That’s not really the interesting part though, especially because all of CIEE traveled together. Only slightly an adventure. We took a charter bus from the train station which then led us on a small tour around the city center. We were able to get out and take pictures at some notable sights. Of course they were beautiful and interesting, but the most amazing thing was the weather. I got out and walked around in just a t-shirt in Russia! seriously! There are already many differences between Peter and Moscow, but the weather made it seem like a different planet. Actually I heard Moscow’s size described just that way – Moscow is a planet. The size and speed of the city, along with the architecture, gave it a much different atmosphere. Many people compare Moscow to New York and Peter to cities like Boston or San Francisco. Moscow is more impersonal, but it is not an exaggeration to say that it is truly the center of life in Russia. I love living in the “cultural capital,” but I can understand the draw to live in the geopolitical center of life. For me, Boston, SPB are great places to live, and Moscow/New York are great places to visit. A friend who studies in NYC, however, left Moscow feeling as though she’d be more at home there.

I feel as though I shouldn’t go into too much detail on the sights/facts about Moscow, but more about the personality of the city. I’ll inevitably be comparing it a lot to St. Petersburg, which is the “Russia” that I’ve come to know thus far. An interesting thing about SPB is that it was a very planned-out city. Basically Peter I decided this swampy plot of land was a good place for his city which he wanted to be just like Europe. As a result, there is something about Peter that is a bit like walking around an enlarged version of Epcot Europe. But it totally isn’t. There are so many interesting, imperfect things about the city. It is one hundred percent alive. But admittedly, St. Petersburg’s short history is… short*. Moscow is like 800 years old or something. I don’t know – you can Wiki it. It was the capital of ancient Rus and it’s the capital today. The whims of the tsars seems like it was only a short break because Moscow is clearly as capital-y as it gets. While we weren’t in the parts were people walk along with briefcases and Blackberries, we could see plenty of buildings that are too utilitarian not to be housing important business. There is actually a style of architecture dedicated to conveying just that emotion called, fittingly, Stalin style. You’re definitely familiar with it. It looks like this:

There’s a lot about Moscow that has decided to be intimidating or austere where Peter would rather be pretty. Even Red Square, while beautiful, is intensely intimidating. It’s huge, just waiting for a military demonstration. In Peter, even the buildings that are plain fit within the style of the city, and taken away from their magnificent neighbors would still show an impressive bit of design. Moscow has its share of the types of buildings that show less architectural inspiration than a suburban Walmart. You can’t blame them for it. Functionality is sometimes the only goal.

The people of Moscow

So I met a few friends of friends on the trip, and they were all perfectly nice. I’ve heard Moscow people can be meaner. I can at least attest to one really mean person – because I got punched in the head by a stranger. A passerby really. I was walking into Red Square, looking around, my attention was caught by a cute dog on a leash. As it passed me, the woman on the other end of that leash punched me in the head. She wasn’t trying to knock me out or anything, but it was hard. Indeed, she knocked my hat off. I stop and go back to pick up my hat, still not fully understanding the situation and make eye contact with the woman who is still walking in the other direction, looking over her shoulder and glaring at me. Что the fuck???** Really, I was punched by a stranger. Really. I still can’t believe it. Like it’s hilarious, but also makes me want to cry, because, really, you cannot just hurt strangers.You cannot.

This of course brings me to what happened a few hours after we left Moscow – a large scale hurting of strangers. So sad and so scary that I was half a day away from being in any one of those Metro stations. Terrorism is a fact of life everywhere, and you of course cannot let it change your life, but it’s so sad.

I want to end this post on a happier note. Even though it’s really long and I don’t feel like I talked about much at all. So I’ll just say that I got an awesome headpiece to go with my Russian costume in this crazy huge souvenir market. The outfit is almost complete!

*But longer than America’s – oh snap!

**def. What the fuck – we’ve gotten the Andreis to start saying this too. It’s amazing.

So we’re at our second meeting of this class, which is seated around a table spread with cookies, cakes, and tea. Someone offers me tea, and I politely decline, citing that I can’t sleep when I drink tea at night. Someone else, not hearing this, offers me tea. I again decline. “Why?” comes the shocked response, and I again give my answer. One of the students from last week overhears this and offers me juice. Sure. He asks me what kind, and I say that anything is fine. What kind of juice do you like, he asks me again, and I say whatever they have is fine. But no, he is going to the store to get me juice. My response to this is absolutely not. I could never ask someone to get me something just because I don’t want what they have. There was literally a several minute argument over whether he would go, which I was doomed to lose. A few minutes later he came back with cherry and orange juices because he didn’t know which I would prefer. I had some of both. It was just so amazing to me that I didn’t even think twice about saying no to the tea, but doing so meant I was inconveniencing someone else? I don’t really know if, next time I am in a situation like this, should I accept the tea? I feel like that’s not the right answer because no one was trying to make me feel bad, they just wanted to make me comfortable. I guess a Russian would have no problem accepting the juice, so that’s probably what I’ll do. Some of the little niceties are really wonderful. I love getting helped in and out of my coat, but I will never be the person who stands there waiting for someone to put my coat on my me. And maybe I wanted to put on my shoes before my coat, but if someone is standing there with my coat, it’s going on first. So I’m kind of mixed, but I do like that politeness here is not rejected because of how the other person might react. No one has any doubt about my coat-putting-on aptitude. It’s just nice. Same goes with other things. I can carry a heavy box, an older lady probably can stand on the metro. Offering to help is not pointing out someone else’s helplessness, but rather just saying that you respect them and want to make their life a little more pleasant.

So I help out with two different English classes. One is through a CIEE connection. I am visiting a class of fourteen-year-olds to help them with conversation. They have a teacher who takes charge, and I just help out a bit. I probably help more to the people who I go to the metro with because we actually have real conversations. Their English is good but not great, so I have to slow myself down and use simple words when I tell a story. One thing that I find myself doing is trying to help them by wording things in a way that one of my English-speaking Russian friends would do. But this is not at all what I should be doing because they want to learn to sound like native speakers, and here I’m a native speaker imitating people who are learning the language. Usually I am able to stop myself before I do this too badly, but it reaffirms my theory that I will come back from Russia no better at Russian, but with a Russian accent.

My other English class is the one that Sasha and I help Arse with. (We don’t have the heart to break it to Arsenni that his nickname is a mild curse word in Britain). The people are closer to our age for the most part, many a few years older. It is a very informal conversation group with cool people. The first time we went, Sasha was looking for someone to go salsa dancing with and I was looking for somewhere to do crafts. We met another girl named Sasha who is a salsa-dancing, clay-sculpting psychologist. The only way she could have been more perfect is if we brought a third friend who needed help with mental issues. Last Thursday, Sasha and I travelled with Vova (Vladimir) to her clay-sculpting class. I made a lovely women’s day card for my host, and Sasha… Sasha did her best. Vova then invited us to the theatre, which we were excited to attend. On our way into the metro, I expressed my concern that I would have trouble following a russian play. Vova reassured me with the fact that it was mostly in pantomime. Actually not so reassuring. The clay sculpting was at the top of the blue line, the theater, at the bottom of the green line, in what everyone agrees is the sketchiest part of Peter. We get out of the train and walk along a brick wall topped with barbed wire for what seemed like miles, guessing what was on the other side. We finally arrived at an unassuming brick building. Sasha translated its placard, informing me the building had something to either with faith or with ham (the former). The first half of the mime show was quite entertaining. The mimes were very talented. The second half, however was where it got weird. This is where the religious theme got into it. Hard. For example, one sketch involved an interpretive dance while an American country-style song played. The song had the aural version of subtitles, so after the country guy would sing, a Russian women would interpret. And all the while a mime acted it out. The last section was called “Black and White,” where white represented all the good in the world, such as family, friends, god, children, and prayer. Black was the opposite. The sketches alternated between happy stories about family, god, and jesus, and “black” numbers where death metal, drugs, suicide and sadness were all major themes. The performance ended with a group prayer. The night probably should have ended there. It did not. The “white” of this story is that we learned several new dance moves, but it was not exactly what I was expecting for a night at the theater.

Feeling a private debriefing was necessary, Sasha and I ditched the group and went to Teremok, a Russian fast food restaurant, and got some blini and beer. If you weren’t aware that in basically every other country fast food places have beer, now you know. Teremok closed, though, so we took our beers on the road and met unofficial Katya at an English pub called Liverpool. It was full of foreigners in the 35-55 age demographic. We ordered beer and settled in to tell unofficial Katya about our adventures, when three glasses of champagne arrived, with no indication of who sent them. No one was making eye contact, no one came over. We continued to sit at a booth and chat, when we were joined by a fifty-something rotund British construction foreman who was celebrating his birthday. We talked to him for a bit. During this time, I think, another set of champagne glasses were dumped on our table by the waitress, looking less than pleased. Probably because the bar was supposed to close at midnight, and it was approaching one. We were also joined by a late-thirties German man named… Axel (I don’t know how to spell it, but it sounds like axle but with an “ah” at the beginning. Since I don’t know let’s go with a more german looking spelling…Ahchßüll looks good, nein?) The bar finally closed, and we looked for somewhere to go a little more interesting. Ahchßüll and friend were also in the same position, and somehow decided to accompany us to wherever we would go (dumskaya, of course) even though they were far too old for any of the places we go. Basically the only interesting thing about them was that they were from Westphalia, but after we got past the “I like your treaty” discussion, our relationship went downhill. That did not stop them, however, from wanting us to show them where to go. We crammed into a cab where the free booze inspired me to share my vast knowledge of the German language, which does not extend past “ja” “nein” and “pflaumenmus” (aka plümenjam). I also had trouble controlling the urge to shout “Nehemt ein schtük papier heraus!” the longest German phrase I know, which means “take out a piece of paper,” but sounds like the angriest Nazi ever.

Haha I seriously think German is a beautiful language and when I overhear Romy’s phone conversations, I am so jealous. It’s also a fact though, that when Sasha and I quote the above video via text, our signal for a german accent is all caps. Dumskaya was as it usually is, as we stood around a bit awkwardly in a group that had two unwanted members. We gained one new surprise member, who was a former CIEE student in Petersburg doing his masters. Katya left for home, Sasha, new guy, and I ditched the Germans for another bar, where we had a pleasant time, and then I caught a gypsy cab home.

The only consequence of the night occurred with the fact that my phone doesn’t know the time, I have to program it in, so when the battery comes out, it forgets the time. I dropped my phone at one point and didn’t bother to reprogram it, so the time was several hours off. It was both a blessing and a curse because it was really great to roll over and check the time in the morning to see that I had hours left to sleep. On the other hand, it was wrong, and I didn’t, and I rolled into school quite a bit late.

That’s just the facts though. I would have been happy just to have been able to say that I saw Swan Lake at the Mariinsky. But I can actually say that it was amazing. So beautiful. I had tears in my eyes the whole time. I’m getting dorky puppy-dog eyes just thinking about it.

Getting there was a bit of another experience. Cecilia and I gave ourselves an hour, but ended up running late, due to traffic. We also walked a while in the wrong direction along a canal because the metro is situated in such a way that it is impossible to tell when you get out what side of the canal you are on, according to the map, as the canal turns right there. So we looked for a friendly-looking person whom we could ask for directions, and sought help from a little babushka. It took like ten seconds for her to express that we were going the wrong way and for us to realize that we needed to book it if we wanted to get there on time. It took her another ten minutes to explain how to go (summary of directions: turn around then turn right). When we asked her how long it would take she estimated a half-hour, though she doesn’t know how we walk, and some people might walk faster, and some people might walk slower, and did you know that once she went to the Mariinsky, and she had to walk there in the snow both ways, uphill, and oh my god she could not have talked longer if she tried. We were already freaking out because she said it would take a half hour and we had no more than fifteen minutes. So we cut that lovely conversation short and ran to the ballet, sneaking in just as the band was playing and the dancers were not yet on stage. I don’t like to make a habit of being late, but the timing was actually pretty perfect. And take that, granny! We got there in ten minutes! (but also thank you)

Friday night I saw the opera Evgeny (Eugene) Onegin, which is based on a Pushkin poem/novel that is currently in my possession. The story is pretty cool, but I don’t think I’m an opera person. The singing isn’t really my style and the acting isn’t really acting as much as gesturing while singing. They have beautiful voices, but the songs didn’t affect me emotionally as I was expecting them too. I also started off the night with a headache, which of course didn’t put me in the mood. I would go back to the Mariinsky every night, but the opera, I might not do again.

Speaking of which, I did go back to the Mariinsky! A friend got tickets to the Sunday morning performance of Sylphide, which is a ballet by a Danish composer, which takes place in Scotland. If you didn’t know it was in Scotland, didn’t read the program, you would still be able to tell. Because everyone. Every. Single. Dancer. is wearing plaid. Okay there are some plaid-free fairies but really, head to toe, kilt to sock: plaid. I feel like this is why the Mariinsky is great for being so awesome. A plaid-clad group of ballerinas dancing poorly would have certainly been an amusing spectacle, but they would not make for a great ballet. This was still amazing. We sat close, almost hovering over the stage. We could see the dancers’ facial expressions, which was great for a light-hearted show like this one. Well it wasn’t particularly light hearted, but all of the plaid put me in a good mood.

Then we went to a cafe called Zoom. The “we” in that sentence was me, Sasha, Cecilia, Katya, and two of our other Russian friends Lyokha, and Zhenia (those are nicknames for Alexei and Evgeny). This is the coolest cafe in the world. It is full of old books, games, and toys, all of which are there for everyone to play with. They even had a working typewriter. This is one of those things, like when I see children speaking other languages (how can they possibly? isn’t everyone born speaking English?) that I just can’t get over. A typewriter that types in Russian! I filled up a little page with things that made me happy. We also played a Russian version of Taboo called Alias on teams with one foreigner and one Russian, with modified rules that included being able to guess and give clues in whatever language was easier. Also, foreigners were allowed to pick the words they don’t know without consequence. The combination of language barriers still provided for some hilarious clues, my favorite of which being “to make yourself in a chair,” which is a clear synonym for “sit.”  We played English Scrabble, actually German scrabble, but we just set aside the umlatses. The language barrier was not so bad, except when non-native speakers somehow succeed in convincing native speakers that certain words are real. It was a terrifically fun day. Absolutely perfect.

Cecilia: Sasha, when’s your birthday?

Sasha: End of June, not during this program.

Cecilia: Good, I don’t think I could handle another birthday.

A more informative summary:

Friday: Start at the Other Side, an American bar where 75% of CIEE has gathered for watching some live music. It was good, kind of elevatory, wayyy to many people, too few Russians.

Katya Tomnoye Volocy/Unofficial Katya/Brownhaired Katya and the Andreis were at a bar near Dumskaya called Querenghi or something. The bar was having an American retro night, which was terrific and we never should have left. But we did…

[The walk from Querenghi (on Dumskaya if you've got your Google maps out) to Feeling Good on Liteynskii was particularly treacherous. I think we all have bruises to show for this one]

And we went to Fileeng Gud (yes, “feeling good” but if they’re going to write English words in Russian letters, I’m going to make fun of them. Also, not the best bar. Nor was it the best name, considering people consistently look miserable, and I wasn’t feeling great myself after an extra birthday shot or two at Querenghi.

Saturday: Official birthday night, sort of. Dinner was supposed to be at a Georgian restaurant that Katya T.V. knew of, but they stopped serving food at eight and we were there at like 7:55. Also, after a day of bopping around to different cafes, I wasn’t overly hungry.

We found two doors down an English Pub called Oliver Twist and got some food and beers there.

Then, Tolstiy Friar (Fat Friar), a small chain of breweries that is pretty awesome and gives you free snacks like tiny fish that we convinced Sasha to take a straight bite out of (not the proper technique). Awesome. Katya Blondinka met us there, along with her roommate Lyosha.

Feeling Good was close by so we spent some more time there. They carded me, at someone’s request. Spaseebs! Or perhaps I was looking particularly young. Again, sucky bar, so out we went, and considered for a second walking to Dumskaya, but then thought better of it and got a gypsy cab. At 50 rubles it sounded like a bargian, but we realistically went two blocks, so i’m not so sure about that.

Dumskaya! Dancing, chatting, requesting songs from the dj, only to get angry looks.

Sunday night: actually went to the georgian restaurant, which was good.

Monday: longest day of school ever

Monday night: Pivniy Ponidel’nik! (beer monday) Actually, it was more than your average Pivniy Ponidel’nik. We went to Katya T.V.’s house to watch Ivan Vasiliovich Changes Professions, an awesome Soviet comedy that we are going to a party based on this Friday. I fully recommend this movie. After the movie, Katya’s older brother came home. “Go to the kitchen,” he demands. “we have drinks.” “great thanks! be there in a sec.” A few minutes later, “Get up. Go to kitchen.” We go, and laid out before us is a classic Russian drinking set up, with shot glasses, chasers, and snacks. Also complete with toasts in the form of inappropriate jokes told by Denis, Katya’s brother, that I only partially understood (because they were in Russian, not because ‘i’ll understand when i’m older’). It was amazing because it was so classic. If anyone’s wondering, we did leave empty bottles on the table, but I think only guys did the pouring. Overall, I’ve found that the drinking is only really ritualized like they say in the culture books when you’re at someone’s house, drinking at the table. At bars, pubs, or drinking wine while watching a movie doesn’t necessarily require a toast, and the fact that I was eating a Twix was not terribly looked down upon… I hope.

Continued the night at Fileeng Gud, Dumskaya, then a quiet bar on Canal Griboyedova, took the first metro of the next morning home at six.

My next posts will hopefully be more cultural and insightful, but I couldn’t really get that out until I shared this weekend with you.

Last weekend we took a trip to Veliki Novgorod. I’ve done other things also, but I’m so excited to talk about this trip that I’ll try to remember those things for when life is more boring. So the trip actually did not start out fun at all. We took a walking tour of the city with a very knowledgeable tour guide whose Russian was way out of my league, and it was so so so cold. I was unhappy and frozen to the very bones. We had dinner at the hotel, okay – no blini. Then Jarlath (one of the leaders) offered to take a group to the banya if anyone wanted to go. Banya is sort of like a Russian sauna. I’ve never been to American saunas so I don’t really know how they differ. If you want to learn more I recommend watching Three Sheets in Moscow, or continuing to read. So a group of like thirty people wants to go to the banya, and we all trek across Novgorod again. Jarlath walks in to find out that the banya is super crowded because of the holiday weekend (the holiday is Maslenitsa – more to come on that later). I overhear that there is room for six girls, so I grab my friends and shoot to the front of our crowd. We get in. Cecilia and Sasha buy their tickets and their optional togas and go in together. A few steps behind them, I go in, yet am shuffled to a separate bench. I’m in a room full of benches and Russian women of various ages and in various states of undress. It’s sort of warm, but a sauna? I don’t know. Is this banya? So i figure out I should be getting undressed, which takes a good amount of time because I am never in Russia without at least four layers of pants and three or four shirts. I cover myself with my toga and venture to find Sasha and Cecilia, who are no longer at their benches. I continue on into the next room, or at least I tried to. A woman first motioned to me to take off my ring and watch because it gets so hot that I could be burned by the metal.

The next room has several low benches with tubs of water on them. Whereas the first room was much like a pool locker room. This room is a little more reminiscent of a spa atmosphere. Maybe it’s the branches lying about. The room is empty except for one woman who immediately encourages me to get rid of my toga. I don’t even know why they rent these things. Understanding little, I just follow her as she tries to explain to me what to do. She helps me fill a bucket with the right temperature water and shows me my spot. Is this banya? I guessed that it wasn’t because S and C were nowhere to be seen. There must be further to go.

And indeed there was. The next room was undeniable banya. I opened the door and immediately began sweating. Several Russian women, Sasha, and Cecilia were in this small room, heated to a thousand degrees. The Russian women are just sitting, while S and C are on the upper deck giving their best go at hitting themselves with birch branches. When I try to join in, a Russian women indicates that she’ll help me out and motions for me to bend over. Terrifying. But it was actually a really interesting sensation, and it was amazing how it actually didn’t feel all that awkward when it really came down to it. So I stayed in there as long as I could (maybe seven minutes) and come out gasping for cool air. Another Russian women takes me by the hand again and shows me what to do. I could use my bucket to rinse off, there were showers to wash off any stray birch leaves, and then she guides me to a stall next to the shower with a hanging bucket, under which I was to stand. She pulls the rope hanging from it, and down pours and flood of icy water. So shocking. So this is the process that I repeat several more times. Banya, birch branches, shower, cold water, repeat, with a mix of friends and babushki (Russian word for grandmothers, but generally used for all old Russian women) to help me out.

When I knew it was my last time, I tried to go all out. I take my birch branches up to the top level, where it is so hot it hurts to breath. I do my thing with the birch branches, but I started to feel lightheaded and not okay. So I got out of there. I was able to do some of the rinsing ritual, but maybe it was carrying my big tub that put me over the edge. I stumbled out into the locker room area, but immediately passed out. My friends rush over but the babushki edge them out. They get me onto my bench. I’m conscious but so so out of it. A babushka starts to hand me a cup of water, and i was reaching for it. Before I could take it from her hands, however, she takes a sip. And she spits it in my face. I cannot explain how amazing this is. Another babushka is giving me smelling salts, another is taking my pulse. I am completely unaware of the fact that my toga thing is draped over me, baroque-painting style, with one boob out, but I’m sure it was pretty inspiring to any painters in the audience. I made a complete recovery, and I love banya all the more.

The next day found us doing some more walking in the cold, but the weather was a bit more bearable. Plus we had Maslenitsa festivities to look forward to. Maslenitsa is a kind of marriage of pagan and christian ceremonies. It’s a kind of welcoming in of spring (although I have no idea who thinks it’s anywhere near spring right now) combined with a pre-Lent thing. Basically I think people were already celebrating their pagan version of maslenitsa, and whenever they tried to switch to christianity, they were like, okay let’s keep this holiday and pretend it has something to do with Lent. I clearly know little about the true meaning of Maslenitsa, but I can tell you what Maslenitsa means to me. Blini. Blini are very similar to crepes, but served on their own with toppings (sweet or savory) rather than triangular-burrito-style, like I’m used to having crepes. My current food obsession conveniently coincided with Maslenitsa, where every single restaurant serves blini. They all have special Maslenitsa menus, and I don’t think I went out without getting blini once last week. The reason they are associated with Maslenitsa is that they represent the sun. I approve. Like a lot of holidays, when people think about Maslenitsa the clothing related to it is very traditional. I was sort of unsure what traditional Russian dress was like, but I was kind of hoping that it would be awesome, and that it would be inexpensive and available for purchase. There was kind of a spoiler alert at the top of this post, but clearly I got a dress! There are, at times, advantages of being child-sized. So I quickly donned my new dress and blouse and we went off into the festivities after a healthy dose of blini (I think I had eight – don’t count on me losing weight while abroad). There were booths with people selling lots of souvenirs made of birch wood, which is something Novgorod is known for. It’s pretty cool. I got a little birch ikon of St. Yuliya, whoever she might be.

After perusing the shop stalls, Sasha and I headed into the festivities. I was taking advantage of a good photographing vantage point of a group of traditionally dressed men and women holding a giant scarecrow, when suddenly we were swallowed up into the group. Clearly there was no place we should rather be. We trailed along with them as they carried this thing all the way around the kremlin. Compare the vantage points from before (above) and after.

We noticed that everyone seemed to be gathered to watch something or to get somewhere. It turned out they were waiting for us. This scarecrow’s final destination was a stake where she would be burned. No one has explained to me the significance of her, but it was a sight to see. We were actually so far up in this group that we were allowed within the barriers that were keeping the regular folk out. While I was dressed semi appropriately, we weren’t really sure what to do, so we kind of backed out, but had front row seats nonetheless. Everything was really joyous and fun. I absolutely loved it. My new favorite holiday by far.

There are a few things worth noting from the last few days. I haven’t really updated anything since the weekend. I’ve been going out here and there, mostly to bars where I can’t help but ask, where is everyone? as we sit down and speak English to each other. Well, on Friday night we found them. They were at a bar called Fidel, on a notably divey street off Nevskii (the main drag) called Dumskaya. After first chilling at a “British pub” called tower with a few CIEEers and Katya, one of our awesome (Russian!) leaders, we met with some of her (Russian!) friends. The place had the feel of a frat party, in the best possible way. The most exciting part was, we were among Russians, and they were smiling! It was a sight to be seen. I had my first Russian vodka shots. Getting everyone together and making up silly toasts is fun, the lemon slice at the end is okay, the middle part that involves actually imbibing this terrible fiery liquid was not my favorite. But it was all part of the experience and I appreciated it. When it was time to go home, Katya helped me find a gypsy cab (unofficial taxi – just someone with a car who wants to make a few bucks). We were warned against these during orientation, but with Katya’s okay, I wasn’t worried and there was no reason to be. Totally nice driver who may or may not have asked me for money to get to America, but with a very sincere “I don’t understand” that was the end of that. Bad news: left my phone in the cab. Good news: phones cost about thirty bucks. I’m not saying I want that to be included in my cab fare every time, but of everything in my purse, it was basically the best thing I could have lost.

So basically now that I’m a natural at all of this I should feel totally Russian right? Nyet (that’s Russian for no!). I still am communicating poorly/terribly/not at all. I really need to improve my Russian, so I’m going to hop off soon and do some homework. But I will tell you about some things that made me feel more Russian first.

• My phonetics teacher told me I looked Russian.
• Every woman, everywhere (and some men) are carrying bags with the store name RIV GOSH (i’m told rive gauche is French for left bank or “the place to be”) and clearly RIV GOSH is the place to be because they have my shampoo! Like the very same shampoo that I use at home! I walked right out of there with my RIV GOSH bag, like every other Russian in St. P.
• I was kind of bummed when I looked up the diminutives for my Russian name, Yulia, and found out that the only one was Yulya. Alexandra’s get “Sasha,” Mikhael’s get “Misha,” and me? Basically exact same name! But wait! After some investigation I found out that Yulenka, Yulka, Yulishka are all acceptable variants, and my conversation teacher actually used some of them!

So, there are a lot of good things going on. The only scary thing is we’ve basically only been here ten days or so. It feels like way way longer. I obviously don’t want the time to fly by and miss everything. But I miss home and wouldn’t mind if time flew by because everything was so great.

The backstory on the first one goes back to a few days ago when my host and I walked into the apartment, and she turned on the light, which popped and went out. She then managed to convey to me that she needed me to step on a chair to reach a fuse box high up on the wall. Whatever I did did not achieve the desired results, so she had me repeat this exercise, using a ladder on the landing outside the apartment. A little too rickety for my taste. After all this the light still doesn’t work. It’s been out for about a week now (my one week anniversary of moving in). This morning over breakfast, Galina and I were talking (she was talking, I was listening) and she was telling me that the person was supposed to come to fix this problem today, and she had needed to call him several times in order to get him to come out. She complained pays her maintenance fees (not cheap) but the service keeps getting worse and worse – but that’s Russia.

Later today, while sitting in class, all of the lights went out. The teacher noticed this but continued on in her lesson. That’s Russia, she said.

In orientation we had been warned of poorly roped off construction sites and another hazard: apparently it is necessary to occasionally break up all the ice on the roofs of buildings. So there will be section of sidewalk cordoned off and someone working above breaking off huge killer deadly icicles, which then fall onto the sidewalk. So I got off the Metro near my house this afternoon, and noticed they were doing this right where I usually walk. I decided it would be a good opportunity to take the long route and explore my neighborhood a little more. I came back around and noticed that the entrance to my courtyard itself was roped off. I couldn’t figure out a way around it, but it didn’t seem like big chunks of snow or ice were coming down, so I covered my head and ran. Well I’m still here, so it went okay, but that’s Russia.

The other instances were less noteworthy, but it’s clear to me that sometimes it’s not cultural ignorance to say things like “That’s Russia,” because this country does have a very unique state of affairs. Some things seem so well thought out and organized, in a surprising way. For example, in the metro stations, on one line, there is a clock that counts up from the last time each train has passed through. Convenient. I’ve never seen this clock get above three and a half minutes. Even more convenient. There are also countdown clocks on green lights, so you know when exactly the light will change. And the light goes from red to red and yellow before green, so I guess you have time to get your old soviet car into gear and make sure it’s not going to stall out or anything. The other Metro line I take has sets of doors all along the station. These doors open at the same time as the doors on train. It’s safer, because people can’t fall into the tracks, and convenient because you know where to line up. Of course this doesn’t mean that Russian Metro riders are any more civilized when it comes to boarding, but I find these features interesting.

Wednesday afternoons we have class only in the morning. The afternoons are for meetings, excursions, and/or choir, which I am totally joining because they said you don’t have to be able to sing and I think it will be good for pronunciation. We received our student IDs and were supposed to take an excursion to the Hermitage to learn how to use them (but not necessarily visit the Hermitage). The Hermitage, if you are not familiar with it, is a museum located inside what was once Catherine’s winter palace. It has approximately a thousand rooms and the rumor is that if you were to look at every painting for a minute, you would be there for eight years. It’s kind of exciting that it is a museum that is really impossible to get to know. Anyway, orientation has been characterized by a lot of standing around and waiting. Sometimes we are waiting for a leader, other times I’ve never really been able to figure out what it has been that we were waiting for. So we were supposed to learn how to take the bus to the Hermitage, but we were just standing…and waiting, talking to a full year student. He suggested we just walk to the Metro instead of waiting for the group, and assured us the leaders would be fine with it. Feeling clever, we followed him, and along the way he mentions that at the beginning of the program the leaders had really had a problem with him because he didn’t go with the group during orientation. We had been set up! Kidnapped! Okay, not really, but not really wanting to get on anyone’s bad side in week two, I texted the leader. His response, “ok.” It was not a problem, but proof that cultural differences can happen between Americans, too.

The least comfortable part of this experience is still the homestay. I know that the hosts are payed for us to stay here, but I don’t want to feel like a guest in a hotel. At the moment, however, I feel like I must be boring. We exchange a few sentences during meals, sometimes more, but it is tough going and frustrating for both of us. Galina is a perfectly nice and friendly person, and I feel bad that our time together causes me more stress than enjoyment. Luckily, I feel as though this situation can only get better.

Last night many of us went out as a big group to a bar on Nevskii (main street) called SPB, except the “P” and “B” were in Cyrillic, while the “S” was not. Confusing, but there is a lot of mixing of Latin and Cyrillic, I’ve noticed, commercially. Brand names from other countries will be written in their logos in their original language, but often transliterated elsewhere into Cyrillic. I’d like to know more about whether Russians recognize the imagery or actually read it. Also, there are a lot of things written exclusively in Cyrillic, but are clearly based on English words, such as “Beeg Mak,” “Cheezboorgr,” and things like that. Do I order with a Russian accent? without? I don’t know… Back to the bar, it was a nice place, super inexpensive. I ordered my first beer, an SPB o.5 liter for only 70 rubles. It took about a half hour for the waitress to bring our drinks, in classic Soviet customer service. It does not exactly help to achieve cultural immersion when thirty American students go out at one time, but it was fun.

I think that part of what is exciting to me is simply living in a city, which I’ve never done. It’s great to have an unlimited choice of cafes, bars, and clubs easily accessible. It’s also a source of stress in that, not only am I not a city girl, but I am in a city that does not speak my language. Being out at night, especially alone, does not make me comfortable, but it is a necessity, as we all live all over the city. Also, there is simply too much to get to know. I am eager to feel at home, but I also want to explore. I could pick a cafe to by my cafe, but what about all of the other ones I am missing?

I wrote a conclusion, but it was too emotional, and I don’t know how to sum up otherwise (homesick, trying my hardest to sound optimistic when I’m not really feeling it). So no concluding paragraph today.

• Don’t whistle indoors (you’ll whistle away your money), also whistling in general is a little weird because people don’t call that much attention to themselves
• Women shouldn’t sit at the corner of a table or they won’t get married.
• Women should also not sit on concrete, marble, or other cold surfaces, lest they freeze their ovaries. Katya, who is from Russia, does not think this one is superstition. Let’s get the mythbusters in on this.
• If you step on someone’s toe they should step on your toe or else you’ll get into a fight.
• Women don’t usually pour alcohol
• Also when drinking, they remove empty bottles from the table
• As soon as you enter a Russian house take off your shoes. I don’t really blame them for this one. Russians walk a lot, and they walk through all kinds of snow and slush. They’ll provide tapochki, which are slippers, when you come in, and it is rude not to wear these and just be in bare feet or socks.
• The person who is having a birthday is the one who pays for everyone’s drinks, but in return they can expect awesome presents.
• You basically need to have a gift every time you visit someone’s house, flowers or chocolates are usually good. In return you can expect they’ll probably have prepared snacks and tea. This probably explains why there are flower stores everywhere.

There is also an interesting list of words/phrases that don’t have a direct translation. You can read into it as much or as little as you want.

• “privacy”
• “take care”
• “have fun”
• “efficiency”
• “challenge”

Today was a scavenger hunt sort of thing. We had to go around in groups with a guide and take pictures of as many landmarks as possible and then remember their names later. There was also a prize for creativity. We won the main quantity prize and potentially would have won the aesthetic prize but they probably wanted to have some sympathy for the other, lesser, groups. Those pictures are hilarious and will be up soon, I hope, as they are not on my camera.

Tomorrow is the first day of school, or the precursor to it, as we are taking placement tests. I’ll be sure to take a picture with my backpack on, mom.