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.


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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.