Hang on a tic

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).

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.

1. Pickpocketed on Nevsky Prospect!
2. Drinking Tea with a Corporate Party Organizer, his Wife, and their Two Parrots.
3. 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.

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.