a brief sketch of the shape of my week:
Monday: no class. I do work at home in the morning, and go to Smolny in the afternoon to check my email, etc.
Tuesday: Phonetics and Conversational Practice from 11 to 2:30 with a half hour break. Poli-sci class «Why Do I Hate You?» at 4:40 which I might end up dropping if the professor expects me, as an auditor, to write the massive papers.
Wednesday: SMI/AVK (I'm not sure what that stands for: we read the news) and Literature classes from 11 to 2:30
Thursday: Grammar at 1, then «Translating Literature to the Screen» (in Russian) from 4:40 to 8.
Friday: «Stalinist Culture before WWII» from 4:40 to 8.
Either on Friday or Thursday (I'm pulling for the former), I am to have piano lessons, for which I must practice somehow. My options are limited to Smolny pianos, which are available before nine in the morning and after eight at night. Urg. Sundays we often have excursions, such as the one yesterday to the Cathedrale. Excrusions are always followed by lunch, and yesterday's was at a Greek restaurant. I was excited until I realized that it was a Russian Greek restaurant, and the assistant program manager had ordered chicken Kiev for everyone. What?!
Also, I'm not sure my last post got sent out to everyone it needed to, so I will try to fix that. Stay healthy!
This weekend was a busy one, with visits to the Museum of Anthropology and Ethnology, the Dostoevsky Museum, and St. Isaac's Cathedrale. Good thing I don't have class on Monday, because my homework has been piling up. Here's a brief sketch of the shape of my week:
Monday: no class. I do work at home in the morning, and go to Smolny in the afternoon to check my email, etc.
Tuesday: Phonetics and Conversational Practice from 11 to 2:30 with a half hour break. Poli-sci class «Why Do I Hate You?» at 4:40 which I might end up dropping if the professor expects me, as an auditor, to write the massive papers.
Wednesday: SMI/AVK (I'm not sure what that stands for: we read the news) and Literature classes from 11 to 2:30
Thursday: Grammar at 1, then «Translating Literature to the Screen» (in Russian) from 4:40 to 8.
Friday: «Stalinist Culture before WWII» from 4:40 to 8.
Either on Friday or Thursday (I'm pulling for the former), I am to have piano lessons, for which I must practice somehow. My options are limited to Smolny pianos, which are available before nine in the morning and after eight at night. Urg. Sundays we often have excursions, such as the one yesterday to the Cathedrale. Excrusions are always followed by lunch, and yesterday's was at a Greek restaurant. I was excited until I realized that it was a Russian Greek restaurant, and the assistant program manager had ordered chicken Kiev for everyone. What?!
Also, I'm not sure my last post got sent out to everyone it needed to, so I will try to fix that. Stay healthy!
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Kasha da shchi
I must confess that I haven't eaten any shchi (traditional cabbage soup) thus far, or much borsch, for that matter. Two meals a day are provided by my host mother, who isn't a hardcore бабушка (babushka), lunch is a sketchy affair, and when we got out to a restaurant as a program, it's as likely to be Chinese as anything else. I can't say I'm sorry to not be completely immersed in Russian cuisine. I mean, the cuisine is not one of the selling points of Russia, as it is for, say, France or Italy. If you are curious about what Russians traditionally eat, google it. If you are curious about what I eat, read on.
Завтрак/Zavtrak/Breakfast
Here's where I get my kasha. Every morning, there are two packets of kasha (general term for porridge) of the instant oatmeal variety. Tatiana Ivanovna rotates through four different brands (three? five? I haven't been keeping close enough tabs) of varying quality and quantity. She usually makes sure the flavor of the packets match, but lately I've been getting more and more mismatches. This morning, for instance, I had one packet of oatmeal with banana and one with strawberry. No worries, I think those fruits blend well enough.
Along with my kasha is a piece of fruit. I've had bananas all this week, which is fine with me, I love bananas with my breakfast. There's usually a glass of juice as well, and typically a plate with a couple pieces of bread and/or or a stack of biscuits/cookies/some sort of sweet. Bread is becoming less common with my meals – I think Tatiana Ivanovna noticed that it usually goes uneaten. I'm not a big fan of sweets with breakfast, but they go really well with tea, and I'm a hungry-morning sort of person, so I eat the cookies or the, um, пирожное (pirozhnoe). I don't really know what to call any of it in English. Strudel, maybe?
Lunch (not обед [obed], because it's not a three course, sit-down meal)
Lunch is a haphazard affair. Tuesday and Wednesday, I am at Smolny over the lunch hour. I either pack something to eat or go out or get something from the café on the third floor. If I bring something, it's usually dried fruit and nuts to snack on. For example, I found some REALLY palatable figs the other day, more delicate and softer than anything I've had in the States. I also bought some mediorce dates and some old peanuts. But if I want something more substantial, I can bring some sort of sandwich. Last Tuesday I brought black bread with hummus (Патэерсон [Paterson], a chain supermarket, more upscale, sells the stuff, to my delight) and sliced tomato. I also have peanut butter to make PB&J, but I am hesistant to draw on this finite resource.
The third-floor café sells a variety of hot dishes, from macaroni and sausage (т.е. hot dogs) to греча (grecha – buckwheat) with fish covered in smetana (light sour cream), bread and fried. This dishes are displayed behind glass and reheated in a microwave upon purchase. I try not to think about how long any given dish has been sitting there. I mean, I can't imagine that the case is refrigerated. I usually stick to rice with vegetables or one of the salads. Note: salads in Russia rarely, if ever, include lettuce. Salad means diced vegetables, pickles, peas, shredded carrot, etc. And they are small, about the size of your fist.
The café also sells пирожное, of course, with apricot or cabbage or some other sweet filling. People on our program buy a lot of Ritter's Sport's chocolate. Forty rubles for 100 grams, man! I bought a lovely pear once for fifteen rubles (sixty cents), and a banana for the same price, but then I realized that I could buy a banana at a магазин (magazin – store) for six rubles. I could probably get them even cheaper at a рынок (rynok – market), come to think of it.
There's good eating in the neighborhood, for sure. In fact, on the same street, there are two branches of the vegetarian restuarant called Тройский Мост. I ended up there several times in the first couple of weeks because two of my program buddies are vegetarians. It's cheap good food, with a lovely selection of salads, including салат из баклажан (salat iz baklazhan – eggplant salad), tasty, but heavy -- sold by the weight, my friend, and I like to keep my lunches around a hundred rubles.
Ужин/Uzhin/Supper
I'm always exicted for supper because usually I'm home late. My three night classes end at eight, figure half an hour to 45 minutes for transportation, and I'm usually not home before nine. So I'm def. hungry and looking forward to the HUGE portions that Tatiana Ivanovna serves me. Suppers consist of a starch, a vegetable dish, fruit, and some sort of sweet. Let's get some lists going:
Starches (from least frequent to most): rice, pasta, grecha, but mostly potatoes – boiled, fried, but most often instant, sometimes with mysterious chewy bits.
Vegetables (not all inclusive): boiled caulifower, bean sprout salad from a can, peas and carrots from a can, frozen vegetable mix, squash cooked with onion and tomato -- now that was a dish that lasted two glorious days, oh it was so good. At first I thought Tatiana Ivanovna was cutting up melon into the frying pan, and I expressed my surprise. Then she informed me that it was кабачок (kabachok – my dictionary defines it as «vegetable marrow,» but at the time I understood it to be squash). And then I felt like an idiot.
Fruits: orange, слива (sliva – plums, which are smaller and oval; tonight I had seriously tiny ones grown locally), apple – I've had but one decent apple while here. Usually I get small, flavorless apples with the texture of an overused pillow.
Sweets: I only want to mention хавла (khavla), a sort of pressed sesame seed paste cake. Ok, that sounds terrible, but seriously wonderful. It's one of my favorites, up there with the dense, round cookies that dip so nicely in chai and the small pies discovered just today during a break in Stalinist Culture Before WWII. Grandma, it's like they took one of your pies and shrunk it down to size of half a tennis ball, the crust and filling are so good.
Overall, my sweets consumption has increasd alarmingly and my pizza consumption has dropped from its dizzying heights over the summer to approximately nil. Spices are a rarity, the major players being salt and pepper, and not much of the latter. I'm not getting nearly as much dill as I expected, not nearly as much eggplant as I want and as Carly receives (who doesn't even like it!), and шашличный кетчуп (shashlichny ketchup) is my condiment of choice. Regular ketchup tastes weird.
Well, there it is. I'm getting enough to eat, the food agrees with me, and I'm figuring out Russian grocery stores, slowly but surely. Before I end this feast of a post, I would like to apologize for the copious amounts of parentheses. The reasons for this are the following: first, I had a request to transliterate the Russian words I use, and second, I really enjoy using parenthesis. If it bugs you, let me know and I'll try to reduce. If you have any other requests, write them on the bottom of a jar of peanut butter and send 'em my way.
Завтрак/Zavtrak/Breakfast
Here's where I get my kasha. Every morning, there are two packets of kasha (general term for porridge) of the instant oatmeal variety. Tatiana Ivanovna rotates through four different brands (three? five? I haven't been keeping close enough tabs) of varying quality and quantity. She usually makes sure the flavor of the packets match, but lately I've been getting more and more mismatches. This morning, for instance, I had one packet of oatmeal with banana and one with strawberry. No worries, I think those fruits blend well enough.
Along with my kasha is a piece of fruit. I've had bananas all this week, which is fine with me, I love bananas with my breakfast. There's usually a glass of juice as well, and typically a plate with a couple pieces of bread and/or or a stack of biscuits/cookies/some sort of sweet. Bread is becoming less common with my meals – I think Tatiana Ivanovna noticed that it usually goes uneaten. I'm not a big fan of sweets with breakfast, but they go really well with tea, and I'm a hungry-morning sort of person, so I eat the cookies or the, um, пирожное (pirozhnoe). I don't really know what to call any of it in English. Strudel, maybe?
Lunch (not обед [obed], because it's not a three course, sit-down meal)
Lunch is a haphazard affair. Tuesday and Wednesday, I am at Smolny over the lunch hour. I either pack something to eat or go out or get something from the café on the third floor. If I bring something, it's usually dried fruit and nuts to snack on. For example, I found some REALLY palatable figs the other day, more delicate and softer than anything I've had in the States. I also bought some mediorce dates and some old peanuts. But if I want something more substantial, I can bring some sort of sandwich. Last Tuesday I brought black bread with hummus (Патэерсон [Paterson], a chain supermarket, more upscale, sells the stuff, to my delight) and sliced tomato. I also have peanut butter to make PB&J, but I am hesistant to draw on this finite resource.
The third-floor café sells a variety of hot dishes, from macaroni and sausage (т.е. hot dogs) to греча (grecha – buckwheat) with fish covered in smetana (light sour cream), bread and fried. This dishes are displayed behind glass and reheated in a microwave upon purchase. I try not to think about how long any given dish has been sitting there. I mean, I can't imagine that the case is refrigerated. I usually stick to rice with vegetables or one of the salads. Note: salads in Russia rarely, if ever, include lettuce. Salad means diced vegetables, pickles, peas, shredded carrot, etc. And they are small, about the size of your fist.
The café also sells пирожное, of course, with apricot or cabbage or some other sweet filling. People on our program buy a lot of Ritter's Sport's chocolate. Forty rubles for 100 grams, man! I bought a lovely pear once for fifteen rubles (sixty cents), and a banana for the same price, but then I realized that I could buy a banana at a магазин (magazin – store) for six rubles. I could probably get them even cheaper at a рынок (rynok – market), come to think of it.
There's good eating in the neighborhood, for sure. In fact, on the same street, there are two branches of the vegetarian restuarant called Тройский Мост. I ended up there several times in the first couple of weeks because two of my program buddies are vegetarians. It's cheap good food, with a lovely selection of salads, including салат из баклажан (salat iz baklazhan – eggplant salad), tasty, but heavy -- sold by the weight, my friend, and I like to keep my lunches around a hundred rubles.
Ужин/Uzhin/Supper
I'm always exicted for supper because usually I'm home late. My three night classes end at eight, figure half an hour to 45 minutes for transportation, and I'm usually not home before nine. So I'm def. hungry and looking forward to the HUGE portions that Tatiana Ivanovna serves me. Suppers consist of a starch, a vegetable dish, fruit, and some sort of sweet. Let's get some lists going:
Starches (from least frequent to most): rice, pasta, grecha, but mostly potatoes – boiled, fried, but most often instant, sometimes with mysterious chewy bits.
Vegetables (not all inclusive): boiled caulifower, bean sprout salad from a can, peas and carrots from a can, frozen vegetable mix, squash cooked with onion and tomato -- now that was a dish that lasted two glorious days, oh it was so good. At first I thought Tatiana Ivanovna was cutting up melon into the frying pan, and I expressed my surprise. Then she informed me that it was кабачок (kabachok – my dictionary defines it as «vegetable marrow,» but at the time I understood it to be squash). And then I felt like an idiot.
Fruits: orange, слива (sliva – plums, which are smaller and oval; tonight I had seriously tiny ones grown locally), apple – I've had but one decent apple while here. Usually I get small, flavorless apples with the texture of an overused pillow.
Sweets: I only want to mention хавла (khavla), a sort of pressed sesame seed paste cake. Ok, that sounds terrible, but seriously wonderful. It's one of my favorites, up there with the dense, round cookies that dip so nicely in chai and the small pies discovered just today during a break in Stalinist Culture Before WWII. Grandma, it's like they took one of your pies and shrunk it down to size of half a tennis ball, the crust and filling are so good.
Overall, my sweets consumption has increasd alarmingly and my pizza consumption has dropped from its dizzying heights over the summer to approximately nil. Spices are a rarity, the major players being salt and pepper, and not much of the latter. I'm not getting nearly as much dill as I expected, not nearly as much eggplant as I want and as Carly receives (who doesn't even like it!), and шашличный кетчуп (shashlichny ketchup) is my condiment of choice. Regular ketchup tastes weird.
Well, there it is. I'm getting enough to eat, the food agrees with me, and I'm figuring out Russian grocery stores, slowly but surely. Before I end this feast of a post, I would like to apologize for the copious amounts of parentheses. The reasons for this are the following: first, I had a request to transliterate the Russian words I use, and second, I really enjoy using parenthesis. If it bugs you, let me know and I'll try to reduce. If you have any other requests, write them on the bottom of a jar of peanut butter and send 'em my way.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Top Ten
The handbook I got from our program managers, Bryan, covered a lot of useful information about what we could expect from our time in Russia. Nevertheless, more than once I have been caught off guard by some Russian... thing.
10. The widespread use of the Latin alphabet. I thought that once I got to Russia, everything would be in Russian, but English is everywhere. Many stores, usually more upscale, have their name spelled out in English. Products advertised on TV, besides food and cleaning products, generally have English/America/French names. Almost every тетрадь (tetrad') or copy book has English on the cover.
Sidetrack!
I have three such тетради (tetradi): one says «Lovely Fruits» and has a variety of fruits arranged in a grid pattern, the other says «Purple Power» and has an eggplant on it, and my школьный дневник (shkol'ny dnevnik) (grade book that I'm using as a day planner) has «aranciamania» superimposed on a large orange and lined up next to it are three grapefruit halves. Other classmates have these red copy books with black felt lettering on them – on says «YES», the other says «NO». It's pretty much hilarious to the American students. Or maybe just me.
9. Light switches on the outside of rooms. From the hunt for the light switch of the bathroom at the hotel to the hunt for the light switch of the kitchen in my apartment, I am still baffled as to why rooms are wired this way. It makes early morning pranks so easy. “Sasha, turn the light back on, I’m trying to take a shower in here!!”
8. Washing machine in the bathroom. I was initially surprised when I saw the washing machine standing across from the bathroom sink in my apartment, but it makes sense when you think about it: a) the dirty water goes straigh into the tub and B) where else would the thing be? The kitchen?
7. Cars driving and parking on the sidewalks. 'Nuff side.
6. Spitting on the street. I knew about the dog poop on the street, I had been warned that Russians don’t clean up after their dogs – they think it’s dirty to do so, and we think it’s dirty not to – but what bugs me more than dodging Sharik’s business is spotting Ivan’s expectorations. In any case and unfortunately, I need to spend more time watching my step than gazing at…
5. The amazing sky. I don’t know why the clouds look closer here than in the States, but I do know that I live a stones throw from the Gulf of Finland, and the sky is often filled with these enormous puffy clouds that take on the most gorgeous hues come sunset. I can’t do justice to the skies of St. Petersburg with words.
4. The plethora of small grocery stores. I call them “produktis” because they all say Продукты (prah-DU-ktee, foodstuffs) on the outside, but that’s like calling a grocery stores “foods” because that’s what they sell. Plus, I’m inflecting an inflection by adding an ‘s’ to the already plural ending, ы. The point is, there are SO MANY places around town, around the metro stations, around the bus stops to buy food, or flowers, or stockings. Even coming from a consumerist society, it's a little much. But, as Amy pointed out to me, there's five million people in this city, and they all have to eat. And give flowers. And 2.5 million of them have to wear stockings.
3. Ремонт (reh-MONT: renovation), everywhere. I considered counting all the construction sites that I pass on my way to and from school, but it would require such sustained concentration and counting that I'd rather spend my time reviewing vocabulary. Not only are sidewalks being torn up all over the city, but scaffolding draped in green mesh surrounds every other building. Internal ремонт is just as wide spread. I went to the fourth floor bathroom at Smolny – a large desk blocked the door, on which was an explanatory sign: РЕМОНТ. I walked into the second floor bathroom – two sinks lay in the corner, and two new ones stood in their place on the wall, the manufacturers' stickers still in place. Furthermore, doing ремонт in one's apartment is THE thing to do. The apartment above Amy's treats her to the sound of drilling and hammering on a regular basis. I myself was privey to a Power Drill Recital just last afternoon.
2. Classes meeting only once a week. No one told me that Russian college classes meet only once a week! I was shocked when Bryan (program manager) revealed this fact during orientation. Later, I asked him why he didn’t put that in the handbook. “Because no one would come to Smolny,” he said, “if they knew classes only met once a week.” Apparently, people from the States would consider once-a-week, three hour classes not challenging enough. As for myself, I’ve had plenty of homework to chew on throughout the week. I’m really just bummed that all of my classes, besides Russian Language ones, go until 20:00. And of course, class doesn’t get out right on time, you stay to chat with whomever, you wait a while to catch the bus, and BAM you can’t get home to dinner before nine. Moreover, if I do end up taking piano lessons (which seems more unlikely with each passing day), and I have to rely on the pianos at Smolny, then I can only start practicing at eight. Or whenever the professor teaching in room 402 returns the key to the room.
1. счас/шас. (shash) I don't think anyone told me that Russians say this all the time. As near as I can figure out, it means подожди or or «hang on» or «wait a second.» Maybe I wasn't paying attention in class when we went over this or something, because everyone says it and I had never heard it.
That's all for now, folks. Tune in next time for an update about what Hannah eats, same Bat-time, same Bat-channel
10. The widespread use of the Latin alphabet. I thought that once I got to Russia, everything would be in Russian, but English is everywhere. Many stores, usually more upscale, have their name spelled out in English. Products advertised on TV, besides food and cleaning products, generally have English/America/French names. Almost every тетрадь (tetrad') or copy book has English on the cover.
Sidetrack!
I have three such тетради (tetradi): one says «Lovely Fruits» and has a variety of fruits arranged in a grid pattern, the other says «Purple Power» and has an eggplant on it, and my школьный дневник (shkol'ny dnevnik) (grade book that I'm using as a day planner) has «aranciamania» superimposed on a large orange and lined up next to it are three grapefruit halves. Other classmates have these red copy books with black felt lettering on them – on says «YES», the other says «NO». It's pretty much hilarious to the American students. Or maybe just me.
9. Light switches on the outside of rooms. From the hunt for the light switch of the bathroom at the hotel to the hunt for the light switch of the kitchen in my apartment, I am still baffled as to why rooms are wired this way. It makes early morning pranks so easy. “Sasha, turn the light back on, I’m trying to take a shower in here!!”
8. Washing machine in the bathroom. I was initially surprised when I saw the washing machine standing across from the bathroom sink in my apartment, but it makes sense when you think about it: a) the dirty water goes straigh into the tub and B) where else would the thing be? The kitchen?
7. Cars driving and parking on the sidewalks. 'Nuff side.
6. Spitting on the street. I knew about the dog poop on the street, I had been warned that Russians don’t clean up after their dogs – they think it’s dirty to do so, and we think it’s dirty not to – but what bugs me more than dodging Sharik’s business is spotting Ivan’s expectorations. In any case and unfortunately, I need to spend more time watching my step than gazing at…
5. The amazing sky. I don’t know why the clouds look closer here than in the States, but I do know that I live a stones throw from the Gulf of Finland, and the sky is often filled with these enormous puffy clouds that take on the most gorgeous hues come sunset. I can’t do justice to the skies of St. Petersburg with words.
4. The plethora of small grocery stores. I call them “produktis” because they all say Продукты (prah-DU-ktee, foodstuffs) on the outside, but that’s like calling a grocery stores “foods” because that’s what they sell. Plus, I’m inflecting an inflection by adding an ‘s’ to the already plural ending, ы. The point is, there are SO MANY places around town, around the metro stations, around the bus stops to buy food, or flowers, or stockings. Even coming from a consumerist society, it's a little much. But, as Amy pointed out to me, there's five million people in this city, and they all have to eat. And give flowers. And 2.5 million of them have to wear stockings.
3. Ремонт (reh-MONT: renovation), everywhere. I considered counting all the construction sites that I pass on my way to and from school, but it would require such sustained concentration and counting that I'd rather spend my time reviewing vocabulary. Not only are sidewalks being torn up all over the city, but scaffolding draped in green mesh surrounds every other building. Internal ремонт is just as wide spread. I went to the fourth floor bathroom at Smolny – a large desk blocked the door, on which was an explanatory sign: РЕМОНТ. I walked into the second floor bathroom – two sinks lay in the corner, and two new ones stood in their place on the wall, the manufacturers' stickers still in place. Furthermore, doing ремонт in one's apartment is THE thing to do. The apartment above Amy's treats her to the sound of drilling and hammering on a regular basis. I myself was privey to a Power Drill Recital just last afternoon.
2. Classes meeting only once a week. No one told me that Russian college classes meet only once a week! I was shocked when Bryan (program manager) revealed this fact during orientation. Later, I asked him why he didn’t put that in the handbook. “Because no one would come to Smolny,” he said, “if they knew classes only met once a week.” Apparently, people from the States would consider once-a-week, three hour classes not challenging enough. As for myself, I’ve had plenty of homework to chew on throughout the week. I’m really just bummed that all of my classes, besides Russian Language ones, go until 20:00. And of course, class doesn’t get out right on time, you stay to chat with whomever, you wait a while to catch the bus, and BAM you can’t get home to dinner before nine. Moreover, if I do end up taking piano lessons (which seems more unlikely with each passing day), and I have to rely on the pianos at Smolny, then I can only start practicing at eight. Or whenever the professor teaching in room 402 returns the key to the room.
1. счас/шас. (shash) I don't think anyone told me that Russians say this all the time. As near as I can figure out, it means подожди or or «hang on» or «wait a second.» Maybe I wasn't paying attention in class when we went over this or something, because everyone says it and I had never heard it.
That's all for now, folks. Tune in next time for an update about what Hannah eats, same Bat-time, same Bat-channel
Thursday, September 6, 2007
Life is an exam
... and I'm studying every night. They don't call it a Two Week Language Intensive for nothing. I've been writing short essays every night, puzzling over the details of prepositions, practicing my vowels, and looking up words words words all the time.
This week is also the first week of classes at Smolny. Monday, I visited a class taught by a professor I could understand pretty well, but the workload was too heavy for my causal interest in the History of the Russian Empire. Next, I went to a class which I thought was "Language of the City," but turned out to be a comparitave art course. Thanks to reading the posted schedule wrong, I had gone to the wrong room. Tuesday, I was a little over ambitious and visited three classes. This means that I had Russian from 9:30 to 13:00 (with modest breaks), then 13:00 to 16:20 with a ten minute break, then 16:40 to 18:10 and again from 18:30 to 20:00. And the last class was in the computer lab — it was hot. The professor went over time about two minutes and I was ready to push him over, I was so ready to leave. I got home late and had to wash my clothes, eat dinner, and hang up clothes before starting on my homework. UGH.
Yesterday was much less intense — I got to eat a real lunch and arrived home before rush hour. Today is also more laid back. I'm going to a class I signed up for — Russian Classics on the World Screen, but that doesn't start until 4:40, so I have another good hour and a half for homework and studying grammar -- tomorrow we have some sort of evaluative test. I'm not clear on what exactly is happening.
In other news, the weather here is great. Really breezy and wonderful. Huge clouds and all. Also, I got a bus card, so I can ride the bus any time, any where as much as I want until the end of the month, all for 385 rubles. Yesssssss.
If you want to bring a smile to my face, leave a comment or send me an email (jastramhi[AT]gmail[DOT]com). I would love to hear from you, dear reader. It's true.
This week is also the first week of classes at Smolny. Monday, I visited a class taught by a professor I could understand pretty well, but the workload was too heavy for my causal interest in the History of the Russian Empire. Next, I went to a class which I thought was "Language of the City," but turned out to be a comparitave art course. Thanks to reading the posted schedule wrong, I had gone to the wrong room. Tuesday, I was a little over ambitious and visited three classes. This means that I had Russian from 9:30 to 13:00 (with modest breaks), then 13:00 to 16:20 with a ten minute break, then 16:40 to 18:10 and again from 18:30 to 20:00. And the last class was in the computer lab — it was hot. The professor went over time about two minutes and I was ready to push him over, I was so ready to leave. I got home late and had to wash my clothes, eat dinner, and hang up clothes before starting on my homework. UGH.
Yesterday was much less intense — I got to eat a real lunch and arrived home before rush hour. Today is also more laid back. I'm going to a class I signed up for — Russian Classics on the World Screen, but that doesn't start until 4:40, so I have another good hour and a half for homework and studying grammar -- tomorrow we have some sort of evaluative test. I'm not clear on what exactly is happening.
In other news, the weather here is great. Really breezy and wonderful. Huge clouds and all. Also, I got a bus card, so I can ride the bus any time, any where as much as I want until the end of the month, all for 385 rubles. Yesssssss.
If you want to bring a smile to my face, leave a comment or send me an email (jastramhi[AT]gmail[DOT]com). I would love to hear from you, dear reader. It's true.
Friday, August 31, 2007
A week in
I'm sitting in the Smolny Institute computer lab, which is on the fourth floor of... this building. I should know what is is in reality, but I don't. The point is, I can see the Neva out the window, as well as big puffy clouds that seem closer to me than big puffy clouds usually do. It's the most convenient place I know of right now to get wireless. And it's not very convenient to bring my laptop here. I mean, I have a 35 minutes bus ride here and then I have to carry my computer along with me throughout the day.
I don't mean to sound crabby, but the fact of the matter is, I am very tired. This session of intensive Russian Language is taking the life out of me. From 10 to 1:20 or so we have four classes: Грамматика, Разговорная практика, Письменная речь, and an 'elective' (Grammar, Conversational practice, written speech). Today we had Фонетика (phonetics), at the beginning of which the professor, Светлана Борисовна Степанова, had us talk about ourselves. I thought she just wanted to get to know us, but NO, she was listening to our accents and called some people out on their mistakes. Sneaky. Later, we recited some tongue-twisters and that made up for it.
The point is (yes, I'm making another point), we've had lots of homework, a fact Алеша can attest to, seeing as he's called me more than once before I left for school and I still hadn't finished all my домашнее задание.
Yes, home. My host mother is an understanding woman who lets me alone for the most part. I have not been harangued about my going outside with wet hair, made to put on socks, or scolded for not eating enough, as some of my groupmates have. Her son has a work schedule I haven't quite figured out yet, though I found out yesterday when I came home earlier than usual and he was there, that it involves two days off during the week because he works on Saturday and Sunday. He also told me to fill up the water pitcher. Ok, I can do that.
Just a taste right here of St. Petersburg: driving. I don't know how much of this insanity is large city stuff in general or what, but when I was being dropped off at my host family's, the driver would have made me fear for my life if he had not so clearly seemed to know what he was doing. The dashed lines were mere suggestions to him. Also, walking home from Primordskaya (metro station) one Sunday, we saw a car accident on the street next to us. Not even a week into my stay here, not even at an intersection, but BAM black smoke and staring spectators.
Tonight is an introductory dinner at a restaurant on Malaya Sadova, a street about two blocks long. I think I'll be walking there, but how long that will take, I do not know. It's a nice day, though, and word on the street is that we won't have many of those in a month or two. Let's hope I have enough energy to spit out information about myself to real Russians. Пока.
I don't mean to sound crabby, but the fact of the matter is, I am very tired. This session of intensive Russian Language is taking the life out of me. From 10 to 1:20 or so we have four classes: Грамматика, Разговорная практика, Письменная речь, and an 'elective' (Grammar, Conversational practice, written speech). Today we had Фонетика (phonetics), at the beginning of which the professor, Светлана Борисовна Степанова, had us talk about ourselves. I thought she just wanted to get to know us, but NO, she was listening to our accents and called some people out on their mistakes. Sneaky. Later, we recited some tongue-twisters and that made up for it.
The point is (yes, I'm making another point), we've had lots of homework, a fact Алеша can attest to, seeing as he's called me more than once before I left for school and I still hadn't finished all my домашнее задание.
Yes, home. My host mother is an understanding woman who lets me alone for the most part. I have not been harangued about my going outside with wet hair, made to put on socks, or scolded for not eating enough, as some of my groupmates have. Her son has a work schedule I haven't quite figured out yet, though I found out yesterday when I came home earlier than usual and he was there, that it involves two days off during the week because he works on Saturday and Sunday. He also told me to fill up the water pitcher. Ok, I can do that.
Just a taste right here of St. Petersburg: driving. I don't know how much of this insanity is large city stuff in general or what, but when I was being dropped off at my host family's, the driver would have made me fear for my life if he had not so clearly seemed to know what he was doing. The dashed lines were mere suggestions to him. Also, walking home from Primordskaya (metro station) one Sunday, we saw a car accident on the street next to us. Not even a week into my stay here, not even at an intersection, but BAM black smoke and staring spectators.
Tonight is an introductory dinner at a restaurant on Malaya Sadova, a street about two blocks long. I think I'll be walking there, but how long that will take, I do not know. It's a nice day, though, and word on the street is that we won't have many of those in a month or two. Let's hope I have enough energy to spit out information about myself to real Russians. Пока.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
First Adventure
So here I am, in St. Petersburg. Our group is staying in the Hotel Regina, which (as I learned last night) is at the Petrogradskaya metro station on the blue line. The room I share with Demetria is smaller than any hotel or motel room I've been in, but it is nice, especially the bathroom. The floor in there is heated! And the toilet paper is pink.
Two days ago was my birthday, a fact which was announced to our group while we rode around tne city on an old red bus with blue curtains. They sang to me, and that was about the extent of my birthday celebrations, but being in Russia was excitement enough. Right? Of course.
By now, we've had two tours of the city of St. Petersburg -- bus and boat -- a tour of the Church of the Spilled Blood, eated at four different restaurants around the city, received cell phones and phone cards, and ridden the Metro. After our last dinner together, we had to get ourselves home. Anna insisted that I go out for my birthday, so we and two ther guys headed to the American Consulate. Yes, the Marines were having a party.
As we walked towars the bus stop, we saw our bus passing us. We gave chase and caught up with it at the остановка автобуса. Anna bought tickets from the conductor for us because we all had big bills, then we sat down and I anxiously/carefully traced the route of the автобус in my small city atlas. We managed to get off at the right stop, found the consulate, and experienced the Waiting which is so common in Russia. A guard collected our spravki (replacement documentation while we get our multipass visa) and Russian student IDs, went into a small, gray shack with tinted windows, came out, lit a cigarette, went back in.... We stood at a distance, as intstructed, and waited in the median along with three Russians. He eventually returned our документы to us, which was a relief. It's nervewracking to be without one's passport, справка, and ID!
We were let in two at a time, with plenty of waiting time in between entries. I suppose it felt longer than it actually was. When it was finally Anna and my time to go, we went up to the door and showed our справка и русские студенты биллеты again. The gaurds tried chatting with me in Russian about studying here, but I was distracted by the security process and we all switched to English. I got signed in, surrendered my camera, assured them that my cell phone couldn't take pictures, and plowed forward. Anna, who had gone before me, was waiting at the top of a short flight of stairs. We passed through a short hallway, which led us into a small courtyard. Um, where to now?
Well, we spotted another guard in the far right corner and approached him (подошли к ему). As we did so, I formulated a question to ask -- I decided on Где находится вечеринка? Before I could bust that out, he motioned us towards a staircase across from him.
The party was not very exciting. Already there were the three Russians, who had started a game of pool. That's it. More people came, in time. We stayed an hour, leaving before eleven because the Metro stops running at midnight and I'm skittish like that. Thanks to our navigation of the Metro earlier in the day, and Anna's public transportation smarts, we made it expediently to our stop (Петроградская). The boys were a different story. First, they didn't follow us up the escalator at our transfer. We went back down to get them and of course passed them as they ascended. Then, they got on the wrong train. We tried calling them, but I think they were more worried about us than we were abut them. I believe they got on yet another wrong train before making it home, but we all made it back in one piece to the hotel by midnight. You know, I don't think I even saw any Marines! None in uniform, at least.
And now I'm waiting to move in with my family. Nervous much?
Two days ago was my birthday, a fact which was announced to our group while we rode around tne city on an old red bus with blue curtains. They sang to me, and that was about the extent of my birthday celebrations, but being in Russia was excitement enough. Right? Of course.
By now, we've had two tours of the city of St. Petersburg -- bus and boat -- a tour of the Church of the Spilled Blood, eated at four different restaurants around the city, received cell phones and phone cards, and ridden the Metro. After our last dinner together, we had to get ourselves home. Anna insisted that I go out for my birthday, so we and two ther guys headed to the American Consulate. Yes, the Marines were having a party.
As we walked towars the bus stop, we saw our bus passing us. We gave chase and caught up with it at the остановка автобуса. Anna bought tickets from the conductor for us because we all had big bills, then we sat down and I anxiously/carefully traced the route of the автобус in my small city atlas. We managed to get off at the right stop, found the consulate, and experienced the Waiting which is so common in Russia. A guard collected our spravki (replacement documentation while we get our multipass visa) and Russian student IDs, went into a small, gray shack with tinted windows, came out, lit a cigarette, went back in.... We stood at a distance, as intstructed, and waited in the median along with three Russians. He eventually returned our документы to us, which was a relief. It's nervewracking to be without one's passport, справка, and ID!
We were let in two at a time, with plenty of waiting time in between entries. I suppose it felt longer than it actually was. When it was finally Anna and my time to go, we went up to the door and showed our справка и русские студенты биллеты again. The gaurds tried chatting with me in Russian about studying here, but I was distracted by the security process and we all switched to English. I got signed in, surrendered my camera, assured them that my cell phone couldn't take pictures, and plowed forward. Anna, who had gone before me, was waiting at the top of a short flight of stairs. We passed through a short hallway, which led us into a small courtyard. Um, where to now?
Well, we spotted another guard in the far right corner and approached him (подошли к ему). As we did so, I formulated a question to ask -- I decided on Где находится вечеринка? Before I could bust that out, he motioned us towards a staircase across from him.
The party was not very exciting. Already there were the three Russians, who had started a game of pool. That's it. More people came, in time. We stayed an hour, leaving before eleven because the Metro stops running at midnight and I'm skittish like that. Thanks to our navigation of the Metro earlier in the day, and Anna's public transportation smarts, we made it expediently to our stop (Петроградская). The boys were a different story. First, they didn't follow us up the escalator at our transfer. We went back down to get them and of course passed them as they ascended. Then, they got on the wrong train. We tried calling them, but I think they were more worried about us than we were abut them. I believe they got on yet another wrong train before making it home, but we all made it back in one piece to the hotel by midnight. You know, I don't think I even saw any Marines! None in uniform, at least.
And now I'm waiting to move in with my family. Nervous much?
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Ananndale On Hudson
I'm sitting in a dorm room at Bard College, trying to make out the mountain that I know is outside my window, but this morning is shrouded in clouds. This is the second day of orientation, and I would be looking forward to it less if the staff weren't as great as they are.
How did I get here? Well, I boarded a six am flight on Sunday and waited and waited. We found out that a huge nut on the landing gear had a torque problem. The flight attendants started pulling people off the plane and onto different flights, and then we ALL got off and lined up at the counter. Luckily, I was close to the front of the line. Even more luckily, a woman called my name after a bit. She told me that the next flight to Albany was at 1:05pm. Nooooo problem, I thought, and set off to Concouse A.
During my seven hours of leisure time, I struck up a conversation with a man on his way to Coloumbus, OH. He sells lab equipment for Johnson&Johnson, hadn't checked his email, and was chagrined when I told him about the counterfeit diabetes test strips Johnson & Johnson got from China. I found a discarded newspaper. I listened to This American Life. I read the book Gabby gave me. And I worried about my luggage.
Finally the 1:05 flight came. Luckily, I sat next to a wonderful, chatty woman (chatty until I fell asleep) who stuck with me after disembarking, giving me advice on how to figure out where my luggage was, lending me her cell phone, and sticking with me until Sooz (from Bard) arrived. I was so grateful. She had all these tips, like, "Once you see that your luggage is not coming, quick go to the luggage claims office, because a line'll form" and "They're required to send you your luggage, but usually they ask when you can pick it up. Be firm, give them a sob story, and they'll ship it through UPS." As it turned out, my luggage arrived about twenty minutes after I did, a bit smudged, but intact and present.
We made it to the college, I got some dinner, which included lots of tasty corn on the cob -- er, ears of corn -- and crashed around ten.
Yesterday was a lot of info, a lot of sitting, a lot of walking (this campus is loooong), and my neck started to hurt. And now it's time for breakfast. Cheers!
Edit:
I forgot to mention that I have my host family information. I'm living with Tatiana Ivanovna and her son Andrew (don't know his age) at 42 Korablestroiteley. I move in Saturday.
How did I get here? Well, I boarded a six am flight on Sunday and waited and waited. We found out that a huge nut on the landing gear had a torque problem. The flight attendants started pulling people off the plane and onto different flights, and then we ALL got off and lined up at the counter. Luckily, I was close to the front of the line. Even more luckily, a woman called my name after a bit. She told me that the next flight to Albany was at 1:05pm. Nooooo problem, I thought, and set off to Concouse A.
During my seven hours of leisure time, I struck up a conversation with a man on his way to Coloumbus, OH. He sells lab equipment for Johnson&Johnson, hadn't checked his email, and was chagrined when I told him about the counterfeit diabetes test strips Johnson & Johnson got from China. I found a discarded newspaper. I listened to This American Life. I read the book Gabby gave me. And I worried about my luggage.
Finally the 1:05 flight came. Luckily, I sat next to a wonderful, chatty woman (chatty until I fell asleep) who stuck with me after disembarking, giving me advice on how to figure out where my luggage was, lending me her cell phone, and sticking with me until Sooz (from Bard) arrived. I was so grateful. She had all these tips, like, "Once you see that your luggage is not coming, quick go to the luggage claims office, because a line'll form" and "They're required to send you your luggage, but usually they ask when you can pick it up. Be firm, give them a sob story, and they'll ship it through UPS." As it turned out, my luggage arrived about twenty minutes after I did, a bit smudged, but intact and present.
We made it to the college, I got some dinner, which included lots of tasty corn on the cob -- er, ears of corn -- and crashed around ten.
Yesterday was a lot of info, a lot of sitting, a lot of walking (this campus is loooong), and my neck started to hurt. And now it's time for breakfast. Cheers!
Edit:
I forgot to mention that I have my host family information. I'm living with Tatiana Ivanovna and her son Andrew (don't know his age) at 42 Korablestroiteley. I move in Saturday.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
The Final Countdown
All right, friends, this is it.
I leave tomorrow morning for Bard College, the institution through with I am studying in St. Petersburg. The plan is to get to the MSP airport at five a.m. and arrive at the Albany airport at eleven. I'm all packed, besides this computer, my retainer, and a Nalgene. And a PBJ sandwich for the road.
I've said my good-byes to Greta and Charlie, to the Struss family, who called me while on vacation to pass the phone around the car, and my extended family, and to Punch. My sister and I played Scrabble with our former manager, and not only was it good to see Kate, and good because I won (this time), but it was good for occupying two full hours of this day, this dreary, boring, what-am-I-to-do-with-myself day.
Mom whipped out Google Earth late this evening -- too late. I wanted to look up all sorts of places, but I needed to reorganize my packing. If you have the time and inclination, you can follow along on my journey. I will be at Annandale on Hudson, NY for the first half of the week (look for the sweet Performing Arts Center), and Hotel Rus' (1 Arilleryiskaya Street) for the second half. The middle of the week will be spent mostly in the air.
The question on every one's mind -- I know what it is because people keep asking -- is WHERE and WHO is my host family. I don't know the answer and I don't know when I'll know the answer. But you will know once I know, dear readers, fear not.
Vocab for the day:
Чемодан: "suitcase," a noun near and dear to the hearts of Prof. Thomas' first-year Russian students. У меня два чемодана.
уходить, убезжать, улетать, уплывать: "to be in the process of leaving by foot, by accelerated motion on foot, by air, or by motion through water." Я улетаю зватра.
Let's be honest, it's late, considering that I plan to be up at four. So farewell!
I leave tomorrow morning for Bard College, the institution through with I am studying in St. Petersburg. The plan is to get to the MSP airport at five a.m. and arrive at the Albany airport at eleven. I'm all packed, besides this computer, my retainer, and a Nalgene. And a PBJ sandwich for the road.
I've said my good-byes to Greta and Charlie, to the Struss family, who called me while on vacation to pass the phone around the car, and my extended family, and to Punch. My sister and I played Scrabble with our former manager, and not only was it good to see Kate, and good because I won (this time), but it was good for occupying two full hours of this day, this dreary, boring, what-am-I-to-do-with-myself day.
Mom whipped out Google Earth late this evening -- too late. I wanted to look up all sorts of places, but I needed to reorganize my packing. If you have the time and inclination, you can follow along on my journey. I will be at Annandale on Hudson, NY for the first half of the week (look for the sweet Performing Arts Center), and Hotel Rus' (1 Arilleryiskaya Street) for the second half. The middle of the week will be spent mostly in the air.
The question on every one's mind -- I know what it is because people keep asking -- is WHERE and WHO is my host family. I don't know the answer and I don't know when I'll know the answer. But you will know once I know, dear readers, fear not.
Vocab for the day:
Чемодан: "suitcase," a noun near and dear to the hearts of Prof. Thomas' first-year Russian students. У меня два чемодана.
уходить, убезжать, улетать, уплывать: "to be in the process of leaving by foot, by accelerated motion on foot, by air, or by motion through water." Я улетаю зватра.
Let's be honest, it's late, considering that I plan to be up at four. So farewell!
Friday, July 13, 2007
Children's poetry on a lovely evening
I sat down on the porch to start working on the last chapter of В Пути, the Russia textbook that carried me through my second year of Russian. Тема 1 is about sports, and finishing the first section, I obediently followed the directive Complete exercise 12-1 in the Workbook. What I got was not an exercise about футбол (football) or шахматы (chess), but an audio file of a poem about cooking that I was supposed to transcribe.
Well, the last chapter was on cooking. Maybe this is a helpful review, I thought as I set about scribbling down words I knew and sounds I didn't. Transcriptions always take me a long time, and after I finished with this one, I was running out of steam. So I decided to switch gears and translate it into English.
Хозяйка однажды с базара пришла,
Хозяйка с базара домой принесла
Картошку, капусту, морковку, горох,
Петрушку и свеклу. Ох!
Накрытые крышкою, в душном горшке
Варились, варились в крутом кипятке
Картошка, капуста, морковка, горох,
Петрушка и свекла. Ох!
И суп овощной оказался неплох!
The missus one day from the market came back,
From the market she brought on the homeward track
Cabbage, potato, carrots and peas
Parsley and beets … oh, please.
Covered with a lid in a dark pot,
They cooked in water, boiling hot!
Cabbage, potato, carrots and peas
Parsley and beets … oh please.
But the vegetable soup did appease.
The poem is called « Овощи» ("Vegetables"), by Yulian Tuwim, translated from Polish into Russian by Marshak (Спасибо за информацию, Петр). Russophiles, what do you think of my translation? I really wanted to make it rhyme and scan at least a little, and since I don't know what Ох! means, I suppose I changed the feelings towards the vegetables. This made me appreciate the terseness of Russian -- I had to add all kinds of articles, and expand prefixes into compound verbs. Lame.
Russian vocab of the day:
болеть чем-либо: to be ill, be down with something
болеть за кого-либо: to root for, be a fan of
Days until I get on a plane: 36.
Well, the last chapter was on cooking. Maybe this is a helpful review, I thought as I set about scribbling down words I knew and sounds I didn't. Transcriptions always take me a long time, and after I finished with this one, I was running out of steam. So I decided to switch gears and translate it into English.
Хозяйка однажды с базара пришла,
Хозяйка с базара домой принесла
Картошку, капусту, морковку, горох,
Петрушку и свеклу. Ох!
Накрытые крышкою, в душном горшке
Варились, варились в крутом кипятке
Картошка, капуста, морковка, горох,
Петрушка и свекла. Ох!
И суп овощной оказался неплох!
The missus one day from the market came back,
From the market she brought on the homeward track
Cabbage, potato, carrots and peas
Parsley and beets … oh, please.
Covered with a lid in a dark pot,
They cooked in water, boiling hot!
Cabbage, potato, carrots and peas
Parsley and beets … oh please.
But the vegetable soup did appease.
The poem is called « Овощи» ("Vegetables"), by Yulian Tuwim, translated from Polish into Russian by Marshak (Спасибо за информацию, Петр). Russophiles, what do you think of my translation? I really wanted to make it rhyme and scan at least a little, and since I don't know what Ох! means, I suppose I changed the feelings towards the vegetables. This made me appreciate the terseness of Russian -- I had to add all kinds of articles, and expand prefixes into compound verbs. Lame.
Russian vocab of the day:
болеть чем-либо: to be ill, be down with something
болеть за кого-либо: to root for, be a fan of
Days until I get on a plane: 36.
Monday, June 25, 2007
The Luck Keeps Rolling In
Preparations for travelling abroad have been going quite well.
This Sunday, I met with Sarah K., a cheerful young lady from Appleton who joined our Russian class for spring term. She has been to Russia a few times and offered to share her accumulated wisdom with me. Since she was in the area this weekend, we made plans to meet up at the local independently-owned coffee shop.
Our visit was fruitful, let me tell you. Not only did she have excellent tips to share, like movies are cheaper in the morning than at night, not only did she give me her copy of the Lonely Planet's Guide to St. Petersburg (the best!) complete with notes, she is also mailing me the cellphone she used while she was there. How great is that?!
I'd been thinking that it would be a good idea to purchase a мобильный телефон once I got to St. Petersburg, чтобы make international phone calls and call someone for directions if I ever should get lost. Did I say 'if'? I meant 'when.' I hadn't completely resolved to get one, but now a free one is on its way to my doorstep.
Russian vocab of the day:
успех: that which has been dotting the past few weeks.
долг благодароности: what I owe Sarah.
This Sunday, I met with Sarah K., a cheerful young lady from Appleton who joined our Russian class for spring term. She has been to Russia a few times and offered to share her accumulated wisdom with me. Since she was in the area this weekend, we made plans to meet up at the local independently-owned coffee shop.
Our visit was fruitful, let me tell you. Not only did she have excellent tips to share, like movies are cheaper in the morning than at night, not only did she give me her copy of the Lonely Planet's Guide to St. Petersburg (the best!) complete with notes, she is also mailing me the cellphone she used while she was there. How great is that?!
I'd been thinking that it would be a good idea to purchase a мобильный телефон once I got to St. Petersburg, чтобы make international phone calls and call someone for directions if I ever should get lost. Did I say 'if'? I meant 'when.' I hadn't completely resolved to get one, but now a free one is on its way to my doorstep.
Russian vocab of the day:
успех: that which has been dotting the past few weeks.
долг благодароности: what I owe Sarah.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Extended Stay
I checked my email yesterday and was surprised at the mass of unread messages waiting for me. Here at home, email to my Lawrence account has dwindled to about one a day. I sorted through the ones informing me about the new voicemail options at Lawrence and the ones about finances to get to the most the Easter egg, titled "Change in Program End Date."
Now, the original date of the group flight back to the States was Dec. 30. This was frustrating to me because it meant I would just barely miss the New Year, which is a big deal in Russia. But here was the assistant director telling me that we would be staying for exam week, rather than leaving early, как обычно. The new return date is Jan. 12, which means I'll be in St. Petersburg for New Year's and Christmas!! I am really excited and I've been telling anyone who will listen. The secondary great thing is that the later return date justifies my taking off a term even more. Winter Term starts Jan. 6, and while I could arrange to return early, I've pre-saved myself the hassle of doing so.
The excitement has carried me through to the creation of this blog. I've told enough people that I'm going to keep a blog while I'm in St. Petersburg that I surely had better. So here we are.
Russian vocab of the day:
С новом годом! и С рождеством Христов!: two holiday greetings I will be using in St. Petersburg.
С днем благодарения! и С Хэллоуином!: two holiday greetings I doubt I will be using in St. Petersburg, unless we American students get together and roast our own turkey or knock on each others' doors for candy.
Now, the original date of the group flight back to the States was Dec. 30. This was frustrating to me because it meant I would just barely miss the New Year, which is a big deal in Russia. But here was the assistant director telling me that we would be staying for exam week, rather than leaving early, как обычно. The new return date is Jan. 12, which means I'll be in St. Petersburg for New Year's and Christmas!! I am really excited and I've been telling anyone who will listen. The secondary great thing is that the later return date justifies my taking off a term even more. Winter Term starts Jan. 6, and while I could arrange to return early, I've pre-saved myself the hassle of doing so.
The excitement has carried me through to the creation of this blog. I've told enough people that I'm going to keep a blog while I'm in St. Petersburg that I surely had better. So here we are.
Russian vocab of the day:
С новом годом! и С рождеством Христов!: two holiday greetings I will be using in St. Petersburg.
С днем благодарения! и С Хэллоуином!: two holiday greetings I doubt I will be using in St. Petersburg, unless we American students get together and roast our own turkey or knock on each others' doors for candy.
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