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!
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
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).
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