From Russia, With Love

2006-12-30T13:39:00.000-08:00

Megan and Phil Almost Get Kicked Off A Train in Slovakia/Soldiers, Part 2

Hello all!

Happy New Year! I hope everyone kicks off a prosperous and healthy new year with a wonderful time tonight! Have fun and be safe! I write to you from Vienna, where all the men wear button-up shirts with pullover sweaters, you must open metro car doors yourself, and Phil has trouble with nearly every normal door he tries to open or close. We arrived two days ago, after a relatively quiet train ride from Budapest. Given our track record with trains, I was very nervous, but our only problem with this train was that one of our seats simply didn’t exist. No #57. Some general confusion followed, as a middle school Austrian girls handball team thought they had our seats as well. Their coach was asking me if we had reservations, and though he initially asked in German, he switched to English when it was clear I didn’t quite understand. However, I am still not used to not answering in Russian, especially if I hear a foreign language. It is just my default second language. So when he asked if we had reservations, I answered in a mix of Russian and English, and he said, “English?” I said, “Yes.” And probably to judge how well I spoke English, he then asked sternly where I was from. I responded, “America.” At which point he probably thought, “Oh good, so it’s not a language problem, this girl is simply an idiot.” But we got it all worked out (turns out they had switched trains to one with 6-seat compartments instead of 8-seat), and the coach told us all sorts of things about Hungary and Vienna. But that story is NOTHING compared to our train ride before that, from whence comes the title of this story.

So, Phil and I just have remarkably bad luck when it comes to trains. You know about our experience with the Polish soldiers. Our next train was a night train from Krakow to Budapest. We knew things had started well, when, at the Krakow train station, we ran into none other than one of the soliders from the ride two days before. I couldn’t believe it, and I doubt you readers would either, if I didn’t have Phil and a picture to back me up (see attached).

Anyway, we then got on the train and were pleased to discover that we had a two-person sleeping car together. It’s what we ordered, but we’d had doubts as to weather or not it would actually happen. Things seemed too good to be true—and they were. About 30 minutes after boarding, as we were getting ready to go to sleep, the conductor knocked. He had no idea what our European East Rail passes were, and was claiming that we didn’t have valid tickets. We tried to explain, but to no avail. He didn’t speak English, but said that he understood Russian, so he was arguing in Polish and we were arguing in Russian (while being panicked I was still very proud of us). We got nowhere and ended up paying 82 Polish zlotys, which isn’t a whole lot, but annoying because a) we’ve already paid a fortune for our train tickets and reservations, and b) we’d already gotten rid of all of our Polish money! Phil only had Euros and Dollars, and I had 140 Russian rubles. The conductor wouldn’t accept Euros, so then we had to go knocking on other compartment doors asking if people would be willing to trade us zlotys for either Euros or Dollars. Super sketchy, right? If that had happened to me, I would have refused, that’s for sure. Thought it was a scam or something. But I guess we don’t look too threatening and one nice American around our age traded us, and Phil gave him plenty more than the zlotys were worth, just to be on the safe side and so to know we weren’t ripping him off. So then I found the conductor and paid, and after the transaction, said in Russian, “Everything’s okay?” and he said, “Well, until we get into Slovakia.” I was like, “WHAT?!” The train went through Poland, then Slovakia, then into Hungary, and we had paid our way to the Slovakian border. At this point we were both pretty mad and Phil called his dad who called the rail company which said that the passes were definitely valid for all of our countries of travel, and that they had heard of some conductors who just didn’t know what the passes were, but if we had to pay we should just get a receipt and then we’d be reimbursed. So we did that, and went to bed. We were woken up at 3:15 for Slovakian passport control, and then after that I guess they decided our passes were fine, because we didn’t have to pay again and they didn’t kick us off the train. But every time the train stopped in Poland, we waited with baited breath, terrified that they were going to kick us off. I guess the conductor just thought that our pass wasn’t valid for Poland—every other country in Europe was fine, but not Poland. Even though we’d used the same pass to go from Warsaw to Krakow. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure both of those towns are in Poland. So whatever. We made it through the Slovakian border and then at 5:30 through the Hungarian border, finally arriving in Budapest around 9:45. However, just seeing Budapest on the ride to our hostel cheered me up. It is an amazing city—the most beautiful city I’ve ever seen, hands down. I didn’t think St. Petersburg could so easily be topped, or so quickly, but Budapest was wonderful. I definitely want everyone to go! Now we are in Vienna, and yesterday we saw all of the great Hapsburg sites here as well as a number of Starbucks. The first time I saw one I nearly cried. I know, I know, that is such an awful symbol of American culture, but when you’ve been in Russia for four months, even something like Starbucks makes you feel at home. This is the first time in months that Phil and I have been on the other side of the Iron Curtain, and boy, is it obvious.

Again, I wish you all a wonderful and happy New Year’s Eve and Day (enjoy those bowl games for me, please! Even maybe tape them…), and the next time you hear from me I should be Stateside. I love you all!

Megs

2006-12-25T07:35:00.000-08:00

Megan, Phil, and Six Polish Soldiers
Greetings from Krakow, Poland! An adorable and pretty town, but absolutely deserted on Christmas Eve! Today, however, the main market square was hopping with people and we mingled with the natives, drank their spiced brandy-tea-wine concoction, ate gingerbread, and got attacked by pigeons. Our hostel is nice and our room has purple walls and is decorated with cast-offs from Cindi Lauper’s wardrobe. Phil fits right in. We left Russia two days ago, and already I have amazing travel stories.

The best happened yesterday. We took a 2:00 train to Krakow from Warsaw, which was by far one of the most interesting experiences of my life thus far. Turns out that catching a Polish train is kind of like running with the bulls. Yes, you may have a wagon and seat number, but other than that, there is no order. And the fact that many people had luggage (Phil and I did not stand out remarkably) does not slow anyone down. Our bags ended up just staying in the hall outside our compartment. Phil and I were fortunate to be in an 8-person compartment with 2 Polish soldiers and their 4 drunk buddies, all young guys. Possibly the most awkward 3 hours of my life. They spoke very few words of English, and our Russian did not get us very far. Kristoph, who was drunk, was the first to take a liking to me. The exchange went something like this:
“Megan,” he told me numerous times, “you are good. Very good. You are okay. Wonderful. Beautiful! Yes, beautiful.”
Me: “Thank you.”
Kristoph: “I. You. My house. We…hungry.”
His friend: “Dinner. He wants dinner. With you. That is all. Maybe.” (laugh)
Kristoph: “Polish-Polish-Polish.”
His friend: “Jesus Christ. Shit.”
Kristoph: “Polish-Polish-Polish.”
His friend: “Say no.”
Second friend (taps me on the knee): “Smile!”
Third friend: “My friend—he tell me—you have beautiful smile.”
Second friend: “Smile!”
Kristoph: “Megan. Megan. Good. Hungry.”
Me: “No thank you.”
Second friend: “Smile!”
Kristoph: “No?! Why no?”
Third friend: “You have boyfriend?”
Me: “Yes.”
Kristoph: “Martin, Polish-Polish-Polish.” (Martin turns off the light in the compartment)
All boys: “Ooooh!”
Third friend: “Romantic!” (moves across the car to sit next to me)
This went on for three hours, no joke. It was pretty much just three hours of six Polish guys hitting on me. Kristoph later made a very indecent proposal, which his friend translated into perfect English. And not once, during the entire trip, was one of them not smoking. Or drinking and then crushing their beer cans in a display of grisly man-strength. The only good to come from this (well, besides Phil’s and my amusement) is that the two soldiers (who have very dapper green berets) carried our bags off the train for us. And the good news? We get to do that three more times!

And to start with, leaving Russia, we had one of the most harrowing airport experiences of our lives. I feared for a while that we would be unable to leave the country! The cheap-os at Polish Air only permit 20 kilos of luggage (45 pounds). Not each bag, but together. Including carry-on luggage as well! I’m surprised they didn’t weigh us as well. Naturally, having spent 4 months in Russia, Phil and I were each over 20 kilos, so we had to fork over quite a bit. And I’m sure you all know my card drama, and my cards weren’t working so I had no cash. On top of that, Phil’s ATM card was either lost or stolen. Thankfully we scraped together enough cash and finally bordered our plane. We landed in Warsaw with only 30 zlotys to our names (about $10). And no map. But we found our bus and hostel with relative ease. And that evening I plugged something into a wall and blew a fuse (causing quite a few sparks and some smoke). The adapter was fine, but I did mess up the electricity in the hall. We spent the evening and yesterday morning wandering around Warsaw which had a very cute old town in addition to a very modern downtown. It was amazing to think that only 60 years ago, Warsaw stood in complete rubble. It had been systematically destroyed, block by block, by the Nazis and has been entirely rebuilt.

And now that my time in Russia has come to an end, I’d like to take a few moments to reflect on the last four months.

Overall, this has been an amazing experience, and I think it goes unsaid that I believe everyone should study abroad. I wish I could make this a year. My Russian has improved immensely (though, given where I started, it still isn’t great, but I’ve survived) and I’ve made some wonderful friends. I had expected, after listening to study abroad advisors and other friends, to have a rough period for a while. However, I am fortunate to have only had one or two really awful days when I really wanted to return to the U.S. There were some bad moments—most of which involved trolleybus #33. Even on the last day, it couldn’t cut me a break, as it spontaneously changed its route because of a tram stuck in an intersection. So I had to get off and walk nearly a mile to school. Uphill and in the snow, truly. I may not have been carrying my baby brother on my back, but I was carrying a heavy bag of gifts for professors which, apparently, is obligatory in Russia, even in the university. This bus adventure seemed to be Russia’s way of saying goodbye, but reminding me that I may be leaving, but I haven’t left yet. Otherwise, even with the grease-soaked potatoes I would get for dinner (only in Russia do you hear the phrase, “It isn’t fattening, it’s only sunflower oil”), I’ve loved my time here and want to return as soon as I can!

St. Petersburg is a gorgeous city with real personality. It has been great to have even a small glimpse into Russian society and life. My belief that the Russian experience is a very complex one and should be more deeply explored by observers and students in the West was re-confirmed, and I feel privileged to have been able to observe first-hand the Russian reaction to international events like the deaths of Anna Politkovskaya and Alexander Litvinenko. Essentially, I have become more of a Russophile! ;)

It is of course very easy to pick up on the differences between Russian society and my own in America. And while it may be clichéd to say so, living here has enabled me to see that really, we are all just people. I’m not singing “Kumbaya” over here, all I’m saying is that while we may not necessarily understand each other’s culture or society, we don’t need to wonder what people in another country “are like.”

I hope all of you have enjoyed this blog. I’ve enjoyed writing in it, simply because I love to talk! Please check back occasionally, as I will continue to post any Russia-related ideas I have in the future on this site. And I will definitely add the many mishaps Phil and I are certain to have on our whirlwind Eastern European trip! Da svedanya!

2006-12-19T01:50:00.000-08:00

As I do, I managed to get myself into the stickiest, most bizarre and movie-like situation last Thursday night. These things only seem to happen to me. Here goes. I shall not bore the reader with details of how I came to be acquainted with one Dr. Alexei, simply suffice it to say that I know a man who practices physical rehabilitation for children with cerebral palsy and people with sports-related injuries. As part of volunteer work, I cleaned up his English resume for him, and he then invited me to his clinic to see his work for myself. So I went. We went into one of the exercise/exam rooms, and he was telling me about his work, when he remarked, “You’re not wearing your athletic uniform.” I was like, “No…I’m not.” He then said (this is all in Russian, by the way), “Well, okay, no problem,” proceeded to grab me and sit me on a bouncy yoga ball and then stood behind me and pushed down on my shoulders and suddenly, I was bouncing. Taken about, I managed to sputter, “Oooh!...O-kay…what are we doing?” Then he proceeded to flip me on to another yoga ball, on my stomach, and bounced me on that. So I’m bouncing and flailing about, and he is pushing and making me do all these resistance strength exercises. I had NO idea what I was doing! And because I didn’t really understand his Russian instructions, he was basically just grabbing me and flipping me around and what not. Occasionally he would yank me on to my feet and lead me around the room by the arm saying, “Now we walk, now we walk!” Meanwhile, I’m actually biting a cut into the side of my cheek trying not to laugh. As foolish as I know I looked, I really wished that what was happening was being captured on tape, because words simply don’t do it justice. Then he finally told me (after at least seven really awkward minutes) to relax. So I’m leaning on this yoga ball, and he then again flips me over on my stomach on this ball, has me put my hands on the back of my head, and proceeds to tickle me. And it wasn’t nice tickling! It hurt! It was hard and really got to the muscle. And he went all over my back and down my legs and then flipped me over, and did my stomach and legs. And I was totally wiggling and squirming and was slapping his hands away and saying “Stop, stop!” Awkward, no? And then, suddenly, he went back to telling me about his work, and I’m sitting there, hair completely a mess, and saying, “Oh, uh-huh, really, interesting!” and trying to act like nothing bizarre had just happened. I really wish I had it on tape. Whatever your image of me is, face down on a yoga ball, slapping away a Russian doctor who is tickling me, I guarantee the reality was ten times funnier.

2006-12-15T03:47:00.000-08:00

As soon as I land in the beautiful U.S. of A. and am safely home, I plan on dumping all of my clothes at once into a washing machine, after which they will be dried in a drying machine. As my clothes are being cleaned, I shall drink water straight out of the faucet, probably just putting my mouth on the spigot. Then I will go for a run at midnight in complete safely to Starbucks and purchase a BIG, TO-GO, BREWED cup of coffee.

2006-12-11T02:41:00.000-08:00

Old Spies and Old Suspicions Die Hard (my thoughts on Alexander Litvinenko's death and other musings...)

When Alexander Litvinenko, Putin critic and self-exiled former Russian FSB agent, died in London on November 23 of radioactive polonium-210 poisoning, talk instantly turned to “whodunit?” and “why?” Indeed, all throughout his long and undoubtedly painful death that began after falling ill on November 1, speculation ran wild and it was hard not to feel that we were living out some fabulous Cold War spy flick. The intrigue! The mystery! Well, most members of the Western press have succeeded in removing the guess work for us and almost universally accuse one person of masterminding the murder: Russian President Vladimir Putin. In fact, they are so adamant in their assertion that Putin must have done it, that Scotland Yard should have a pretty easy task ahead of them.

For most people, it is easy to accept the suggestion that Putin was responsible. It seems like such a ‘Russian’ thing to do. After all, what is Russia? A snowy, anti-democratic country steeped in corruption and mafia types chugging vodka and offing each other in a battle for oil and gas money. Oh, and bears. Lots of bears. So this Litvinenko murder fits right in. However, the accusation that Putin is to blame lacks one important element: logic.

It is very possible that we will never know who killed Litvinenko, but Putin’s involvement is highly unlikely. He simply does not stand to gain enough. On the contrary, after Litvinenko, Putin is the one suffering the most from this scandal, as his leadership ability has been called into question by even more level-headed commentators not quite ready to point any fingers. The fall-out from Litvinenko’s murder could have been predicted, and any rational leader would see that the benefits don’t outweigh the risks. To his credit, Putin has over the last six years proved himself to be extremely rational. He is a logical and methodical man who acts, as a national leader should do, in the interests of Russia and Russians, and of extreme interest right now is Russia’s international political clout. This is seen as an incredibly important moment for Russia. In the last year, Putin and his government have pushed very hard for Russia to be recognized as a significant world player, hosting the G8 summit this summer in St. Petersburg and recently signing an agreement with the U.S. regarding Russian ascension to the WTO. Putin’s focus right now is on international affairs, and murdering Litvinenko would put at risk everything so delicately constructed within the last few months. It couldn’t be worth it. Litvinenko may have been a critic, but certainly not one of any importance. There are many dissenters, some of whom pose a much greater threat than Litvinenko. It does not make sense for the Russian government to bother with someone of Litvinenko’s consequence, or do it in such a long, drawn-out way that would garner so much attention. The huge onslaught of criticism Putin is facing now from the world is a hundred times greater than the criticism he received from Litvinenko.

Larissa Ivanovna Moskvitina, a professor of mass media at Saint Petersburg State University’s Center for Russian Language and Culture, agrees that it lacks logic to assume that Putin was to blame, and believes that Litvinenko’s murder is another result of the unending and shockingly complex war between secret Russian organizations. If one is to accuse Putin of cronyism and associating with shady characters, it is absolutely necessary to acknowledge that his self-declared enemies do the same. They are running in the same circle, just on the opposite side. However, it is easy for people who love black-and-white issues to disregard the dark and tainted past of men like Litvinenko and his colleagues, as long as they die proclaiming to do so in the name of freedom and democracy.

Litvinenko’s murder and the subsequent press reports have served to perfectly highlight a long-running negative trend in Western reporting on Russia. Whether it is a mindset left over from the Cold War, or simply laziness on the part of reporters to find a new story, Russia is always portrayed in Western media in the same way. Rarely is an article published about something other than corruption, oil and gas, anti-democratization, or murder. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if there were at least a variety of stories on these subjects. Unfortunately, all we see are the same tired tales about Russia’s ‘backward slide’ and the promotion of a very marketable image of Russia as an unpredictable mafia state. Readers can’t help but get the impression that, as the St. Petersburg Times appropriately put it, “Russian security services are running amok.” Even if one were to agree that it is unlikely that Putin or the Russian government was involved in Litvinenko’s death, the accusations and negative press coverage have taken their toll. Additionally there seems to exist a desire—almost a need—to demonize Putin. We are no longer talking about the Evil Empire; it’s time to get some perspective.

Good things are happening in Russia. Slowly but surely we can observe the development of a civil society. The government is also taking steps to more closely integrate with Europe. They want to prove that they can play with the big boys, and do so fairly. However, murders like Litvinenko’s and journalist Anna Politkovskaya’s are going to make it difficult for the Russians to convince the world that they are a modern, democratic state, and they certainly won’t be helped by unceasing negative Western commentary. This is certainly not to say that things in Russia are perfect. There are many problems, but it is important to not allow the recognition of such problems to turn into vast generalizations about Russia and Vladimir Putin. It is crucial that we demand not only a more sophisticated discourse, but also some critical thinking and simple logic when it comes to reporting on Russia.

2006-11-28T02:09:00.000-08:00

Smuggling Food
I have developed what in America, could be considered signs of an eating disorder. In fact, we all have. Many of us living with Russian host mothers have become excellent Food Smugglers. Here we agree that it is a matter of necessity, and much of our conversations tend to new methods of concealing what you haven’t eaten. The main problem we have is that we are simply fed too much. But unlike America, we truly are not allowed to leave the table until we have cleaned our plates. Entirely. All 16 courses. More like 5: salad, soup, hot dish, bread, tea, and sometimes dessert! It’s simply impossible to consume it in one sitting, but if you don’t, you will be lectured on the Siege of Leningrad and be reminded that “my father barely survived on a small morsel of bread to last him days! Now Esh, Esh!” I’ve often thought that if the moral of the story is not to waste food, then don’t give me so much to begin with. But instead I have a sneaking suspicion that the real moral is that you never know when you will eat again, so you should eat all you can when you have the opportunity. At any rate, not only are we faced with eating mountains of food, some of it far from tasty. I am certainly not a picky eater; in fact, I’ll eat almost anything that is put in front of me. But there are a few dishes that I simply cannot stomach. I refer mainly to the cold carp with its eyes still intact that I must tear apart myself. Yum. However, I also dislike the grey meat that made me throw up, the zucchini patties that are also grey and have a strange non-zucchini odor, and the bright orange tiny caviar spread on my bread for breakfast. (I thought it was cheese and bit in so eagerly.) My friends also have their kryptonite. For Jeannine, it would be the stuffed peppers that madder her sick. For Allison, it is the squash for breakfast. Laurie also gets strange breakfasts, which often consist of eggplant or frozen chow mein. Not only are we faced with the prospect of eating these foods, but eating copious amounts. This is where our sweet smuggling skills come in. Preferred methods of disposing food are:

-Flushing down the toilet. It would end up there anyway, in some form or another, so I’m just eliminating the middle man (my stomach).
-Bringing a small bag to the table and sneaking the unsavory morsels into it, then putting it in your rucksack and taking it to school the next day to throw away. We all have, at some time or another, pulled a sack of days-old meat from our bags and showing it off before tossing it.
-One of my personal favorites, pretending to blow your nose and spitting the food into the napkin.
-Wrapping food in a napkin and then digging through the trash to place it at the bottom, concealed by banana skins and tea bags.

Those of us fortunate to have host mothers who are occasionally gone when we eat makes all of this much easier. Others must wait until they go and do something like walk the dog. If they are there, the blowing the nose trick works best, or wear a giant sweatshirt with a pocket to dinner for optimal sneaking. And just last night, I was almost caught red-handed with a bag of strange meat. I was about to hide it in my room when I heard someone coming and I quickly put the bag down my sweatpants to conceal it. These food games are all quite unhealthy, this we know. It’s mentally stressful, having to spend whole weekend vacations worrying if host mothers will find the bag of food hidden in the bedroom. And while certainly the important thing is to be grateful for the food and acknowledge that yes, many people died without bread during the Great Patriotic War, and yes, there are starving children around the world, I challenge anyone to that carp.

2006-11-28T02:08:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving
So do any of you remember the Great Stir-Fry Fiasco of last June? If not, it is basically what it sounds like: I made some stir-fry that went horribly wrong. In my defense, however, I was not solely responsible for the failed dish; my uncle was complicit in the disaster as well. So when I, along with my friends here in Petersburg, decided to make our very own Thanksgiving dinner last week, I was preparing for Stir-Fry Fiasco: Part II. I figured, not only was I going to attempt to cook, but do it in Russia, which could only magnify my ineptitude. The day before Thanksgiving, three of us went to an upscale foreign grocer to see if we could find Thanksgiving stuff. But I could just tell that this was probably not going to be a very good meal.
One: I was involved.
Two: None of us had ever prepared Thanksgiving foods before. And we didn’t have any recipes. So if you happened to understand English, you would have heard three girls wandering around this store saying things like, “Do you just plop the can of pumpkin stuff into the crust? Do you add stuff?...How do you make a pie crust?”
Three: Despite being at an “upscale” “foreign” grocer, they didn’t have many of the things we were looking for (did you know you can’t find brown sugar or baking soda abroad? And the can of pumpkin was brought by Laurie’s parents last week). So we were improvising. Which, as we all know, can be very dangerous. Especially since we weren’t improvising off of a recipe to begin with. The day of Thanksgiving, one of my friends and I left school early to go to a large outdoor market and try and wrangle us a chicken. That was fruitless, but we did get plenty of catcalls from the foreign produce men. We ended up buying a bucket o’ chicken at KFC, which worked just as well. I had a feeling that after hours of slaving in a tiny kitchen, we’re going to end up sitting around a loaf of bread and chocolate bars and the sparkling apple juice we bought. We were surprised we found the sparkling apple juice. And we’re not really sure if it is what we want, but it looks right. It says ‘Sparkling Apple Juice,’ but you don’t trust that kind of thing in Russia. One friend suggested, if we couldn’t find any, mixing sparkling water and apple juice. Which is a whole lot better than my idea of blowing bubbles through a straw into the apple juice.

However, much to my delight, the dinner was not a disaster! It took 3 hours, yes, to prepare relatively simple foods, but in our defense we were in a tiny kitchen that overflowed with just four of us and had to keep reusing pots. We had the fried chicken, mashed potatoes from a box (which were actually very tasty—we made a chicken-mushroom soup, also from a box, to use instead of water and the result was delish), sautéed vegetables, seasoned with BBQ flavoring (it was either that or plum sauce) and stuffing. The stuffing was perhaps the most difficult and unique dish. Unable to work the oven, we started to cook our stuffing (essentially just brown bread that Jeannine and I tore quite excellently, if I say so myself, and green onion, with the egg and some of the soup mix) in a big pot on the stove, but we then forgot about it and it burned the bottom. So we resorted to a smaller pan. In the end, it tasted rather burnt and gross, but it wouldn’t have been Thanksgiving without it. To top it all off, a can of cold green beans that took Allison maybe 25 minutes to open and in the process completely mauled the can, as can openers apparently don’t exist in Russia. All of that on our classy KFC plates, with sparkling apple juice and Soviet Champagne, and we had us a lovely Thanksgiving meal. At was, at least, interesting and will be one of my most memorable Thanksgiving dinners ever. Afterwards, we watched Christmas movies to get the season started off right. Please enjoy the attached pictures of our follies.

2006-11-23T00:22:00.000-08:00

Free "Pakiets??" Surely you jest!

We recently discovered that in Granada, Spain all the bars there still give you a free tapas when you order a drink. Apparently no other place in Spain still does that. This excites people living in Russia, where you have to pay for a plastic bag at the grocer. We’ve all started hording “pakiets” and get really, sadly excited when they are either a) free, or b) of excellent quality. In Moscow we were at a grocer that had free bags, and at first we didn’t take any, but then as we were carrying them out our items in our arms, the cashier was like, “Do you want a bag?” and we were like, “Free?” and she said, “Yes, of course.” And we legitimately flipped out and were like, “Oooh, becplatniy pakieti!” We totally all triple-bagged too, so we could use them later. I’m going to be so weird when I come back. So note to everyone out there NOT in Russia: enjoy your free bags (or tapas) whenever you can!

2006-11-14T02:27:00.000-08:00

Chornobyl

I just returned from a week-long trip to Ukraine. We stayed primarily in the capital, Kiev. The highlight of the trip was undoubtedly our little excursion to Chornobyl. Yes, Chornobyl as in the nuclear reactor that blew up 20 years ago, spewing radioactive waste across Ukraine, Belarus, Russia, and the Scandinavian states. Saying that makes me feel pretty hard-core. At any rate, it was certainly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The place is not open to the public, so to go you must arrange a private tour through a travel agency and pay a pretty sum. Western medical authorities agree that a day spent in the area (not AT the center, of course) is fine, so don't worry, we aren't radioactive. Well, not very. So we arranged a tour, and a very nice man named Vladimir picked us up at our hostel at 9 am. We then drove the two hours to the Chornobyl region (and yes, you spell Chornobyl with an 'o,' not Chernobyl) and went through two security checkpoints where Ukrainian police officers checked our passports (too bad we didn't get a 'Chornobyl' stamp. That would have been cool. But would probably make international travel rather difficult). We first arrived at the work station, which is in the 45 km zone. There are 3 zones around the center: 10 km, 30 km, and 45 km. We toured the 45-30 km zones, seeing a few monuments to the 31 local firefighters who were sent in to clean up the mess right after the accident, inadequately equipped and entirely unaware of the effects of nuclear radiation. All died within 6 months, and the vast majority within 6 days. We also saw a river littered with boats used to bring stone and concrete to build the sarcaphogus around the reactor, and a yard with the trucks and tanks used in the clean-up. We then ate lunch at the station with some of the workers, and finally had a chance to use the phrase found in our phrasebook, "Is this food radiation-free?" (I kid you not. We didn't actually ask, though. The book also had the phrase, "Does your country really need nuclear power?") After lunch it was off to the reactor. We drove and stopped periodically for Denis (our guide) to point out various sites: the other reactors, a heating unit, and a nuclear waste disposal site that the French promised to build but haven't finished (he seemed bitter). We could take pictures until we got really close, when we had to put our cameras away. Then we arrived at the bottom of Reactor #4, where the radiation level at the bottom was 400 micrograms. (At the work station 45 km away is was about 20, in Kiev it is about 10 or 12, and at the top of Reactor #4 it is 45,000!!) We were only there for about 5 minutes and were allowed to take photos "in one direction." Workers were there, and they are permitted to work in lead suits for 20-40 minutes. When the accident occured, people only worked for only 1 minute at a time. Dormitories are set up in the 45 km zone for the workers, who work for periods of about 15 days and then have 15 days off. Other than that, the entire region is pretty much evacuated, with the exception of about 50 people who have insisted on returning. Seeing the reactor was mind-boggling. It is hard to imagine that it could be so dangerous, as all you see is what looks like construction on an old building. I know this seems like a no-brainer, but the radiation is absolutely invisible yet so dangerous. It's strange. When we arrived at the reactor, a cute dog ran up to our guide, clearly excited to see him and visitors. It broke our hearts, as we knew that this dog would probably die soon. Who knows how long he had been running around Chornobyl! We then took off for the ghost town of Pripyat. It was a fairly new town, built in 1970 for the workers and their families (the power plant opened in 1977). When the accident occured, 1200 buses were used to evacuate almost all of the 50,000 people in town within 3 hours. For some reason that Denis was unable to explain, people had returned at various times since '86 and looted some of the buildings. We went through deserted schools, apartment buildings, and the police station. The town really does have an eerie feeling, totally empty. (The fact that it was cold and grey out of course totally added to the mood.) Denis warned us not to step on the moss, as it was extremely radioactive, but then of course proceeded to take us to places totally overrun with moss. We were leaping from rock and rock, trying to save our shoes. The moss was outrageous: he measured over 2000 micrograms of radiation on it! But the dirt immediately next to it was only a few hundred. Moss is just extra-absorbant. After wandering around Pripyat for a while, we saw some of the surrounding countryside (which was actually quite pretty--you could tell that the area must have been beautiful before the accident) and then returned to the workstation for (dun dun dun!!) our radiation tests. Thankfully we all passed, but it was a heart-stopping moment, as you wait for the little machine to light up green!

It was definitely a unique experience: it felt a little weird and very sobering. On the way back to Kiev, we shared a ride with three women who worked at the station who talked incessently for two hours in Ukrainian about how much they hate foreigners, not realizing that we could understand most of what they were saying. The driver knew we spoke Russian, as I had a conversation with him, but I guess it never crossed the minds of these ladies. That definitely left a sour taste in my mouth, as I otherwise had a very favorable impression of Ukraine and Ukrainians. However, I can understand where they were coming from. For all they knew, we were there to scorn the accident or Ukraine or something. I mean, we were these four 21-year-old American kids taking a tour of Chornobyl (who does that?). But they didn't know us! We're studying in Russia, for crying out loud, and took our vacation in Ukraine! It's not exactly a pleasure cruise. We were generally interested in what had happened and the history of this region. I'm surprised, however, that they never considered that we might speak Russian or Ukrainian. I imagine a lot of tourists who don't speak French go to Paris, but I think very few people go to Ukraine (in November at that rate!) who have absolutely no knowledge of the language or history. It's not the most popular destination.

Some numbers about Chornobyl:
-400 micrograms of radiation at the ground of Reactor 4
-45,000 micrograms at the top
-4000 ppl. work there now, for 20-40 min (used to be just 1 min)
-almost 130,000 have died in 20 years
-31 firefighters right away--didn't know about nuclear radiation
-if more than 30 micrograms of radiation got on our shoes, we would have leave them
-10,000 micrograms accumulated in a day and a worker could get fired
-50,000 ppl. in Pripyat (est. 1970)
-Chornobyl opened in 1977
-last reactor (3) stopped in 2000
-1200 buses to evacuate all ppl in town in 2 hours (totally gone in 36)
-happened @ 1:26 am

2006-11-14T02:26:00.000-08:00

04.11.2006
Shopping in Russia

One thing that I am certainly well-qualified to make observations of in Russia is shopping. I am undoubtedly a pro. A few weeks ago a few of us went shopping for winter coats and boots, and in Moscow we bargained with the best of them for fur hats, and here are a few observations for your enjoyment.

**All Russian fitting rooms come equipped with a pair of atrocious three-inch heels (the best being white plastic open-back “animal skin”) for you to try on with pants. Because why, God forbid, would you wear anything other than three-inch heels?

**There is no such thing as “too small.” You can always squeeze into something. My friend Allison was trying on a pair of black pants and stuck her head out of the fitting room, whispering desperately to me and Jeannine, “They don’t fit! I need the next size up!” At which point the Russian saleslady bustled over, whipped open the curtain to reveal Allison in skin-tight pants that sure enough didn’t fit, and proceed to get down on her knees, pull and tug the pants in various directions, and zip them up herself. “Beautiful!” she proclaimed and ordered me and Jeannine to compliment Allison. “They’re too small! How would I ever get them on?” Allison said again. “Don’t worry,” I responded. “Jeannine and I will help you.” We finally convinced the woman to let Allison try a different pair, but she was none too pleased. Similarly, when I was buying my coat, I found one that fit just right, and the salesgirl asked, as if it was maybe part of a required speech, “Maybe smaller?” No! If anything, I’d go bigger.

**Russian women do not buy shoes for comfort. I got many strange looks when I tried out my boots by walking around the store in them. The only reason you would put them on is to see how they would look. Why would you walk around?

**Russian women also have impossibly small calves. We all had to reject numerous pairs of tall winter boots because we couldn’t zip them over our apparently ENORMOUS legs. Perhaps if we bought the smaller sizes, as they all encouraged, we would be convinced to lose weight. Perhaps that is their hidden message. If so, then they need to stop feeing us like we were the defensive line for the Steelers.

**If the price of an item is negotiable, you use whatever tools are at your disposal to lower the price. If this means letting the toothless fur-hat seller call you a princess and kiss your cheek and nearly squeeze-hug you to death, you let him. I just wish we had a picture of Allison being accosted by this man. But she ultimately was rewarded, in the form of a beautiful fur hat for only 1500 rubles.

2006-10-18T02:51:00.000-07:00

18.10.2006
Aleksandr, the One-Man Welcome Wagon

I don’t quite know why, but it seems that everyone in St. Petersburg feels inclined to talk to me. Just in the last two days around my apartment building, I’ve been stopped four times! It’s like there was an announcement in the neighborhood bulletin that I was in town and everyone should try and converse with me. The most interesting was Sunday night, after we returned from Tallinn. I got off the metro around 11:00 or so, at night. I was walking home, and as I passed the market, this man started walking beside me. He said, “You’re walking so quickly!” And I’m like, “Yes, well…it’s cold, and I’m trying to avoid sketchy men like you!” He then said something else and asked a question, but I had no idea what is was. I can usually handle the first question people ask me, but then, once I’ve jumped that hurdle, they decide to kick it up a notch and throw me a curveball. So this man says something, and it is pretty clear that I didn’t understand or know what to say. Then he said, “You’re not Russian?” They always say this, and I always think, “Oh, ya got me!” I said that no, I was not Russian, and for the first time I lied about my nationality: I said that I was Canadian. I don’t know why, I figured maybe if he thought I was Canadian he wouldn’t think I was either easy or rich, like the stereotypical American girl. Though I really don’t think it would have made much of a difference. Well, this really got him going, and he introduced himself and started asking me all sorts of questions. -Do I live here with friends from university? -No. I live with my Russian mother. -Your mother is Russian? -No…never mind. -Is anyone in my family Russian? –Yes, but not in Petersburg. (I didn’t want him to think I was virtually alone in Russia.) –I don’t know any Ukrainians do I? Am I Ukrainian-Canadian? –No, and don’t worry, there are no Ukrainians in my town in Canada. I was really excited that I could carry on a conversation and understand nearly everything that was said. Granted, I was wishing that this enlightening conversation wasn’t happening with a random man following me home from the metro at 11 pm, but whatever. I finally reached my building, and I was like, okay, gotta go. And he walked through the courtyard with me, and he was like, “I live near here too!” (Fabulous.) He asked for my phone number, and I lied and said that I didn’t have a Russian phone yet. So instead he gave me his number and said that he lived near me, and “very singly.” He said that and his number in English, and repeated both several times. “444-84-20. You remember? You know? 444-84-20. You won’t forget?” I was like, “Got it.” I could just tell that he wasn’t sketchy, but situations like this make me nervous. I don’t know how to get rid of someone like that. He was clearly walking home with his groceries, and so he was going to see me anyway. But I didn’t like the fact that he walked into my courtyard, because then he could see which door I went into. How do I get rid of him? If I turned earlier, he would have gone that way. I guess you just have to judge each person individually. It was interesting, however, meeting Aleksandr, the One-Man Welcome Wagon.

2006-10-18T02:50:00.000-07:00

18.10.2006
Anna Politkovskaya

I’m sure by now many of you have heard about the murder of Anna Politkovskaya, a Russian journalist very critical of the war in Chechnya and an outspoken opponent of the Russian government. She was found in her apartment building Saturday 7 October, her head and chest riddled with bullets. Politkovskaya traveled often in Chechnya, where she reported on the atrocities of the fighting and was protected there by many locals. Both the Chechen government of Razman Kadyrov and Putin allies in Moscow despised Politkovskaya, but despite their palpable distaste for the journalist, we will probably never know who exactly orchestrated her murder. It is a very, very sad and disturbing event, one that has left me quite upset. I think it is a very complex issue. Clearly events like this one are horrific and absolutely groundless and inexcusable. However, her murder is part of a bigger picture regarding freedom of the press and terror in Russia, a picture that isn’t very black and white. This Chechen War (as well, of course, as the last one and the many other wars that occur in the Caucasus and Transcaucasus) is so multi-dimensional and I am often left not really knowing what to think. I spend much time trying to wrap my mind around the different aspects and interests of Chechnya, and I am usually left with no conclusion to show for my time and mental acrobatics. However, it is very clear that the murder of Anna Politkovskaya is absolutely horrible and leaves a void in the Russian—and worldwide—journalist community. I am pleased to be in Russia at this time, as I am interested to ask people what they make of this whole situation. It will be fascinating to watch this play out, as well as the disagreement (yet another) with Georgia. Any thoughts any of you may have, please, do share.

2006-10-17T04:35:00.000-07:00

17.10.2006

This last weekend our school group went to Tallinn, Estonia. It was great fun, and Estonia is my new favorite place. Tallinn was amazing. Also amazing, though in a different way, were our escapades on the Russian-Estonian border. Leaving and getting in was such a pain—this would be so much easier if it was 1978. (However, to be fair, this is true at borders all over the world, and not particular to Russia and/or Estonia. Disclaimer.) As you know, it isn’t easy to get into Russia. You have to have a visa (which of course we all have, good until December 24) and fill out a migration card, which we did when we flew in. Well, as we were pulling up to the first checkpoint in Estonia, one of our directors gave us new migration cards and actually said: “Okay guys! Have ready your passport and visa, and please hide your old migration cards!” Something about them not knowing we were previously in the country? Or we hadn’t left the country? It wasn’t very clear. But yes, we were actually encouraged to conceal things from Russian border officials. Then, once we got through the border, back into Russia, our bus driver stopped to pick up a guy who was trying to get a ride. (See earlier entry on Gypsy Cabs.) I was like, “Are you kidding me?” We ended up dropping him off in some field. Only in Russia.

2006-10-12T04:33:00.000-07:00

12.10.2006

Megan Takes a Gypsy Cab

So after a number of safety “incidents” on our program, our directors decided to take us by the hand and give us actual lessons in using an incredibly common and popular mode of transportation in Petersburg: The Gypsy Cab. (PS, If a “gypsy cab” is the recommended way of getting around, I don’t want to know what is considered sketchy.) These gypsy cabs are not run by actual gypsies (much to my dismay). You want to steer clear of actual gypsies, as they will hypnotize you and try to win your attentions and money with schnauzer puppies. Gypsy Cabs are people who drive around the city all day, picking up people who stand on the street and very disinterestedly put their hand out, down, by their side. They make a living doing this, but they don’t have meters and you must therefore haggle for a price. Yesterday, after school, our directors created a little game: they took those of us who were interested in learning the ways of the gypsy cabs (only 6 out of 55, which I think is a shame, as they paid for this and we got a lunch out of it) out to the street, gave us an address of a restaurant, and then observed (probably laughing in their heads) as we, in pairs, flagged down random cars and then argued with chain-smoking Russians in rattling cars to take us to 24 Gagirnaya Ulitsa. My friend Laurie and I were the last to arrive at the restaurant, but we also paid the least. Only 50 rubles! Only in Russia do travel directors not only approve riding with strangers, but teach you how to do it.

*Author’s Note: In exchange for creativity and humor, the author has perhaps made Gypsy Cabs sound wilder than they are. In reality, it is very common, safe, and our directors would never of course put us in any kind of danger. It is only sketchy by American standards. It is recommended to take rides in groups, and never, under any circumstances, get in a car with more than a driver. But that makes for a far less exciting entry.

2006-10-09T04:40:00.000-07:00

Greetings from an unseasonably-warm-yet-still-kinda-cold St. Petersburg!

Included in this post:
*Megan & Co. adventure to a naval base
*Russian Ne’er-Do-Wells steal Megan’s wallet on the metro
*Megan befriends real, live Russians!
*Megan finally does laundry after 37 days in this country
*in true Russian tradition, “A Day In The Life Of Megan Jayevna” (10 brownie points if you can name that literary reference)
*Megan finds a suitable summer vacation home in Tsarskoe Selo

I hope this post finds everyone healthy, happy, and warm. I am nearly all of those things: I’m feeling great (despite the fact that my host mother feeds me like I’m Jerome Bettis, and if she doesn’t stop I’ll look like him by December), excited about all the stuff I’m doing here, but starting to get pretty cold. It is highly unusual that we haven’t had any snow yet, and I’m quite thankful, but that doesn’t mean that it isn’t colder than I would prefer. Of course, I didn’t sign up to study abroad in the Bahamas. It is time I start looking into buying a winter coat, but I can’t, as…

…I was robbed on the metro! I’m perfectly fine and only embarrassed. It was last Wednesday and I was with two Russian adults when it happened! We got on the metro and this group of 5 or 6 boys shoved me and crushed around me, separating me from the two I was with. But they were “trying to get on the metro,” you know, so it was “okay.” They continued to push around some, and when I got off the train, sure enough, my stuff was gone (including credit cards). They then tried to buy plane tickets ($1600 worth! Dollars, not Rubles!) and withdraw a few hundred more. Haha, joke’s on them, I’m poor! I cancelled the cards, so it was okay, but now it’s kind of an inconvenience to wait for new ones to come. I talked to some real characters too, when I called to cancel my cards. Eric, at Bank of America, was so nice and concerned. He asked if my card was lost or stolen, and I said stolen, and when he asked how I told him and he said, “Well, how are you?” I said, “Fine, thanks,” and he said, “No, I mean, after this, are you doing okay? I want to make sure you are feeling alright!” I was like, “…Yeah, I’m fine…Thanks, Eric!” and then I had a crush on him for approximately the last three minutes of our conversation. Then I called Citibank and spoke with Madea (at least, that is what dubbed her). I asked if there had been any recent action on the card, and she said, “Hmm…oh Lord yes! They’ve been trying to use your card all over St. Petersburg, Russia!” and I said, “Oh, no, some of that is me.” And she said (I kid you not), “GIRL whatchu doin’ in Russia??” (Getting mugged on the metro, clearly. Duh.) I had to try so hard not to laugh—she really put this extra emphasis on “girl.” GIRL whatchu doin’ in Russia. Anyway, it was really no big deal, I’m just annoyed. I was doing everything right, too: bag under my arm, zipped, etc, but they are really good. Props to them. I had hidden money in other parts of my purse and my room, so I wasn’t completely out of cash. Like I said, though, I’m fine—this happens and could happen in any big city. The metro here is crazy, too. I’m sure I mentioned how huge the stations are and how during rush hour the crowds are just amazing. About two weeks ago I was getting on around 5pm with two friends, and the crowd started in the square in front of the metro. First of all, there are about 6 doors, but they lock all but one or two, so everyone is funneling in and then they all have to funnel through the turnstiles. I have been in pretty crowded places, but I’ve never seen anything like this. I literally didn’t have to move my feet and I was being swept along with the crowd. It was outrageous. But I’ve gotten pretty good by now at just shoving right along with the best of them.

Despite that little incident, that was actually a really great night as I met tons of real Russians through CCI and this Entrepreneurs’ Club. And after the meeting, where I was introduced as an American student studying here, I was bombarded with people who wanted to talk with me/help me with Russian/present me as a present. That last one was a bit of a language miscommunication: he wanted to present a gift to me, rather than present me as a gift to someone else. But, you know, minor detail. Really, though, I’m meeting with two people next week; one of whom works for a Russian NGO network (yay!) and the other who is starting her own company to teach foreigners Russian. Plus, I agreed with the director of the Club to help those members who were interested with their English. He asked if I could come four days a week for three hours a day, and I was like, “How do you say, ‘Are you out of your cotton-picking mind?!’ pa-russkie?” But I agreed to maybe two (because I’m also going to help at an orphanage!) and that I would go to the meeting again next Wednesday, where that sketchy man will present to me his present. I think he maybe wrote a book.

I have also done some stuff with the ladies in the CCI-St. Petersburg office. On Thursday night they bought me a ticket to a concert by a famous Russian singer (Evgeniya Smol’nonova) who does popular Russian national songs. For those of you who have never heard Russian singing besides TATU, I’ll have you know that the musical style and what is considered a beautiful voice in Russian music is quite different from our standards. (Which makes sense—it has a lot of roots in Eastern music.) She opened up her mouth, and what came out at first kind of sounded like someone was drowning a bag of cats. I shouldn't say that, though. I am exaggerating. But I then got used to it, and there were actually some very, very pretty songs. I very much enjoyed it. She performed in an old Russian custom and was accompanied only by a piano, 2 guitars, and one lady who played the accordion, flute, lute, and another unidentifiable instrument. Not at the same time, of course, but within the same song! I was impressed. I didn’t really understand a lot of the songs, but the CCI ladies tried to translate what they could. At one point, Lyudmila leaned over and said that this was a “horticultural song.” I was like, “A what?” She said, “You know, they sing it in the fields.” Oooh. Not like, crop rotation. Gotcha. Lyudmila also bought me a CD of this performer’s before the show, because she “just knew I would like her so much.” But that was so nice!

Lyudmila also has 2 daughters around my age who are in a band, and last Saturday she invited me to their concert at a little bar/jazz club. They were actually pretty good, and I met the girls. One of them invited me out for coffee with her and her friends, and they want to do more stuff! Something kind of interesting came up in our conversation, though. They asked me where most Americans vacation (Egypt? No. Turkey? No.), and I was trying to explain how it was different all over the country, and they asked if Cuba was popular. I said, “No, you know, actually, it sounds silly, but our government doesn’t get along with Cuba and Americans aren’t allowed to go there.” “Oh, why does America not like Cuba?” “Oh, it goes back a while, we don’t Fidel Castro and his government,” “Why is that?” “Well, they’re Communists...” and then I remembered who I was talking to. I mean, these girls are a few years younger than I am and don’t have any memory of the Soviet Union, but it’s still interesting to think that a lot of people around me have very clear recollections and strong opinions on the matter. Mention of the Soviet Union is kind of tricky and I’m still trying to figure out the general consensus and what is considered acceptable. It’s especially awkward as an American, because I’m not a citizen of a country where the Soviet Union was just another political entity. Even if it is no longer very strong, Russians (I believe) are very aware that in the U.S. the prevailing mindset was—and still is—anti-Soviet and anti-Russian. I think it is true of almost all Americans: though the political relationship is not as tense as it once was and we don’t hear about the “Evil Empire,” popular culture and recent history still paint a pretty dark picture of Russia. When people think of Russia, they often think of corruption, and the KGB, and poverty, etc. I mean, that’s even true for me, and I feel like I have had a pretty liberal and balanced education and upbringing, including a fair amount of information about the real Russia. But we still think Hunt for Red October. So I say all this just to illustrate my point: Given our former relationship, I am always very self-conscious when mentioning the Soviet Union because even if they aren’t (and there is no way to know without asking), I wonder if my Russian interlocuters are in turn wondering what I think about the Soviet Union and if I am passing judgment. Even though I’m not and am careful to use language that would not make it appear that I was, I always wonder if they are thinking, “What is she really trying to say?” simply because I’m an American in Russia. I think a huge amount of distrust still exists, on many different levels and between many different groups, but that is a discussion for another time, as I have gone on long enough.

The bottom line is, I’m really excited, because between all these different groups, I do stuff with real Russians almost every day after school and I feel like this is the kind of experience I wanted and is making my time here so much richer. But now about the naval adventure. Last Saturday, I went with three friends to Kronshtadt, a naval town/base on an island in the Finnish Gulf off the coast of St. Petersburg. Kronshtadt was constructed by Peter the Great and is particularly famous for an uprising of sailors which led to the end of War Communism. It was huge embarrassment for the Bolsheviks, as the sailors were one of their primary pillars of support. So, being the history buffs we are, we decided to check this place out. Well, you know you are going to be in for an adventure when the guidebook says that the highlight of your trip will be a diorama and your host mother looks at you quizzically and says, “Why?” when you mention where you are going. At any rate, to get there, we took one of the metro lines to the very end, where we then wandered around the station and asked 3 bus drivers which minivan or bus would take us to Kronshtadt. We finally found the correct bus, and drove about 35 minutes through the surrounding country and across a very strange land-bridge thing to the town. Once we got off the bus, there was no large sign and arrow saying, “MEGAN AND PHIL AND JEANNINE AND ALLISON, GO THIS WAY TO THE INTERESTING STUFF.” (Oddly enough). And you can’t ask anyone where Kronshtadt (the naval stuff) is, because a town has now sprung up around it and you’re technically already in Kronshtadt, and it is very confusing. I also think that it is some kind of cruel joke that the word for “tourist sites” or “places of attraction” is one of the longest words in Russian: doctiprimichatelni. Anyway, thanks to Phil’s guidebook (the same one that promised an amazing diorama) we found the naval cathedral and eternal flame, as well as Orthodox Nuns on holiday! We bought Russian sailor hats from a woman and took our picture next to a giant anchor. Actually, the three of us girls did that, whereas I think Phil preferred to pretend he didn’t know us. At any rate, the sailor hat pretty much made the trip worth-while for me. The babushka who sold them to us was super nice, too. She didn’t speak any English (they really don’t out in the country), but heard us and asked where we were from. We told her America, and she was absolutely tickled pink that we had come half-way around the world to Kronshtadt and were now buying her kitschy hats. (I don’t know who she sells them to, as this was not a tourist trap type of place.) She even gave us all free postcards and put the hats on our heads and wished us the best, further proving my theory that people in the countryside and regions are far nicer than in the city. We weren’t yelled at or scolded once that day, which for me is highly unusual. We then went into the museum in the cathedral (for 50 cents!! Imagine!!) and despite it being entirely in Russian, it was really interesting. They had like, bombs or whatever that they had salvaged from the water sitting in the corners. I’m almost positive they had been defused. Strangely enough, however, they did not have anything in the museum about the rebellion. Which is why we had trekked out there (that and the hats). I get the feeling that it’s something you don’t really talk about, and one of my professors later confirmed it. But we did see the diorama, and it was duly spectacular, and then we ventured to find some lunch. Unlike Petersburg, there was not a café every five feet, so we had some trouble finding one, but then we found a little room with two drunks and a woman in an apron watching TV. Quite hungry and devoid of any other options, we ate there, which I think really just completed our experience. On our way back to St. P, we took this little minibus that stopped for gas on the way! I mean, I suppose it has to be done…while pumping the gas, the driver also left the engine running and continued to smoke his cigarette. No one was fazed, except for the four Americans. All in all, it was quite an adventure and a fun day, and I’m glad we went.

Saturday our study group ventured to Pushkin, previously known as Tsarskoe Selo (which means “Tsar’s Village.” The name was changed after the revolution and named after Russia’s premier poet who studied in the town there). It is about 30 minutes south of St. Petersburg and has a number of palaces, the most prominent and famous being the Catherine Palace, built for Catherine I (Peter the Great’s wife, who ruled from 1725-1727, not Catherine the Great, who came later). The Catherine Palace was the official summer residence of the royal family, and the last Romanovs spent much time there. They primarily lived in the Alexander Palace, near the Catherine Palace in Tsarskoe Selo, and constructed for Tsar Alexander I when he was born. The Russian people had to be kept in the dark about the fact that Tsarevich Alexei (the only heir to the throne) was a hemophiliac, and it was easier to do that living outside of the city. It was to the Catherine Palace that the royal family was kept under house arrest after the February Revolution before being transported to Siberia and there executed. At any rate, we toured the Catherine Palace and Gardens, and it is absolutely amazing. I seem to say that about everything, but this place is definitely at the top of my list, along with Cpac na Kravee. It is so breathtaking and HUGE and beautiful. I wouldn’t mind living there. You know, part of the time. I think I finally found someplace that would have enough closet space for my shoes. The best part is that you have to walk down this gravel path along the side of the park and then turn a corner and bam!—the entire expanse of the palace is in front of you, and it is spectacular. I’ve added the pictures to my Shutterfly page and as you can see, the exterior is blue and white, very similar to Smolnyi Cathedral and Institute, where I study. The buildings were in fact designed by the same man, Rasterelli, and commissioned by the same woman, Catherine I. The palace is still undergoing major renovation and many of the rooms are not open yet, but even what we saw was really neat. There is one huge ballroom that is pretty much solid gold, and adjoining it on either side are a series of receptions and dining rooms for different groups when they would have a dinner or ball at the palace. They are all decorated the same, in gold and white damask silk, and if you stand at one end, the entrances line up perfectly and you can see all the way to the end of the palace, which is 300 meters long. Rasterelli really wanted to have this suite of seemingly continuous rooms, and it truly is breathtaking. Unfortunately, only half of the rooms were open and with all the people, I couldn’t get a very good picture of it. Also in the Catherine Palace is the famed Amber Room, referred to as the “eighth wonder of the world,” which you may have heard of. It is a room decorated entirely in amber, which is local to the St. Petersburg environs. Pictures are not allowed in the room, so you will have to imagine. But trust me, it is pretty awesome, and there is a very interesting story behind the room. It is in fact a reproduction of what the room originally looked like, as the Nazis sacked the entire palace during the Seige of Leningrad (hence the renovations still going on) and took the entirety of the Amber Room with them. They specifically came for the Amber Room, as the first of the amber panels were presented to Peter the Great as a diplomatic gift from the Prussian Emperor Frederick in order to entice Peter to sign an alliance (which he did). So the Germans made off with the entire Amber Room and after the war ended, a search for their whereabouts began. It was in vain, however, and to this day no one knows where the original amber panels are. Dun dun dun. I smell a real-life National Treasure kind of adventure coming on. After the Revolution, the Catherine Palace was turned into a museum (which really surprised me) and when the news of the German onslaught was heard, the curators tried to hide and preserve what they could, but unfortunately much was still lost. This is the case with the vast majority of the historical places around St. Petersburg. Damn Germans ruined everything! They are restoring everything using original methods however, which is why it is taking such an unbelievably long time, but the parts of the palace officially reopened in 2003 in time for the tercennary of St. Petersburg, and it is used even today for state functions. I particularly liked the gardens (that’s how you know I’m a Blair), and I think I would have spent hours walking around them if I lived there. Or now, if it wasn’t so cold.

Speaking of concerts, you will never guess who I saw perform! Andrea Bocelli! They had a free concert in Palace Square, which is this breathtaking square in the city with the Winter Palace/Hermitage on one side and another huge building on the other and a giant monument in the middle. It was the most majestic setting and I think perfect for a singer like Andrea Bocelli. Plus, it was free, so that was awesome. They put up a stage and he performed right there last Sunday evening, and then they finished the show with fireworks, which no one expected. Though I must say, an outdoor concert in the evening on October really isn’t a great idea; we were rather cold. I went with my friends Joe and Allison, and it was great! So beautiful and majestic. I felt like it was a very Russian-kind of evening. Big and grand.

Now, as promised, I shall also give you a description of daily life. Life in Russia is hard, as my day begins before sun-up. That last part is true—because we are so far north, the sun is no longer up when I get up at 7:30 (which really isn’t all that incredibly early). However, I do think it is incredibly unfair: if the sun isn’t awake then I shouldn’t have to be either. Life isn’t really that hard, but it is difficult to haul yourself out of bed into the cold when it is still black outside! I figure in about a month or so I won’t ever see the sun again, as it will only be out for about four hours a day, and that’s when I’ll be in school! After getting up, I shower and eat a quick breakfast that Emilia Filipovna prepares (days with apple pancakes are good, days with hot corn flakes or left-over hot dogs are not my favorites) and then head out to do battle with my ever-capricious bus. Once at school (I sure hope you all looked at Smolnyi either online or in my pictures, isn’t it amazing??) I study for either three hours (M, W, F) or five hours (Tuesday and Thursday). On longer days I usually take my lunch, as the food is kind of expensive and rather unidentifiable (typical of cafeterias worldwide, apparently). Plus, for the hundred rubles I could spend at Smolnyi, I could buy at the market enough blinis for a week, a 4-pack of yogurt, a bunch of bananas, and 2 2-liter water bottles. While food here isn’t horribly expensive, this is a city where eating out relative to cooking at home is quite pricey. After classes, I usually have something to do (go to an internet café, meet some friends at a museum, or brave the American-eating babushka at the Russian post office), after which I head home and do my mountains of grammar (and other) homework. I heat up whatever has been left for my dinner. Emilia Filipovna usually doesn’t get home until sometime between 8-10 and she sort of does her thing while I do mine. As I meet more people, I have had more and more things to do, which is great. This week I didn’t get back home before 9 once! Very rarely do I go out at night during the week, as it is dark early and cold and always takes me at least a good half hour to get anywhere and I don’t like being alone on the street at night. Occasionally however, we will go to the opera or ballet. St. Petersburg has a very long artistic tradition, and back in the day people would spend nearly every night at the theatre! Theatre programs are very interesting here: unlike the US, where a particular show or program will run at one place for a certain length of time, theatres here have a different bill every night! There are so many artistic troupes and theatres here, however, that it is easy to catch something you missed in a month or few weeks, but I’m just astounded by the flexibility. One night they will put on Swan Lake, then Gisele the next night, followed by Carmen on a third. But I digress. Weekends I spend mostly exploring the city. On Saturdays we often have a planned excursion, or if we don’t we create one of our own, and in the evenings we try to find an interesting bar or jazz club or movie to see. Sundays I do a little bit of exploring (while it still is decent I enjoy walking around; I’m saving the Russian Museum and the Hermitage for the really awful weather when I won’t want to go out of doors and can spend hours wandering) and do some homework. So there you have it: A Day In The Life of Megan Jayevna.

As far as food goes and what I eat, it’s not bad. There was only one thing I absolutely could not eat (I still gag just thinking about it—and don’t ask what it was, because I couldn’t tell you). Everything else is just average, though I probably wouldn’t prepare it for myself if I was on my own. I’m just sort of lukewarm about most food items, but there are a few things that I am absolutely obsessed with and I’m trying to figure out how I can fashion some sort of device to bring things back with me. Russians do desserts very well, and there is something called “seerok” sold in the frozen case at my local market that I LOVE. It is essentially a small, round little roll of cheesecake (about 4 bites) cased in chocolate. It’s amazing. “Seer” means cheese and it is basically a sweet kind of cheese, and other variants include one with coconut flavoring, carmel and peanut butter, or apricot. But the pure seerok is the best, and it is really rather embarrassing how often I go into the market and buy nothing but seerok. The best part is they are only 14 cents each!! How could I pass that up?? I’m also in love with this chain of tea houses called “Chashka” (which sort of means like, little cup of tea). They serve this ice cream (can you sense a trend in the foods I like?) that they call “panna cotta.” It has kind of a light, creamy flavor with mango or something mixed in. (I apologize for the fact that my descriptions are so vague—I really have no idea what half the stuff I put in my mouth is.) I’m also a fan of frozen blinis. I take the meat ones to school, but you can get them with apples, cabbage, sweet cheese, or liver. As you can tell, Russians are big on their cheese/dairy products. Cmetana, like sour cream/plain yogurt, is put on everything, and dumped by the spoonful into soups. As far as a typical Russian meal goes, it starts with a salad (I have never had so many salads sans lettuce). A salad is usually cucumbers and tomatoes, or possibly sliced beets with (what else) some cream. Then you get soup, which is usually borscht (beet soup) or some other vegetable soup, followed by meat dish with rice or potatoes or something. There is always lots of bread and dinner is followed by black tea. Sometimes we drink kefer later, which is like a thick plain yogurt like drink. During my first week or two I got these big dinners, but now I get more everyday things. Typically for dinner I get rice-hash thing with a ball-patty of meat, or potatoes and hot dogs. I’ve only had “American-type” fast food twice, and that was when I had total cravings. There is a Pizza Hut in town (and it is apparently the place to be seen), and I went with two friends, where we ordered a large pizza. It’s legit to share that among three people! However, typically, the two Russian women sitting next to us were splitting a personal pan pizza. That’s crazy! You don’t split a personal pan! It’s personal! This is why all these young Russian women are insanely thin. We felt like such fat Americans, but boy did it taste good.

I have been told by three native Russians now that I look Russian (round face, shape of my nose), which explains why everybody and their mother feels impelled to stop me and ask for directions, or start talking to me on the bus. (It apparently does not, however, stop me from getting pickpocketed, but whatever.) One of them also mentioned that the thing that set me apart and marked me as an American was my “courtesy and consideration of others.” That’s just not Russian, he said. It also sometimes means that foreign tourists don’t know that I understand what they are saying, which can be hilarious. This happened the other day on my way to school. Because Smolnyi is such a famous building and so beautiful, there are always hordes of tourist buses parked out front and people taking pictures when I show up in the morning. I feel awfully special, as I just breeze through the crowd and I’m like, “Oh yeah, I just study here, you know.” Well last Friday it was pouring, so of course I was using my Pig in Rain umbrella, to the great amusement of a group of American tourists. I saw this one man watch me walking and was grinning uncontrollably, and then I heard him lean in and say to his wife under his breath, “Did you see her umbrella? Do you think she knows what it says?” I wanted so badly to turn around and say be like, “Yes, I know. That’s partly why I bought it,” but I didn’t want to make him feel bad. It was great.

So that’s about it. Our time in Russia is simply flying by! I can’t believe it is already the second week in October. This weekend we had our Saturday trip to Tsarskoe Selo, next weekend we will be in Tallin, Estonia, the weekend after that Phil’s dad is visiting, and then I think we are going to try and go to Helsinki for the last weekend in October. Then it is off to Moscow for four days, right after which is our independent trip to Ukraine. When we return it will be mid-November, and then we’ll only have a month-and-a-half left, with various other excursions. I haven’t even been yet to the Hermitage or Russian Museum. I know I will need a few trips there, but I’m saving it for when it is deathly cold. When it is still bearable I want to spend time walking around the streets and doing other things outdoors, because I know I won’t be able to do that when it is 10 below. Then I will just zip onto the metro and then into the museum and just spend hours there. Phil and I, along with two friends here, Allison and Jeannine, are planning our trip to Ukraine, and we’re really excited about that. We will already be in Moscow, so we are flying out of there to Kiev, where we will spend three days, and then take an overnight train to Lviv. We’ll spend three nights there (and stay at the same place Ewan McGregor did when he did his motorbike trip around the world in Long Way Round!) and possibly take a day trip into the Carpathian Mountains. We’ll then take another overnight train back to Kiev, where we’ll fly back to St. Petersburg via Moscow. Kind of a lot of back and forth, but there aren’t any safe flights out of Lviv and the train ride to Peter is over 30 hours, so that would rob us of a whole day. But Ukraine! How awesome is that? I think it is kind of funny that way I’ve done international travel: I definitely started with the most unusual place and have been moving backward. Azerbaijan, then Russia, then Ukraine and at the end Phil and I will do Eastern Europe. Yet I haven’t even been to London or France. I think most people go the other way.

Oh, and as I mentioned at the beginning of the email, I have finally done laundry after over a month. I’m pretty impressed with myself. My parents are probably also impressed/slightly embarrassed. But don’t worry, it’s not like I was walking around dirty, I just actually have that many pairs of underwear. If I had more, the laundry would still be dirty. Plus, I wear undershirts and stuff like that. I’ve put it off because it is a huge hassle to do here. Laundromats are scarce and really expensive, so I have to do it in the house, and we don’t have very sophisticated washing technology in our apartment. What we do have is a basin that you put in the tub and fill with water and soap, and then you hang the clothes to dry (but not on my balcony, as it often rains when you are out. I now know this). When we first rented our house on Ossipee, I was impressed that we would have a free laundry machine and dryer for six girls (not 4 for 140 students). Now I’m just impressed to have a laundry machine and dryer period. But I felt kind of bad, because I had so much to do after over a month. When you looked in the bathroom, it was like my underwear was on parade.

But I’m having such a great time here. I am absolutely in love with St. Petersburg (even that group of ne’er-do-well wallet thieves can’t get me down!) and am looking for a job or internship where I could hopefully come back this summer. And I think you should all definitely come. This is a place worth experiencing!

Take care, keep in touch, and best wishes,
Megs

2006-10-02T07:03:00.000-07:00

27.09.2006

Greetings, lovelies!

I am writing to you from City Bar, an American-owned place popular with foreign students and American nationals. It's essentially "Cheers" for the expat crowd. They offer English-language TV and news, as well as free wireless, which is why I'm here on an afternoon in the middle of the week. However, I can't help but feel a little bit like an alcoholic. Or Norm Peterson.

So here is what I have learned after essentially a month in Russia: Bus #33 is not reliable. Last week it only got me to school on time ONCE. And every day it was for a different reason. When passengers aren't having to push it, it is getting stuck (and I mean stuck in the literal sense of the word—there was an accident that the driver tried to go around, but there wasn't quite enough room between it and a building curb, so we got stuck) or it simply doesn't show up. Traffic in this city is outrageous, simply because it wasn't built for cars and its situation on islands creates bottlenecks on major thoroughfares.

(I have also learned, just today, from my conversation professor, the "correct" way to drink vodka. You aren't supposed to have small amounts. Oh no. You must drink large amounts at once, so it goes straight down to your kidneys. If you have just a little bit, it stays in your throat/head area and makes you pass out. Medical fact. Just so you know.)

Other than Bus #33, which has become the bane of my existence, life is good. There is still so much to discover that I feel compelled to go out exploring every free moment I have. This city is absolutely amazing and gorgeous. Many of these buildings are in what I can only assume is the classical and romantic styles common to Europe, but there is always an extra twist or unique variation in a more "Russian" style which just puts the buildings over the top. Russians are very good at doing "large" and "grand." Everything here is BEAUTIFUL (so much gold! And I'm pretty sure its not like, gold leaf. It's solid), and the culture is just so fun and interesting. I've discovered what a typical Californian I am, though. While staring at a number of multi-domed, embellished buildings from the Alexander Nevsky Bridge, I though, "I bet this isn't retrofit!" I can't urge people enough to come and visit. And if you do, might I suggest for a tour of the city Bus #5? Affords and excellent view of Suvrovksky and Nevsky Prospekts, and Smolnyi Cathedral. It does not, however, give you a view of my home. I wanted to tell the driver he was going the wrong way, but decided that he just may know best, so I kept my mouth shut and eventually just got on the metro and then walked a ways.

Two weekends ago our group took a trip to Novgorod, a very old and important Russian city about three hours southeast of St. Petersburg. In the center of town there is the "Old Kremlin," an ancient seat of Russian princes. Novgorod has about 8 million churches, and I think we saw most of them. They were actually all quite pretty, and not as opulent as some of the Orthodox churches that came later. The frescoes were still pretty amazing, and in all of these places we girls had to cover our heads with scarves and yet babushki still yelled at us for some unfathomable reason. Probably for being scarlet women or something. I am in the process of getting pictures on-line, but with sporadic internet and wireless access it is hard. I recommend getting a book on these churches. It's what I plan on doing, since I don't understand half of what is said on my tour.

One thing that frustrates me about being here is how cut-off I feel from world events. I watch the news every morning while I eat breakfast, but if it weren't for the pictures I would be totally lost. So I have some idea of what is going on, but it is very limited, and the news I do get doesn't seem to be of much import. For instance, I couldn't tell you why there is a coup in Thailand, but I could tell you the intimate details of Steve Irwin's death (and I now also know the Russian word for "sting-ray").

Classes are good and interesting, but my head definitely hurts after hours and hours of Russian. The frustrating part is I can't even take a break, as I then go out on the street and home and hear it everywhere! In even 3 weeks I've learned a lot, but I still feel like a lot is lost in translation. For instance, I'm taking a Russian Lit class and we're discussing Pushkin. When the professor said, "Pushkin was part black," I thought, "...Wait a minute. I didn't hear that right." Turns out, his great-grandfather actually was from Africa and Pushkin was indeed part black. But when you aren't expecting to get that kind of information, you really doubt your translation abilities.

Alright, now for the stuff that I know you are all really reading this for: Cultural Mishaps and Language Complications That Make Megan Look Like an Idiot. Probably the best was this last Saturday, when my friend Allison and I went to this Russian blini fast-food place. I wanted a savory blini with meat, not a sweet one, but the menu offered many choices of filling that I didn't understand. Obviously, there was not just "blini with meat," it was a little more specific than that. But all I really know is the word "meat." So I asked the woman if this particular ingredient was a meat, and she just looked at me like I was the dumbest person ever (next to Allison, who was looking on with such honest inquisitiveness) and said that yes, it was. Can you imagine that in the States? You're working in MacDonald's and someone comes in and says, "Uh...this hamburger...it is a meat, yes?" I ended up with ham and cheese, and a new vocab word. We also wanted to see a movie that we knew was an English film, but we didn't know if they would dub it in Russian or just use subtitles. I wanted to ask the ticket seller, but I don't know the word for "subtitled." However, I do know how to ask if there are "words in the south of the screen?" I don't even know the word for "bottom!" In a way, though, I love these incidents as much as I hate them, because at least they are entertaining for someone. I'm sure all these people go home at night and say to their families, "You will never believe what this girl came in and asked at work today!"

As for Cultural Differences That I Shouldn't Laugh About But Actually Do, there have been a number. When I went to buy a hair straightner, I purchased the cheapest (Western goods are so expensive here!) that also allows me to put in plates to crimp a flower or heart into my hair. Don't ask why the 5-in-1 was the cheapest, but ask instead why women would actually want to do that. Hair needs some improvement here, especially the men's. Do a Google Image search for "Hall and Oates," and you will see a very accurate portrayal of what men in Russia look like. The mullet is still definitely in. As for buying cheaper products, my new umbrella is decorated with raindrops and pigs and proudly declares around the bottom, "PIG IN RAIN! PIG IN RAIN!" I love this umbrella.

The other day my host mother bought cold cereal and said, "Americans like this, right? Do you want it for breakfast?" I said sure, would love some, and got some the next morning. With hot milk. Not so good on your corn flakes. My host mother also constantly raves about a Russian soap opera that aired for ten years in the late 80s-early 90s, called "Santa Barbara." It took place in (you guessed it) Santa Barbara, California and typical soap opera stuff occurred. But because of that show, every Russian woman her age is obsessed and dreams of going to "Saaaanta Baaarrrrbra!" When I showed her my pictures from home and a map of California, that was the first place she wanted to see. In many ways, however, it is just like home, complete with your friendly local grocer and the neighbor's dog. And by "neighbor's dog," I actually mean the stray dog that wanders in our stairwell at night. And pees in the hallway if no one goes in/out of the building. But whatever.

On Saturday night, I had a "Meeting someone from Elko" moment. (Only some of you will understand that.) In other words, a very random encounter with someone from home in the States! I ended up running into this guy Paul, who works at the non-profit (CCI) where I interned this summer. (He also went to Tufts--Go Jumbos!) Great story. He was coming to Russia (which I knew but didn't know when) and mentioned his trip to his friend Heidi, who used to work at CCI. She is friends with Jarlath, who is about 27 or 28, and the assistant director of our program here in St. Petersburg. She told Paul to look him up when he was in town, and he did. Paul mentioned to Jarlath, "You know, I know this girl who is studying here now, her name is Megan, she goes to Tufts--is she on your program?" and Jarlath said, "Totally!" Then he invited Paul to a Russian-American party the directors were hosting at City Bar the next night, and he came. It was such a great surprise! Suddenly I look up, and there is Paul, all the way from San Francisco! I guess it isn't that random, as the Russian-lovers community in the US can't be that big, and I knew that Paul would be in the city, but for us to connect in that way was so funny. We had a good time and chatted and caught up for a few hours. We hung out again last night (Tuesday), and it was fun to talk with someone who knows your same haunts back home, even though you are half-way around the world.

Peter (a friend from Tufts, for those of you who don't know) came from London to visit me and Phil, and we did a bunch of fun stuff. We saw the Tchaikovsky's ballet "Swan Lake" performed at the Rimsky-Korsakov conservatory (I felt so Russian!), and it was so good! Absolutely beautiful. We also took a canal tour of the city, which was really cool.

Well, I should go study for yet ANOTHER grammar exam, but will let you know soon where you can look at pictures. My best to you all, and I relish hearing from everyone and what y'all are up to.

2006-10-02T06:56:00.001-07:00

07.09.2006

Hello all,

I must apologize again for the scattered post earlier. As soon as I left the internet cafe, I thought of 10 things I wanted to say. Now I am far more organized. And I want to start by saying that you are all excellent at responding! That made me very happy. Thank you, it is wonderful to receive news from home/Tufts/the US--anything that is in English, actually.

Okay, now for my favorite funny story. I'm sorry that I don't have funnier things to say; I think of tons of hysterical things throughout my days, but then I forget them or realize that they aren't as funny when I try to write about them. But this is good. So everyday, I take Bus #33 to school. These buses (as you can imagine) are pretty old and STICK SHIFT and traffic is insane. Well, yesterday, on my way to school, the bus stalled or something. I don't know anything about cars or driving stick shift (unless it is a stick shift tractor, of course), but at any rate, it wouldn't go. So the bus driver got out of his little locked cage and told all the men to get off and help him. At first I didn't understand what was going on, but then I heard them all say, "Adin, dva, tri, chiteri!" and saw them PUSH the BUS. It started moving and then eventually picked up again and they all jumped back on and we were on our way! It. Was. Awesome. I was trying so hard not to laugh.

Well, now on to duller things. As I said, I live alone with Emilia Filipovna, but her brother has been visiting for the last three days. He lives in Minsk, but works on a ship and just returned from 5 months in India, Sri Lanka, and Dubai. His name is Alexey Filipovich and very nice. He speaks a little bit of English and sometimes tries to translate for me, but the only stuff he can translate is the stuff that I can understand in Russian, so really, it is of no help and only confuses me. We had a little exchange yesterday that reminded me of "Who Is On First?" With him around, our apartment has become party central. My first introduction to Russian toasts! I think he is leaving soon, but I really have no clue. I had what we call a Da/Duh moment the other day. As you may know, Russians have 3 names: the middle is the patronymic, which is their fathers name plus either a masculine or feminine ending. All siblings have the same patronymic (adjusted for gender). Well, I forgot Alexey's and though his sister calls him Aloysha, it would be polite for me to call him by his first name and patronymic. I forgot and thought for 20 minutes or so, "Gee, what is it? How can I figure it out? I only know his sisters..." Then it dawned on me. Emilia is quite nice and helps me a lot, but also gives me a lot of alone time, which is nice. Unlike what we did hosting Arnold from Chile, this program allows much more freedom. I think because we are older and such. We don't really do things with our hosts. But I very much like Emilia. She is a pensioner (and was shocked when I told her my parents still worked!) and has two grown kids. I'm not sure if she is divorced or if her husband passed on. Around the house she wears black stretch capris and a leopard print shirt. That is normal for Russia, but in the US that would be one sassy granny!

The food she makes me isn't bad, but it is SO much. Every day at school during lunch, that is what all the students talk about: how much our hostesses give us. If we don't finish, we get a lecture on the Seige of Leningrad and how many people died without bread and so we MUST "esh, esh!" I take about an hour to eat dinner because if I physically couldn't consume that large amount of food any faster. There are always at least 3 courses (whereas in the US, we'd have soup for dinner, and that would be the whole meal, unless we were out), plus tea afterwards.

St. Petersburg is quite interesting to walk around. I get lost a lot, but the program directors have made us quite paranoid about getting mugged, so I just keep walking and try to look like I know where I'm going. I just hope that eventually I hit something that I know. The other day a girl stopped me on the street and asked me for directions, so I figured that maybe I was doing a good job at "blending." And today on the bus I take to school, someone had my EXACT same purse. I must now look Euro-trash.

Riding the metro is insane. It is amazingly crowded--even more so than New York. I don't know how people who don't read Cyrillic do it. I can barely handle it. The other day we were looking at what we THOUGHT was a metro map, but it was actually just list of locations for a particular store. We had to look so silly--pointing at it, saying "I think this is near where I live..."

Speaking of looking stupid, I have totally accepted the fact that I look like an idiot, and am now reveling in it. Especially when I open my mouth. I try to imagine how I must sound. I just link words together. "Me...here...dish" and make some gestures. On top of that, I don't conjugate verbs half the time, add the wrong endings, and somehow manage to imply that my uncle is feminine (sorry, Bill Moore). Plus, I feel like a six-year-old. You know when you are talking with a little kid, who is still learning to speak properly and use correct grammar? Say you are at dinner and they are talking and say, "I go'ed to the movies with my friend," and without even thinking you correct them and say "You went"? Well, it is like that with me! My Russian mother and her brother are constantly saying "ckazaLA" or something like that.

Walking around and going in stores is so interesting! It is amazing, too, how long it takes me (and other American students) to do anything normal, like buy something in a store or go someplace. Everything is so new that we look forever, then we have to really focus on buying or figuring out where we want to go...it is so frustrating! The other day we went in a stationary store to get school supplies, and we found Communist notebooks! This one had a picture of Lenin on the cover and it said, "Lenin lived, Lenin lives, Lenin will live!" I wanted to buy it, but I felt like that might be weird, and then what would I do with it? I'm not going to bust it out in class. And most things are kept in cases and if you want something, you tell the salesperson in that section (different sections, even in a small store) and she picks it out of the back and you pay at that station, and then move on to a different section. They are literal too: if you are looking at a pack of batteries that includes two batteries and say that you need one, they will tear open the package and give you just one. That's all you asked for, right? Every other store seems to be a flower shop, and for those of you who know how much I harass Phil to buy me flowers every time we go to the Harvard T station, you can imagine my joy when I saw all these flower shops. I have learned how to command "Phil, buy me flowers!" in Russian and tell him to do so at every available opportunity. Oh, and for one of my classes I had to buy a newspaper and we discussed them in class. Well, I knew "Izvestia" was a good one, but the kiosk I went to didn't have it. So I bought "Argumenti" instead, because I didn't want to end up with a tabloid. Turns out I bought a Socialist paper! And I carried it around with such pride, hoping people would think that if I was carrying around a Russian paper, that I must be a native.

Speaking of classes, I have 4 main classes and 2 lectures. I take a Media class with Larisa Ivanovna, grammar with Marina Grigoreevna, conversation with Mikhail Arkadyevich, and Phonetics with Elena Grigoreevna. Then I have a Russian literature lecture with Irina Gennadevna and a Russian Civilization lecture with Nina Mikhailevna. The classes are hard (my head hurts after so much Russian!) but I know I will learn a lot. We study from 9:30-3:00 two days a week, and from 9:30-1 three days a week. All classes are an hour and a half, which is hard to sit through (especially all in Russian). Tomorrow we are going to see the Petropavlovsk Fortress (Fortress of Peter and Paul) and on Saturday I am going with some other students to explore the city, before it gets freezing. It is already cool here, and I don't know what I'm going to do when it is REALLY cold. I'm already wearing sweaters!

2006-10-02T06:51:00.000-07:00

Welcome to my blog about my adventures abroad in St. Petersburg, Russia! This is essentially a copy of the emails I send to folks back home (so if you get those emails, there is nothing new here). Here goes!

04.09.2006

This will unfortunately be short, I hope to write again this week, but Emilia Filipovna (my host mother) is expecting me soon. I think. Our communication isn't the best. Ah, the joys of living in Russia!

All in all, I am enjoying myself! I've been here 5 days and started classes at the Smolnyi Institute today. PLEASE Google image the building, I can't attach my pictures yet--it is outrageous! I promise you will be amazed. Putin had offices there when he worked for the St. Petersburg City Council in the early 90s, and it is also the spot from where Lenin led the Bolsheviks during the October Revolution in 1917. Where do YOU go to school? Just kidding! We had a test today and a literature lecture, and it was EXHAUSTING. No English. I don't understand literature in English, let alone Russian!

Phil and I flew in from NY on Wed/Thurs, and we went to Moscow. The Delta flight was uneventful, except for a ladybug that was in my salad. It was dead. At Moscow we had to go to the domestic terminal where we checked in for our Aeroflot flight and I bribed my first official. I didn't realize I had until Phil explained later: usually when they have you put money inside your passport and slide it across the table, it is shady. Who knew? It was for paying our overweight baggage fee. I felt quite native--bribing someone after only being in the country 30 minutes. Aeroflot to Petersburg was also uneventful, but I was still SO glad when we landed. Not doing that again. No one was sitting in the seat in front of me, and when I accidentally bumped it, the entire seat collapsed down. Oops.

After landing and meeting the other students, they drove us to a hotel/state-sponsered rehabilitation center for senior citizens and crazy people north of the city, in Repino. Quite strange. But it was pretty, in the forest and right on the Gulf of Finland. Some girls I've met and I are planning a weekend trip to Helsinki soon. We had our orientation there, in the middle of nowhere. Then they put us in minivans and drove us to our homes. They just kind of left us at our buildings, to fend for ourselves.

My host mother is Emilia Filipovna Kohan. She is nice and has hosted many times before, which is nice because she knows what to expect and doesn't think I'm too stupid. The first night was stressful, and I instantly forgot all of my Russian, but whatevs. The next night we were able to have a conversation about Putin and Bush and travel and watched "Skating With the Stars." And by "conversation," I mean she talked and I said, "Da. Da. Horosho." I was able to say a few things, but not a whole lot. I was able to understand about 2/3 of what she said, so that made me proud. I also bought my Russian cell phone yesterday, so I felt instilled with a newfound confidence. That confidence was shot today in class.

Food is fine, my room is fine (normally a sitting room when she doesn't host), and the apartment is nice. Most kids are in pretty run-down, typically "Soviet" apartment buildings, but mine is older than that and pretty. The neighborhood seems nice, too. It is east of downtown, on the otherside of the Neva River. The Neva pretty much encircles the city, which consists of 42 islands (but really just a few big ones). I can take the metro or buses.

I do have one funny story. The first night, she explained something about the hot water in the shower, but I didn't really understand. So in the morning, I got in and took the coldest shower of my life, figuring she'd said they didn't get hot water in the morning or something. As I got out, she came out of my room and offered to show me how to turn on the shower. She looked at me, touched my arm, and said, "So cold! You took a cold shower?" I said yes, and she then proceeded to show me: you have to take a match, light a little box thing in the shower, and then it heats up. So I said, "Oh, yes, now I understand!" But then she insisted I get in and shower again. She said, "Get in, get in!" Well, I'm there in nothing but a towel, and she is just standing there. "Get in, get in!" I thought, "Alright..." and dropped the towel and got in. She just stayed there, fiddling with the water. Tres awkward. But then she left and it was cool.

I would love to reflect more, but I think I'm still overwhelmed and this is long. I must go. I apologize for any weird wording; going back and forth between Russian and English has just made me worse at both languages. I miss you all and hope to see lots of emails from everyone with news from home the next time I open my inbox!