Today, as the Russians say, was a чудесный день.
As usual, it started with me waking up later than I intended, rushing to get ready in less time, but eventually making it to school with a couple of minutes to spare.
Walking to the metro from my apartment building, I again marvelled at the beauty of walking to school as the sun rises. In the month that I've now been here, it seems that every day the sun is slightly higher in the sky and every time that I notice this, my spirits are lifted. The memory of rushing to school in the pre-dawn glow earlier this month is fresh in my mind. Today, however, as I walked east on проспект Науки (yes, I live on "Science Avenue") the bright white Northern sun was shining higher on the horizon than I've ever seen it as around 9am. And it was WARM!
My host mom explained to me a few days ago that although it was still in the severe negative temperatures, the sun at least was a "spring sun." While standing under its rays, she could feel it warming her up instead of being cold. At the time, I nodded my agreement while secretly thinking she was crazy as the highest temperature at that time was around -18 C. This morning I finally understood what she meant and the realization that the sun was warm improved my mood exponentially.
Then, descending the escalator, disaster struck. As usual, both because I was running late and because I hate waiting in the blob of people who clump together in order to ride the escalator on the right (standing), I weaved through the crowd and started running down the left, hand on the railing. After dismounting (is that the right word? I'm losing my English) the escalator, I removed my liner gloves and went to put them in my coat pocket with my right mitten. Reaching down into the pocket, I realized that the mitten wasn't there. Sure that it must have popped out as I hurried down the escalator, I stood at the bottom for a minute or so searching each step as it passed under the kick plate in desperate hope to find my mitten floating upon it miraculously untrampled by strangers' feet.
After about a minute, not wanting to waste all the time I'd saved by running down the steps, and at this point certain that I'd never see the glove again, I turned and walked down the platform to wait for the next train.
Classes passed as usual: our Speech Practicum teacher explained why March 1 is the first day of spring; Phonetics made me feel like Eliza Doolittle, only worse; Syntactical Phraseology (I've decided that's how it translates) included a cartoon, comments on gender roles, and several explanations that while American students study, Russian students prefer to leave it up to fate/luck/cheat sheets.
Our Monday Meeting included an explanation of Maslenitsa (sort of the Russian version of Mardi Gras/Carnival but it lasts an entire week), the news that we have a long weekend Sunday-Tuesday, as Tuesday is "International" Women's Day, and because we have Monday off we will also have class on Saturday this week. As we have the long weekend and also never have class on Wednesday, I've decided to try and go somewhere for a few days, but finding a friend to go with and planning it all tonight (I have to fill out a form and turn it in tomorrow) may prove too difficult.
On the metro ride home, as I read my Gogol (yes, I am in fact attempting a Gogol play in the original), I decided that I should probably ask the person in the toll-booth type thing at the bottom of the escalator if she had seen my mitten. I figured the odds were pretty low, but it wouldn't hurt to ask. When I got on to the platform and headed for the escalator, however, I chickened out and just followed the crowd. Venturing a glance back just in case my mitten was evident on the counter of the little booth, I discovered that to my amazement it was. Lain next to the window facing the escalators was my beautiful, warm glove. Astounded that someone had the decency to turn it in, I rejoiced that the connection to the collective remains strong in Russia.
Still slightly cynical however, I doubted that the glove would remain there until tomorrow morning when I would again ride those escalators. Feeling a bit silly, but also knowing it was necessary, I thus exited the metro, turned around, re-entered on the other side, placed my metro pass on the sensor, and rode the escalator to the bottom. On the way down, I contemplated what I would say to the woman in order to request the return of the mitten, as I still don't know the Russian word for it. Alighting from the escalator and walking around the booth to the side where she had the door open and was talking to someone, I settled on "Я думаю, что это мой" (I think that's mine) while pointing to it and holding up my other mitten as proof. Instead of the skepticism and stand-offish attitude that I've begun to expect from Russians I don't know, she merely grabbed the mitten, told me "Держите, держите" (Take it, take it), handed it to me and returned to her conversation.
Immensely relieved, I then went back up the escalator and walked home. On my walk I discovered several curious things. 1) The sun was nowhere near setting and it was about 5pm, 2) the girl who I've now seen three times with a horse standing outside the metro stop was there again. This time she had a friend with her who also had a horse and they were chorusing something that I didn't understand, but somehow led passers-by to give them money. 3) With the sun out and the winter beginning to thaw, I've realized that this neighborhood that I first described to people as a "Soviet ghetto" is really kinda pretty and overall a nice place to live.
P.S. Bonus points to the first to correctly identify the song the title is referencing (aka please let me know if someone besides my relatives reads this blog).
Monday, February 28, 2011
Friday, February 25, 2011
I no longer speak any laguange fluently
Today after classes there was a meeting that one of my professors arranged so that the international students in the Russian as a Second Language department could meet some Russians and so that Russians who were interested could meet some foreigners. Four of us from my program were there, as well as a rather large group of Brits, a few Hungarians,a couple of Germans, a Frenchman, a Finn, a Korean girl, and probably a few others who I'm not remembering.
Several of the Russians know English and so do the Germans and, of course, the Brits, but we all tried to speak in Russian with each other. One of the Russian boys actually joked that after a few hours talking with foreigners, he couldn't speak Russian anymore because he was picking up our bad habits. It was actually really funny because I was speaking in Russian as much as I could, while the Germans would switch between Russian and English. One German girl had an entire conversation with a Russian in English as I stood nearby interjecting in Russian.
Although I was using English on and off in the group of students, I was mostly just saying a word here or there, or translating for the British kids who just got here yesterday and haven't yet gotten used to how fast Russians speak. They also had a bit of trouble remembering how to say things. Made me feel very accomplished that I could help.
After the meeting, which was informal and in a room at the university, several of us (foreigners and Russians) went to a cafe and had tea. After that, I tagged along back to the dorm with 3 Russians, a Finn, and one of the German girls. I mostly went along because living so far from the center I hate going home early and then feeling left out but being too lazy to commute all the way back into town.
So at the dorm I continued to hang out with people for an hour or two (only speaking Russian), then I came home and talked to my host mom for about 2 hours. After all that Russian, when I tried to talk to friends online in English it came out very stilted with lots of spelling errors. I don't even want to imagine how bad my French would be. And my Russian is still at a pretty low level too. Don't let the fluency of this post fool you: I've gone back and edited it. I NO LONGER HAVE A NATIVE LANGUAGE!
I mean, I guess it's kind of cool that I was able to accomplish that in a single day (that is, completely switch to my Russian brain), but it's quite frustrating to only be able to express oneself like a 4-year-old with a thick accent.
Several of the Russians know English and so do the Germans and, of course, the Brits, but we all tried to speak in Russian with each other. One of the Russian boys actually joked that after a few hours talking with foreigners, he couldn't speak Russian anymore because he was picking up our bad habits. It was actually really funny because I was speaking in Russian as much as I could, while the Germans would switch between Russian and English. One German girl had an entire conversation with a Russian in English as I stood nearby interjecting in Russian.
Although I was using English on and off in the group of students, I was mostly just saying a word here or there, or translating for the British kids who just got here yesterday and haven't yet gotten used to how fast Russians speak. They also had a bit of trouble remembering how to say things. Made me feel very accomplished that I could help.
After the meeting, which was informal and in a room at the university, several of us (foreigners and Russians) went to a cafe and had tea. After that, I tagged along back to the dorm with 3 Russians, a Finn, and one of the German girls. I mostly went along because living so far from the center I hate going home early and then feeling left out but being too lazy to commute all the way back into town.
So at the dorm I continued to hang out with people for an hour or two (only speaking Russian), then I came home and talked to my host mom for about 2 hours. After all that Russian, when I tried to talk to friends online in English it came out very stilted with lots of spelling errors. I don't even want to imagine how bad my French would be. And my Russian is still at a pretty low level too. Don't let the fluency of this post fool you: I've gone back and edited it. I NO LONGER HAVE A NATIVE LANGUAGE!
I mean, I guess it's kind of cool that I was able to accomplish that in a single day (that is, completely switch to my Russian brain), but it's quite frustrating to only be able to express oneself like a 4-year-old with a thick accent.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Шум за сценой (Noises Off)
A lot has happened in the days since my last post, including my 21st birthday, actually eating a couple of meals with my host mom, my first perusal of the Hermitage, and meeting my contact at the St. Petersburg Comedy Theater. I started to write a post about my visit to the theater, but I've decided that it was too detailed and would probably be boring for anyone but me. Instead, here are some more general thoughts about that and other things. It's a lot longer than I originally intended, so feel free to skip the bits that bore you.
My meeting at the Comedy Theater had been on my mind for weeks. In November, when Marina Viktorovna first contacted me, I was overjoyed and convinced that this first offer was merely the first of many to come. After a couple of months without receiving any other offers, or even any contact from most of the other theaters that CISLA sent letters to, and after hitting dead-ends with my networking, I had begun to get a bit discouraged. The Comedy Theater is an amazing organization, but they are going to be closed for the entire month of June, meaning I could only work there in July and August. Due to my love of the city, a desire to see more of it when everything isn't buried in snow and a personal imperative to see the White Nights in all their glory, I'd really like to be here in June as well. So the search had continued.
Last Tuesday I received an email from Marina Viktorovna telling me to call her to set up a meeting. Paralyzed by fear at my lack of language ability and my usual aversion to phone calls in general, I didn't actually make the call until Thursday. When the call went through, I began my prepared "Здраствуйте, Марина Викоровна? Это Александра Вольф," (Hello, Marina V.? This is Alexandra Wolf) hoping that my pronounciation and intonation were good enough that she would actually understand. After saying hello, however, I realized that she was in fact not talking to me. I could hear her voice, which sounded far away, but she was clearly talking to someone else. I'm still not sure if I was overhearing a phone conversation or if there was someone in her office. When she did pick up, what followed was a painful (for me) discussion of when we could meet. I was very glad that my grammar class has recently been focusing on time constructions so that I could, with a modicum of confidence, tell her that I could not come before 4pm. I stumbled with the case ending though, so it definitely could have gone better. Despite my self-consciousness, we agreed to meet on Monday at 4pm at the theater.
Friday was my birthday, which I had a lot of fun celebrating with friends from my program. Stops included a "Настояшый англиский паб" (Real English pub)--complete with pictures of Queen Elizabeth II, McDonald's for dinner, followed by another bar and a couple of places with dance floors. All that and I still made it home before the metro closed!
Saturday I tried to meet up with my friend from Conn who's here on another abroad program, but we had a miscommunication and her phone battery died, so we missed each other. Upon my return home (much earlier than I'd said I'd be), my host mom immediately asked if I had eaten dinner. When she heard that I'd only eaten some soup before leaving, she started preparing several more courses, and declared that we would celebrate my birthday.
After I finished the meatball and green beans that she warmed up for me in the microwave, I was mostly full but capable of eating more. Waiting for my tea to cool off enough to be palatable, I sat at the table as Sasha continued cooking. For a moment I was concerned that the food she was then cooking on three burners was all for dinner that night, but she soon mentioned that she was also preparing tomorrow's dinner and tonight's treat was still to come.
When she noticed that I was sitting without eating anything, Sasha pulled down the basket of cookies and candy from the shelf above the microwave, and put it in front of me. When I still sat there for a few minutes waiting for my tea to cool, she turned around and asked me why I wasn't eating. "I bought these for you!" she exclaimed as she pulled out more cookies from a drawer and added them to the spread. Weighing the wisdom of saying I was saving room for later, I decided it was better not to argue and dutifully picked up a cookie. Satisfied, Sasha turned back to the stove top.
A couple of hours later (I think), the treat was ready. Sasha told me the name of it, but all I was too distracted by her original explanation to pay attention. "It's kind of like pizza". Right. If pizza included mayonnaise instead of tomato sauce and was cooked on a cookie sheet. There was also a dessert version which was just dough and shredded apples covered with sugar. The latter was pretty tasty (like an apple tart) but after about half of the pizza one I had to struggle past the mixture of mayonnaise and olive taste.
It was actually really fun and we had a great conversation touching on topics as varied as gender roles, which museums and theaters I should visit while I'm here, and World War II and Germans. Somehow, every time that I have a conversation with my host mom (who is in her mid-thirties) that lasts longer than 30 minutes, we always circle back to talking about World War II, Germans, and her study of the German language. China comes up a fair amount, too. My first week here, one conversation discussing trains and modes of transport in Russia somehow led to how the Chinese make all their own trains and railroads, while the Russians import German trains (damned outsourcing!). Sasha's conclusion: "Китайцы--молодцы" (the Chinese are great/do things right).
Sunday I went to the Hermitage with my tutor and was astounded. When I have time and the motivation, I've decided that I need to go back on my own to really appreciate everything. As a student of the Russian Federation for the semester I get free entry, so I really don't have a good excuse not to. For those of you who don't know, the Hermitage is basically the Russian equivalent of the Louvre, only more so. The Louvre is certainly interesting, but from what I remember of it, it's a lot of white-washed walls and the interior decoration is the same as most art museums I've been to. The Hermitage, in contrast to that, boasts some really impressive architecture and several of the rooms seem designed around the artifacts that they house. The Greek and Roman section, for example, includes a room with granite columns that almost has the feel of being in a Greek or Roman temple.
I really can't adequately describe the Hermitage, especially after only 2 hours of brief perusal. If you'd like to know more, please look up their website.
Wow, this post has gotten really long, but please bear with me! Just one more important event of the last week: the meeting at the Comedy Theater.
After briefly agonizing on Sunday night that none of my nice clothes were nearly warm enough for the predicted high of -18˚C (I think in Celsius now, apologies to readers who need to convert that) and that I did not feel ready to do as the Russian girls do and wear heeled boots on the icy paths, I decided to bring my heels to change into later and wear my UnderArmour underneath my tights.
Classes went fairly smoothly, though by the final period I was distracted enough by anticipation of the meeting that my professor asked me if I had a headache or something. Not one of my prouder moments, especially after that same professor had given me a birthday present on Thursday. (A story for another time.)
Deciding that changing my shoes in the lobby of the theater would not make the best first impression, I chose to brave the ice and join the thousands of Russian women who somehow survive the winter without breaking an ankle or worse while stalking around town in heels. This was great, and made me feel confident and like I fit in more...until I realized that my feet fit those boots much better when swollen with summer heat. In this bone-chilling weather, I could feel blisters forming even though I only walked about 2 blocks (1 to the metro and 1 to the theater). Cursing myself for not wearing socks and not having the courage to stop and put some on before I arrived at the theater, I got there about 15 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin.
After an awkward and only mildly lost in translation moment with two men who seemed like security guards, and waiting at the foot of the stairs for about 10 minutes, Marina Viktorovna came to get me. As she led me upstairs to her office, I concentrated on what she was saying, but all I was really thinking was "This building is beautiful! I can't believe I might get to work here." More waiting on a couch upstairs followed, as Marina Viktorovna explained that she was really busy and would come back for me shortly.
When she returned and began the conversation with "So what would you like to do for us?" I again cursed both my nerves and my 6-year-old language capabilities. Scratch that, maybe more like a 3-year-old with a really weird vocabulary who stumbles over words a lot. Anyway, after my stilted explanation that I'm interested in what we had discussed earlier, helping expand the repertoire and look for American plays for them, but would also love to observe their rehearsal process, she asked me what my major is. Upon my response that I'm a double major in Russian and theater, she clarified: "Do you want to act? Direct? What's your area of interest? What do you want to do as a profession?" Realizing that I had misunderstood специалность, as I've only ever heard it used in an academic context, I did my best to explain that I'd like to become a set designer and am also interested in stage management.
At this last, Marina Viktorovna perked up and told me that there was a meeting discussing the set for their new show going on in her office--would I like to sit in? Astounded that she would let me do such a thing after only meeting me about 10 minutes earlier, I excitedly replied something like "Yes, that would interest me very much!" Upon which she led me into her office.
Entering the room, I noted three men whose rapt attention was on a disorganized pile of plans spread over a coffee table. In front of the man who was introduced to me as Alexander ("You share a name!"), the set designer whose patronymic I've forgotten, sat an empty teacup on a saucer, a shot glass, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a small ashtray with a single smoked cigarette bent into it. The ultimate summary of what a Russian man needs at a business meeting.
The other two men were introduced as Tolya/Anatoliy, the technical director, and "the second technical director" whose actual name was never given. After Marina Viktorovna introduced me--"This is Alexandra, she's a student--an American, is it alright if she sits quietly and watches the meeting?"--and sat me down in a chair, she left the room and the men continued their discussion.
From the little I understood and a lot of what I inferred, the meeting was like many I've observed over my years working in tech theater wherein the designer presents his artistic vision and the tech director questions him on most points to find out if they can do it cheaper or in a more utilitarian way. In the end, after Alexander had smoked two more cigarettes and Anatoly had one, they left amiably with a few jokes among the group about how the budget was never going to be big enough.
I then had another painfully stilted discussion with Marina Viktorovna in which I expressed my great interest in the process and repeated that I'm not really sure what I'd like to work on. She suggested that perhaps I'd like to observe more meetings like the one I'd just witnessed, and she could ask the director if I could observe rehearsals. Trying both to remain professional and show her how exciting that idea was to me, I said that I'd really like that. It was at about this point in the conversation that Marina Viktorovna finally told me the title of the show that they are preparing: "Шум за сцене". After a brief moment of self-doubt (was it possible that one of the few shows I know was miraculously the one they were working on? It couldn't be, surely I'd heard wrong) I realized that it was indeed Noises Off, a show that my high school had performed one spring and many of my friends had worked on.
Marina Viktorovna printed me out a copy of their Russian translation and sent me on my way. Elated, I left for the metro to make my way home.
Feet hurting from my stylish boots (though I had finally put on some socks) I entered the familiar metro station from a different direction than usual, but being distracted both by a need to change shoes and excitement at the prospect of working in a real theater, I went to the right side of the platform on autopilot. Upon getting into the subway car, I hurriedly changed my shoes, having lost all desire to fit in and simply wanting to stop the blisters before they burst. Which I was convinced would be soon. I was also operating on the assumption that I had gone in the correct direction on the line, which would mean needing to transfer in a couple of minutes.
After changing my shoes and ignoring the scornful looks of my fellow passengers, I waited for the familiar process of the train slowing, the lights blinking, the car stopping, and the announcement of "Mayakovskaya" (my transfer point). Instead, the train sped up. And continued to go for perhaps two or three times as long as it should have. Only after this did I realize that I had gone in the wrong direction. 'Oh well,' I thought, 'I'll just get off at the next stop and go back the other way.' So when the train finally stopped after what seemed like 15 minutes of going in the wrong direction, that's what I did. Thankfully, nobody was waiting for me at home who knew that I wasted almost half an hour in this way. It dulls the sting of humiliation somewhat, though, that I've done similar things on public transit in Boston (taking the 86 bus instead of 66, C line instead of D, etc.) so it's not the unfamiliar city, it's my own ability to be easily distracted :-)
Oh! Almost forgot, yesterday my program director told me that through the abroad program I might be able to work at the Musical Comedy Theater during the semester. So after months of worrying that I wouldn't even have one job, I've somehow ended up with 2. Though I'm not sure that the Comedy Theater is aware that I'm looking at other options...that could get awkward...
So after this ridiculously long post, which I applaud anyone for reading all the way through, that took me several hours to complete (I kept getting distracted), I should really get down to business and do that Grammar homework that's due tomorrow...
Until next time! С днем защитникой отечества! (Happy Day of Defenders of the Fatherland!)
My meeting at the Comedy Theater had been on my mind for weeks. In November, when Marina Viktorovna first contacted me, I was overjoyed and convinced that this first offer was merely the first of many to come. After a couple of months without receiving any other offers, or even any contact from most of the other theaters that CISLA sent letters to, and after hitting dead-ends with my networking, I had begun to get a bit discouraged. The Comedy Theater is an amazing organization, but they are going to be closed for the entire month of June, meaning I could only work there in July and August. Due to my love of the city, a desire to see more of it when everything isn't buried in snow and a personal imperative to see the White Nights in all their glory, I'd really like to be here in June as well. So the search had continued.
Last Tuesday I received an email from Marina Viktorovna telling me to call her to set up a meeting. Paralyzed by fear at my lack of language ability and my usual aversion to phone calls in general, I didn't actually make the call until Thursday. When the call went through, I began my prepared "Здраствуйте, Марина Викоровна? Это Александра Вольф," (Hello, Marina V.? This is Alexandra Wolf) hoping that my pronounciation and intonation were good enough that she would actually understand. After saying hello, however, I realized that she was in fact not talking to me. I could hear her voice, which sounded far away, but she was clearly talking to someone else. I'm still not sure if I was overhearing a phone conversation or if there was someone in her office. When she did pick up, what followed was a painful (for me) discussion of when we could meet. I was very glad that my grammar class has recently been focusing on time constructions so that I could, with a modicum of confidence, tell her that I could not come before 4pm. I stumbled with the case ending though, so it definitely could have gone better. Despite my self-consciousness, we agreed to meet on Monday at 4pm at the theater.
Friday was my birthday, which I had a lot of fun celebrating with friends from my program. Stops included a "Настояшый англиский паб" (Real English pub)--complete with pictures of Queen Elizabeth II, McDonald's for dinner, followed by another bar and a couple of places with dance floors. All that and I still made it home before the metro closed!
Saturday I tried to meet up with my friend from Conn who's here on another abroad program, but we had a miscommunication and her phone battery died, so we missed each other. Upon my return home (much earlier than I'd said I'd be), my host mom immediately asked if I had eaten dinner. When she heard that I'd only eaten some soup before leaving, she started preparing several more courses, and declared that we would celebrate my birthday.
After I finished the meatball and green beans that she warmed up for me in the microwave, I was mostly full but capable of eating more. Waiting for my tea to cool off enough to be palatable, I sat at the table as Sasha continued cooking. For a moment I was concerned that the food she was then cooking on three burners was all for dinner that night, but she soon mentioned that she was also preparing tomorrow's dinner and tonight's treat was still to come.
When she noticed that I was sitting without eating anything, Sasha pulled down the basket of cookies and candy from the shelf above the microwave, and put it in front of me. When I still sat there for a few minutes waiting for my tea to cool, she turned around and asked me why I wasn't eating. "I bought these for you!" she exclaimed as she pulled out more cookies from a drawer and added them to the spread. Weighing the wisdom of saying I was saving room for later, I decided it was better not to argue and dutifully picked up a cookie. Satisfied, Sasha turned back to the stove top.
A couple of hours later (I think), the treat was ready. Sasha told me the name of it, but all I was too distracted by her original explanation to pay attention. "It's kind of like pizza". Right. If pizza included mayonnaise instead of tomato sauce and was cooked on a cookie sheet. There was also a dessert version which was just dough and shredded apples covered with sugar. The latter was pretty tasty (like an apple tart) but after about half of the pizza one I had to struggle past the mixture of mayonnaise and olive taste.
It was actually really fun and we had a great conversation touching on topics as varied as gender roles, which museums and theaters I should visit while I'm here, and World War II and Germans. Somehow, every time that I have a conversation with my host mom (who is in her mid-thirties) that lasts longer than 30 minutes, we always circle back to talking about World War II, Germans, and her study of the German language. China comes up a fair amount, too. My first week here, one conversation discussing trains and modes of transport in Russia somehow led to how the Chinese make all their own trains and railroads, while the Russians import German trains (damned outsourcing!). Sasha's conclusion: "Китайцы--молодцы" (the Chinese are great/do things right).
Sunday I went to the Hermitage with my tutor and was astounded. When I have time and the motivation, I've decided that I need to go back on my own to really appreciate everything. As a student of the Russian Federation for the semester I get free entry, so I really don't have a good excuse not to. For those of you who don't know, the Hermitage is basically the Russian equivalent of the Louvre, only more so. The Louvre is certainly interesting, but from what I remember of it, it's a lot of white-washed walls and the interior decoration is the same as most art museums I've been to. The Hermitage, in contrast to that, boasts some really impressive architecture and several of the rooms seem designed around the artifacts that they house. The Greek and Roman section, for example, includes a room with granite columns that almost has the feel of being in a Greek or Roman temple.
I really can't adequately describe the Hermitage, especially after only 2 hours of brief perusal. If you'd like to know more, please look up their website.
Wow, this post has gotten really long, but please bear with me! Just one more important event of the last week: the meeting at the Comedy Theater.
After briefly agonizing on Sunday night that none of my nice clothes were nearly warm enough for the predicted high of -18˚C (I think in Celsius now, apologies to readers who need to convert that) and that I did not feel ready to do as the Russian girls do and wear heeled boots on the icy paths, I decided to bring my heels to change into later and wear my UnderArmour underneath my tights.
Classes went fairly smoothly, though by the final period I was distracted enough by anticipation of the meeting that my professor asked me if I had a headache or something. Not one of my prouder moments, especially after that same professor had given me a birthday present on Thursday. (A story for another time.)
Deciding that changing my shoes in the lobby of the theater would not make the best first impression, I chose to brave the ice and join the thousands of Russian women who somehow survive the winter without breaking an ankle or worse while stalking around town in heels. This was great, and made me feel confident and like I fit in more...until I realized that my feet fit those boots much better when swollen with summer heat. In this bone-chilling weather, I could feel blisters forming even though I only walked about 2 blocks (1 to the metro and 1 to the theater). Cursing myself for not wearing socks and not having the courage to stop and put some on before I arrived at the theater, I got there about 15 minutes before the meeting was supposed to begin.
After an awkward and only mildly lost in translation moment with two men who seemed like security guards, and waiting at the foot of the stairs for about 10 minutes, Marina Viktorovna came to get me. As she led me upstairs to her office, I concentrated on what she was saying, but all I was really thinking was "This building is beautiful! I can't believe I might get to work here." More waiting on a couch upstairs followed, as Marina Viktorovna explained that she was really busy and would come back for me shortly.
When she returned and began the conversation with "So what would you like to do for us?" I again cursed both my nerves and my 6-year-old language capabilities. Scratch that, maybe more like a 3-year-old with a really weird vocabulary who stumbles over words a lot. Anyway, after my stilted explanation that I'm interested in what we had discussed earlier, helping expand the repertoire and look for American plays for them, but would also love to observe their rehearsal process, she asked me what my major is. Upon my response that I'm a double major in Russian and theater, she clarified: "Do you want to act? Direct? What's your area of interest? What do you want to do as a profession?" Realizing that I had misunderstood специалность, as I've only ever heard it used in an academic context, I did my best to explain that I'd like to become a set designer and am also interested in stage management.
At this last, Marina Viktorovna perked up and told me that there was a meeting discussing the set for their new show going on in her office--would I like to sit in? Astounded that she would let me do such a thing after only meeting me about 10 minutes earlier, I excitedly replied something like "Yes, that would interest me very much!" Upon which she led me into her office.
Entering the room, I noted three men whose rapt attention was on a disorganized pile of plans spread over a coffee table. In front of the man who was introduced to me as Alexander ("You share a name!"), the set designer whose patronymic I've forgotten, sat an empty teacup on a saucer, a shot glass, a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, and a small ashtray with a single smoked cigarette bent into it. The ultimate summary of what a Russian man needs at a business meeting.
The other two men were introduced as Tolya/Anatoliy, the technical director, and "the second technical director" whose actual name was never given. After Marina Viktorovna introduced me--"This is Alexandra, she's a student--an American, is it alright if she sits quietly and watches the meeting?"--and sat me down in a chair, she left the room and the men continued their discussion.
From the little I understood and a lot of what I inferred, the meeting was like many I've observed over my years working in tech theater wherein the designer presents his artistic vision and the tech director questions him on most points to find out if they can do it cheaper or in a more utilitarian way. In the end, after Alexander had smoked two more cigarettes and Anatoly had one, they left amiably with a few jokes among the group about how the budget was never going to be big enough.
I then had another painfully stilted discussion with Marina Viktorovna in which I expressed my great interest in the process and repeated that I'm not really sure what I'd like to work on. She suggested that perhaps I'd like to observe more meetings like the one I'd just witnessed, and she could ask the director if I could observe rehearsals. Trying both to remain professional and show her how exciting that idea was to me, I said that I'd really like that. It was at about this point in the conversation that Marina Viktorovna finally told me the title of the show that they are preparing: "Шум за сцене". After a brief moment of self-doubt (was it possible that one of the few shows I know was miraculously the one they were working on? It couldn't be, surely I'd heard wrong) I realized that it was indeed Noises Off, a show that my high school had performed one spring and many of my friends had worked on.
Marina Viktorovna printed me out a copy of their Russian translation and sent me on my way. Elated, I left for the metro to make my way home.
Feet hurting from my stylish boots (though I had finally put on some socks) I entered the familiar metro station from a different direction than usual, but being distracted both by a need to change shoes and excitement at the prospect of working in a real theater, I went to the right side of the platform on autopilot. Upon getting into the subway car, I hurriedly changed my shoes, having lost all desire to fit in and simply wanting to stop the blisters before they burst. Which I was convinced would be soon. I was also operating on the assumption that I had gone in the correct direction on the line, which would mean needing to transfer in a couple of minutes.
After changing my shoes and ignoring the scornful looks of my fellow passengers, I waited for the familiar process of the train slowing, the lights blinking, the car stopping, and the announcement of "Mayakovskaya" (my transfer point). Instead, the train sped up. And continued to go for perhaps two or three times as long as it should have. Only after this did I realize that I had gone in the wrong direction. 'Oh well,' I thought, 'I'll just get off at the next stop and go back the other way.' So when the train finally stopped after what seemed like 15 minutes of going in the wrong direction, that's what I did. Thankfully, nobody was waiting for me at home who knew that I wasted almost half an hour in this way. It dulls the sting of humiliation somewhat, though, that I've done similar things on public transit in Boston (taking the 86 bus instead of 66, C line instead of D, etc.) so it's not the unfamiliar city, it's my own ability to be easily distracted :-)
Oh! Almost forgot, yesterday my program director told me that through the abroad program I might be able to work at the Musical Comedy Theater during the semester. So after months of worrying that I wouldn't even have one job, I've somehow ended up with 2. Though I'm not sure that the Comedy Theater is aware that I'm looking at other options...that could get awkward...
So after this ridiculously long post, which I applaud anyone for reading all the way through, that took me several hours to complete (I kept getting distracted), I should really get down to business and do that Grammar homework that's due tomorrow...
Until next time! С днем защитникой отечества! (Happy Day of Defenders of the Fatherland!)
Thursday, February 17, 2011
You know you live in St. Petersburg when...
...you begin to forget what streets look like without 2-6 foot snowbanks on the curbs
...you wonder what your neighborhood looks like without the layer of snow pack...and don't believe the pictures online of how it looks in summer.
...the commute to school on the metro becomes a game that you can lose (or occasionally win) in several ways.
...10˚Farenheit seems warm.
...you're suspicious of someone else trying to enter your apartment building even if it's someone who has a key.
...your professor asks you if you've tried Russian vodka yet. And is disappointed/insulted if you haven't.
...being 5-10 minutes late to class is ok, because your professor has yet to arrive.
...you know all multiples of 30 and constantly calculate them in your head.
...someone expertly playing violin in a bar is unexpected but appreciated by all present.
...you need to go on a quest to get smaller bills. And get berated for using large bills in most situations.
...you appreciate always being offered tea.
...you constantly wear long underwear.
...you know the announcements on the metro by heart. And are disappointed when the conductor says them himself instead of playing the recording.
...every day you relearn words that you should have known long ago.
...you spend most of the hockey match trying to figure out what the fans are chanting instead of watching the game.
...while trying to learn more about Russian culture by watching TV, you find that more than half the films/shows playing were originally in another language (most often American English) and are now dubbed in Russian with varying degrees of effort on the part of the dubbers.
...going to the food court is intimidating because the people who work there speak quickly.
...hearing there's a serial killer on the loose not too far from your neighborhood only gives you pause for a day or so.
...you're disappointed that your host mother does not insist you eat more when you're already full.
...you wish that it was warm enough to snow.
...appreciating a sunny day is difficult as your eyes tear from the wind.
...you constantly check the time when out at night for fear that the metro will close before you can get home (and you don't want to pay for a taxi).
...you always check that you have your passport with you.
...you're not surprised when buying something that the store requires you to pay in cash.
...you miss the rock-hard bed in your dorm room because it was more comfortable than your current couch.
...classes often make you feel like you're back in first or second grade.
...you harbor deep resentment for friends living in warmer climates. Both when they complain of the cold where they are and when they marvel at the unseasonal warmth.
...you wonder what your neighborhood looks like without the layer of snow pack...and don't believe the pictures online of how it looks in summer.
...the commute to school on the metro becomes a game that you can lose (or occasionally win) in several ways.
...10˚Farenheit seems warm.
...you're suspicious of someone else trying to enter your apartment building even if it's someone who has a key.
...your professor asks you if you've tried Russian vodka yet. And is disappointed/insulted if you haven't.
...being 5-10 minutes late to class is ok, because your professor has yet to arrive.
...you know all multiples of 30 and constantly calculate them in your head.
...someone expertly playing violin in a bar is unexpected but appreciated by all present.
...you need to go on a quest to get smaller bills. And get berated for using large bills in most situations.
...you appreciate always being offered tea.
...you constantly wear long underwear.
...you know the announcements on the metro by heart. And are disappointed when the conductor says them himself instead of playing the recording.
...every day you relearn words that you should have known long ago.
...you spend most of the hockey match trying to figure out what the fans are chanting instead of watching the game.
...while trying to learn more about Russian culture by watching TV, you find that more than half the films/shows playing were originally in another language (most often American English) and are now dubbed in Russian with varying degrees of effort on the part of the dubbers.
...going to the food court is intimidating because the people who work there speak quickly.
...hearing there's a serial killer on the loose not too far from your neighborhood only gives you pause for a day or so.
...you're disappointed that your host mother does not insist you eat more when you're already full.
...you wish that it was warm enough to snow.
...appreciating a sunny day is difficult as your eyes tear from the wind.
...you constantly check the time when out at night for fear that the metro will close before you can get home (and you don't want to pay for a taxi).
...you always check that you have your passport with you.
...you're not surprised when buying something that the store requires you to pay in cash.
...you miss the rock-hard bed in your dorm room because it was more comfortable than your current couch.
...classes often make you feel like you're back in first or second grade.
...you harbor deep resentment for friends living in warmer climates. Both when they complain of the cold where they are and when they marvel at the unseasonal warmth.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Привет Россия, родина моя
The title of this post is a song that came on my ipod as I walked into my apartment building the other day. It translates "Hello Russia, my motherland". Seemed appropriate for a photo blog post.
The current outside temperature in St. Petersburg is -23˚C (-9˚F) and it's supposed to remain like that for the rest of the week. It's so cold that when I go outside, my breath freezes on the scarf over my mouth and creates a frost layer on it. I'm fairly sure that this is why there were so many people on the metro this morning. When I got off at my stop there was a sea of people heading toward me going the opposite direction on the platform. As I bounced between the shoulders of strangers, a salmon swimming upstream, I felt the true meaning of "народ", the Russian word that's usually translated as "people" or "folk" but can also mean "nation" (as in nationality).
This is just a short post, I've got to get back to homework, but I wanted to upload some pictures of my neighborhood here. There are also a few of the metro, which I took on the sly (it's illegal to take photos in the metro in Russia) so they're pretty blurry but will still give you an idea of what it all looks like.
The current outside temperature in St. Petersburg is -23˚C (-9˚F) and it's supposed to remain like that for the rest of the week. It's so cold that when I go outside, my breath freezes on the scarf over my mouth and creates a frost layer on it. I'm fairly sure that this is why there were so many people on the metro this morning. When I got off at my stop there was a sea of people heading toward me going the opposite direction on the platform. As I bounced between the shoulders of strangers, a salmon swimming upstream, I felt the true meaning of "народ", the Russian word that's usually translated as "people" or "folk" but can also mean "nation" (as in nationality).
This is just a short post, I've got to get back to homework, but I wanted to upload some pictures of my neighborhood here. There are also a few of the metro, which I took on the sly (it's illegal to take photos in the metro in Russia) so they're pretty blurry but will still give you an idea of what it all looks like.
 |
| Believe it or not, there's a car in that snowbank |
 |
| The local grocery store |
 |
| Part of the platform of the station near the university |
 |
| On the platform of my metro station |
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Sun was shining on the sea
...shining with all his might. Another line from one of my favorite poems. This one applies really well, as it's actually been sunny in Petersburg the last few days.
I will continue my story from last time, but first a couple new developments from the motherland: my host mom's boyfriend is staying with us while her daughter and mother are on vacation somewhere (I can never really understand exactly what she says, I think its some kind of spa outside st. petersburg). Anyway, since his arrival on Tuesday he's said maybe 3 words to me. Today he actually managed a whole sentence when I returned from meeting my peer tutor. "Hello" (Здравствуйте) he always says, but today he also managed "You went out?" (Вы гуляли?) before walking into another room. I was both surprised that he continued beyond hello and slightly confused that he had addressed me "вы" which is the Russian equivalent of the French "vous". Usually people address those younger than they are in the informal "ты". So, put off guard by both of the aspects of his question, it took me a minute to understand enough to respond "Yes". Long enough that I'm now fairly certain he thinks I'm an imbecile. Whatever, such is the life a language student.
If I overheard the conversation correctly, I'm pretty sure my host mom chastised him upon her return home tonight about how he doesn't talk to me enough. Of course, with my language skills and hearing it through the door, they could easily have been talking about something else.
Now that you've indulged me that brief interlude, I'm sure you're all sitting on the edges of your seats waiting for the continuation of my illness story.
On Saturday, still feeling sick, I texted my resident director (Nathan, an American in his mid/late twenties who deals with all the bureaucratic stuff for us and generally serves as an advisor on all things Russian) and asked him to take me to the clinic. I then walked to the metro and rode downtown. From the metro stop, we walked a few blocks then took a bus for a while. I'm not sure how long it took to get to the clinic, but Nathan was sure to point out that a few blocks away was Smolny Cathedral.
Entering the clinic, it appeared like any doctor's office although it seemed slightly more upscale than the hospitals I'm used to in Boston. Probably has to do with it being for-profit or something. Filled out forms for insurance, which were, thankfully in both English and Russian. One of the main reasons ACTR recommends this clinic over some of the others in the city is that all the receptionists and doctors speak English. The lab techs are another story, but I guess they don't really interact with patients enough for it to matter.
After waiting several minutes, a young doctor came in and called my name. As he led me to the exam room, I couldn't help but marvel at his height (the man was at least 6'4"). He reminded me of the soviet actor who played Ivan the Terrible in the 70s and was also the jealous boyfriend in "Irony of Fate". He was very professional the whole time and while his knowledge of English was clinical which led to a few moments of semi-misunderstandings on my part.
Upon my explanation that I had a wet cough, sore throat and used to have a runny nose, the doctor proposed the following: he'd check my nose and throat, draw some blood, then do a chest x-ray. The last gave me a little bit of pause, as I've had several x-rays recently for dental stuff and radiation is bad for you, but I went along.
What followed was the most painful blood draw I've ever had, followed by more waiting in the waiting room with Nathan, and the single most embarrassing x-ray experience of my life. As this is a public forum, suffice it to say that the doctor's instructions upon bringing me into the x-ray room were "Now you will, please, strip from the waist up." If you want more of the story, contact me privately.
After the chest x-ray, which apparently revealed that I didn't have pneumonia, the doctor led me back to the exam room and left me alone for several minutes. Not sure what was going on, I sat patiently waiting for him. He returned with 3 medicines. One an anti-biotic, another to "dislodge the sputum" in my lungs, and the third "if you have coughing at night." From his intonation I thought the latter was a statement and he was going to give it to me, but when I said "OK", he looked up from the paper he was writing on and asked if I was coughing at night. I was and he gave the codeine cough syrup to me. Upon hearing that it had codeine, I was slightly concerned, because of my previous experience with the drug, but I figured it would be better to just take it and not use it if I had an adverse reaction.
Several hours after returning home, I looked at the piece of paper upon which he had written the dosage instructions for all my medicines. At the top was written "Acute bronchitis". 'Oh really,' I thought to myself, 'he never mentioned that bit."
Anyway, a week later and I've still got a bit of a cough, but I'm definitely far improved and will hopefully continue to get better despite the cold snap that's hitting Peter this week.
Again, I underestimated the amount of time it takes to write a blog post and I need to stop now to do some homework. Again, to be continued with the story of my allergy, debit card, worrying my host mom, laundry, peer tutor, and the Yusupovski palace. Perhaps also a tale of the Russian hockey game I'm attending on Wednesday.
I will continue my story from last time, but first a couple new developments from the motherland: my host mom's boyfriend is staying with us while her daughter and mother are on vacation somewhere (I can never really understand exactly what she says, I think its some kind of spa outside st. petersburg). Anyway, since his arrival on Tuesday he's said maybe 3 words to me. Today he actually managed a whole sentence when I returned from meeting my peer tutor. "Hello" (Здравствуйте) he always says, but today he also managed "You went out?" (Вы гуляли?) before walking into another room. I was both surprised that he continued beyond hello and slightly confused that he had addressed me "вы" which is the Russian equivalent of the French "vous". Usually people address those younger than they are in the informal "ты". So, put off guard by both of the aspects of his question, it took me a minute to understand enough to respond "Yes". Long enough that I'm now fairly certain he thinks I'm an imbecile. Whatever, such is the life a language student.
If I overheard the conversation correctly, I'm pretty sure my host mom chastised him upon her return home tonight about how he doesn't talk to me enough. Of course, with my language skills and hearing it through the door, they could easily have been talking about something else.
Now that you've indulged me that brief interlude, I'm sure you're all sitting on the edges of your seats waiting for the continuation of my illness story.
On Saturday, still feeling sick, I texted my resident director (Nathan, an American in his mid/late twenties who deals with all the bureaucratic stuff for us and generally serves as an advisor on all things Russian) and asked him to take me to the clinic. I then walked to the metro and rode downtown. From the metro stop, we walked a few blocks then took a bus for a while. I'm not sure how long it took to get to the clinic, but Nathan was sure to point out that a few blocks away was Smolny Cathedral.
Entering the clinic, it appeared like any doctor's office although it seemed slightly more upscale than the hospitals I'm used to in Boston. Probably has to do with it being for-profit or something. Filled out forms for insurance, which were, thankfully in both English and Russian. One of the main reasons ACTR recommends this clinic over some of the others in the city is that all the receptionists and doctors speak English. The lab techs are another story, but I guess they don't really interact with patients enough for it to matter.
After waiting several minutes, a young doctor came in and called my name. As he led me to the exam room, I couldn't help but marvel at his height (the man was at least 6'4"). He reminded me of the soviet actor who played Ivan the Terrible in the 70s and was also the jealous boyfriend in "Irony of Fate". He was very professional the whole time and while his knowledge of English was clinical which led to a few moments of semi-misunderstandings on my part.
Upon my explanation that I had a wet cough, sore throat and used to have a runny nose, the doctor proposed the following: he'd check my nose and throat, draw some blood, then do a chest x-ray. The last gave me a little bit of pause, as I've had several x-rays recently for dental stuff and radiation is bad for you, but I went along.
What followed was the most painful blood draw I've ever had, followed by more waiting in the waiting room with Nathan, and the single most embarrassing x-ray experience of my life. As this is a public forum, suffice it to say that the doctor's instructions upon bringing me into the x-ray room were "Now you will, please, strip from the waist up." If you want more of the story, contact me privately.
After the chest x-ray, which apparently revealed that I didn't have pneumonia, the doctor led me back to the exam room and left me alone for several minutes. Not sure what was going on, I sat patiently waiting for him. He returned with 3 medicines. One an anti-biotic, another to "dislodge the sputum" in my lungs, and the third "if you have coughing at night." From his intonation I thought the latter was a statement and he was going to give it to me, but when I said "OK", he looked up from the paper he was writing on and asked if I was coughing at night. I was and he gave the codeine cough syrup to me. Upon hearing that it had codeine, I was slightly concerned, because of my previous experience with the drug, but I figured it would be better to just take it and not use it if I had an adverse reaction.
Several hours after returning home, I looked at the piece of paper upon which he had written the dosage instructions for all my medicines. At the top was written "Acute bronchitis". 'Oh really,' I thought to myself, 'he never mentioned that bit."
Anyway, a week later and I've still got a bit of a cough, but I'm definitely far improved and will hopefully continue to get better despite the cold snap that's hitting Peter this week.
Again, I underestimated the amount of time it takes to write a blog post and I need to stop now to do some homework. Again, to be continued with the story of my allergy, debit card, worrying my host mom, laundry, peer tutor, and the Yusupovski palace. Perhaps also a tale of the Russian hockey game I'm attending on Wednesday.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax
...Cabbages and Kings. The time has come, as the walrus said, to talk of many things.
First off, I am (finally) feeling better. Still not completely well, and maybe after the small amount of sleep I'm getting tonight I'll be worse, but (knock 3 times on wood, spit 3 times over left shoulder) here's hoping this current mood is a trend and not a fluke.
For those of you I haven't spoken to in the past few days, some explanation is probably needed. Here goes: last Tuesday I felt myself getting sick, but was determined to achieve a kind of mind-over-matter healthiness. Wednesday we didn't have class and our only excursion was bowling at night with our peer tutors. Because of that, I slept most of the day and generally rested. By the time I ventured into the Russian night, I was feeling well enough. Thursday, I was tired and coughing a lot, but I went to class anyway. This is where the Emergen-C into sparkling water tale comes in.
As every good often-ill person knows, vitamin C is essential for getting better faster and fending off colds. To that end, I discovered Emergen-C a few years ago. Please google it if you have no idea what I'm talking about. The way that Emergen-C usually works, is that you put it in water, it fizzes a little, solutes nicely, and turns your water into a tasty and healthy treat. The danger in Russia, however, is that when one simply asks for water and forgets to say "without gas" they hand you sparkling water.
Being slightly ill, as I was, and not really paying close attention, I was distracted by the speed of the cashier's speech and forgot to stipulate "without gas". Sitting down with my friends, my blin (with sweetened condensed milk--so yummy) in front of me, I grabbed my vitamin packet from my bag, opened the water, and started pouring it in. Then disaster struck. The carbonated beverage mixed with the packet that fizzed created a kind of reactio that I can only compare to baking soda and vinegar or cola and mentos. Perhaps not quite as explosive, but I was caught off guard. Not knowing what to do, my first reaction was to save my pancake from the overflow, which meant moving the bottle closer to my lap. The problem with that, of course, was that now it was spilling on my clothes and the floor, dangerously close to my backpack. My next solution was perhaps even more without forethought. Thinking of overflowing soda and my usual solution to that problem, I put my mouth over the bottle top. Of course, contrary to soda, this chemical reaction continued even without the oxygen of the air, so this move just filled my cheeks with gas and made me feel foolish.
Giving up on the idea of saving any of the Emergen-c, I finally grabbed a handful of napkins and held them over the overflowing bottle for a few minutes until it calmed down. Then I proceeded with my lunch.
Walking home on Thursday, I was so tired that I thought I might fall into a snow bank and sleep. That night, I couldn't bring myself to do any homework, so I decided to get up extra early on Friday and do it. Friday morning, I awoke feeling worse. At around 8 I decided that I simply couldn't get myself to class and besides, my coughing had been disruptive the day before and was now worse.
This story will continue tomorrow including my trip to the clinic and discovery of a new allergy in one of the worst possible ways.
Also still to come: losing/recovering my debit card, pictures of the neighborhood, going to the "palace" where Rasputin's murder began, improvement in understanding servers.
First off, I am (finally) feeling better. Still not completely well, and maybe after the small amount of sleep I'm getting tonight I'll be worse, but (knock 3 times on wood, spit 3 times over left shoulder) here's hoping this current mood is a trend and not a fluke.
For those of you I haven't spoken to in the past few days, some explanation is probably needed. Here goes: last Tuesday I felt myself getting sick, but was determined to achieve a kind of mind-over-matter healthiness. Wednesday we didn't have class and our only excursion was bowling at night with our peer tutors. Because of that, I slept most of the day and generally rested. By the time I ventured into the Russian night, I was feeling well enough. Thursday, I was tired and coughing a lot, but I went to class anyway. This is where the Emergen-C into sparkling water tale comes in.
As every good often-ill person knows, vitamin C is essential for getting better faster and fending off colds. To that end, I discovered Emergen-C a few years ago. Please google it if you have no idea what I'm talking about. The way that Emergen-C usually works, is that you put it in water, it fizzes a little, solutes nicely, and turns your water into a tasty and healthy treat. The danger in Russia, however, is that when one simply asks for water and forgets to say "without gas" they hand you sparkling water.
Being slightly ill, as I was, and not really paying close attention, I was distracted by the speed of the cashier's speech and forgot to stipulate "without gas". Sitting down with my friends, my blin (with sweetened condensed milk--so yummy) in front of me, I grabbed my vitamin packet from my bag, opened the water, and started pouring it in. Then disaster struck. The carbonated beverage mixed with the packet that fizzed created a kind of reactio that I can only compare to baking soda and vinegar or cola and mentos. Perhaps not quite as explosive, but I was caught off guard. Not knowing what to do, my first reaction was to save my pancake from the overflow, which meant moving the bottle closer to my lap. The problem with that, of course, was that now it was spilling on my clothes and the floor, dangerously close to my backpack. My next solution was perhaps even more without forethought. Thinking of overflowing soda and my usual solution to that problem, I put my mouth over the bottle top. Of course, contrary to soda, this chemical reaction continued even without the oxygen of the air, so this move just filled my cheeks with gas and made me feel foolish.
Giving up on the idea of saving any of the Emergen-c, I finally grabbed a handful of napkins and held them over the overflowing bottle for a few minutes until it calmed down. Then I proceeded with my lunch.
Walking home on Thursday, I was so tired that I thought I might fall into a snow bank and sleep. That night, I couldn't bring myself to do any homework, so I decided to get up extra early on Friday and do it. Friday morning, I awoke feeling worse. At around 8 I decided that I simply couldn't get myself to class and besides, my coughing had been disruptive the day before and was now worse.
This story will continue tomorrow including my trip to the clinic and discovery of a new allergy in one of the worst possible ways.
Also still to come: losing/recovering my debit card, pictures of the neighborhood, going to the "palace" where Rasputin's murder began, improvement in understanding servers.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Monday, Monday, can't trust that day
A few people have asked me what my typical day is like here, so I thought I'd recount what I did today.
Woke up around 7:30, which was later than I'd intended (I meant to finish homework before going to school). As it was, still my normal wake-up time, so I went into the kitchen where my host mom was preparing breakfast. As I stood, teacup in hand, and started toward the stove, she informed me that nothing was ready and I needed to wait until she had cooked everything.
From the smell emanating from the stovetop, I could tell that she was cooking fried eggs. Now, normally I'm not the biggest egg fan, but I can choke down a few scrambled eggs or an omelet if it comes to it. As I discovered last week, however, I'm physically incapable of eating 3-4 fried eggs that are soaking in oil. While I waited for the eggs to be prepared, my host mom presented me with a plate of cheese, ham, and sausage, pointed at the plate of bread that is always on the table, and told me to eat a sandwich.
Anyone who knows me well, knows that by my standards a big breakfast is putting cream cheese on my bagel instead of butter, so the russian tendency to continue to push food on you is especially hard for me to face in the morning. I also always feel guilty about wasting food. I never got the "starving kids in Africa" speech, but the spirit behind that sort of thing definitely dominated my childhood.
Anyway, after guiltily not finishing my eggs (but eating some pasta instead), I finished getting ready for school.
I left the apartment at about 8:40, later than I intended, because I needed to buy subway tokens before I could go on the metro and I knew the line would be long. My walk to the metro stop is a straight shot down the street, with only two street crossings, and about 10 minutes long.
At the main intersection, which has on respective corners a mall, the metro station, and the bus stop, is also home to several stands that sell everything from books to meat, fish, and flowers (there is at least one flower seller at every metro stop in Peter). There are also several street-food carts which my host mom warned me on the first day to never eat from.
After braving the street crossing as the sign counted down the seconds (I got to the other side just in time), I entered the metro station and went over to the single automated machine for tokens, discovered it was broken and wouldn't take my 100 rouble note, cursed under my breath (in Russian!), and joined what I judged to be the shortest line. Standing in line, constantly checking my phone for the time, I again lamented Russian beaurocracy and the fact that I don't yet have my student metro card which would allow me to skip this whole process. I got to the window, slid 100 rb. under the plastic thing, asked for "четыре" (four), grabbed the tokens that were slid back to me and proceded through the turnstile.
A quick note about the metro in St. Pete: Every Russian I meet asks me, in one way or another, if I'm impressed with their beautiful metro (and isn't it so much cleaner and prettier than the ones we have in America?). Having seen the Paris metro, Peter's is impressive, but not mind-blowing, though I'm careful not to tell Russians that. I really think it's just a different standard of public transport that is fairly universal in Europe, but somehow never caught on in America. The metro stops downtown are actually pretty impressive, but the further out you get, the less artistic they become. In a minimalist, modernist way, most of them still look better than the average MBTA or Washington DC metro stop, but to me, it's not as AMAZING as Peterburgans seem to think.
Back to my story: Having wasted at least five minutes in line, I went through the turnstile and onto the escalator. The St. Petersburg metro has some of the longest and oldest escalators that I've ever been on. From the beat-up look of the ones in my metro stop, I'd guess that they haven't been updated since the metro was first built here in 1955. Last week, I timed how long it took to get from the top of the escalator onto the train platform below and it was over 2 minutes.
This morning, after buying my tokens, I did not have the patience to stand on the escalator for the 2 minutes, so, imitating the rush-hour Russians I'd seen do so many times, I put my left hand on the railing of the escalator, secured my backpack, and started a brisk walk down the steps, wet boots squeaking on the metal the whole way down.
Got down to the platform, walked almost to the opposite end before the train arrived (there's one every minute during rush hour), got into the second or third car and was lucky enough to find a seat. Several of my friends who live closer to the city center often lament not being able to sit on the metro. I guess that's one plus of my 30 minute ride.
My school here is about 5-10 minutes from the metro, so I got there with 5 minutes to spare before my first class. Checked my coat, double-checked the notice board to make sure my classroom hadn't been changed since last week, and proceeded to Phonetics. After Phonetics, we had a 10 minute break, then my group (4 of us) had Speech practice (this is probably a bad translation on my part, we practice speaking in every class :P).
After the second class, from 12:50-1:40, we had lunch. There are a few options near the university, but so far the only ones that my friends and I have gone to are "чайная ложка" (literally: tea spoon) a lunch place that serves soups, salads, blini, and tea; and the food court at the mall next to the metro stop. The food court is, in my view, a perfect representation of both capitalism's entry into Russia and the affects of gloablisation on world culture.
While several of the places at the food court are definitely Russian, there are also Sbarro, McDonalds, and Burger King. The overall look of the place looks like any other food court I've been in, too. The major difference in service being that I'm intimidated to order from Теремок (the Russian food equivalent of McDonalds) because they all speak fast and act as if they can't understand my Russian. Today, however, I packed a lunch from home to save money so all I bought was a cup of tea for 40 roubles (a bit of a rip-off, but whatever).
After lunch I had one more class, the one that discusses slang and idioms (I can't translate the title well), which went well. At 3:30, everyone in my program had a meeting with our program director to discuss various points of business. It reminds me of Morning Meeting in high school. There are 19 of us, including the kids who are here for a year.
After the meeting, I took the metro home. Coming off the escalator, I witnessed my first passport check. Thankfully, I wasn't stopped, but just inside the door, a policeman was interrogating a man who looked Asian or perhaps Tartar. Outside the station, there were several more policemen standing around. Forcing myself not to stare and avoid meeting their eyes, putting on my best impression of a Russian public face (slight frown, determined to get to my destination), I walked past. As I was not stopped, I have decided to count it as a victory: I look Russian enough!
So that was my Monday, now it's time to stop (congrats to anyone who actually managed to read this long post) and start homework. Or maybe reheat some dinner for myself....
Until next time!
Woke up around 7:30, which was later than I'd intended (I meant to finish homework before going to school). As it was, still my normal wake-up time, so I went into the kitchen where my host mom was preparing breakfast. As I stood, teacup in hand, and started toward the stove, she informed me that nothing was ready and I needed to wait until she had cooked everything.
From the smell emanating from the stovetop, I could tell that she was cooking fried eggs. Now, normally I'm not the biggest egg fan, but I can choke down a few scrambled eggs or an omelet if it comes to it. As I discovered last week, however, I'm physically incapable of eating 3-4 fried eggs that are soaking in oil. While I waited for the eggs to be prepared, my host mom presented me with a plate of cheese, ham, and sausage, pointed at the plate of bread that is always on the table, and told me to eat a sandwich.
Anyone who knows me well, knows that by my standards a big breakfast is putting cream cheese on my bagel instead of butter, so the russian tendency to continue to push food on you is especially hard for me to face in the morning. I also always feel guilty about wasting food. I never got the "starving kids in Africa" speech, but the spirit behind that sort of thing definitely dominated my childhood.
Anyway, after guiltily not finishing my eggs (but eating some pasta instead), I finished getting ready for school.
I left the apartment at about 8:40, later than I intended, because I needed to buy subway tokens before I could go on the metro and I knew the line would be long. My walk to the metro stop is a straight shot down the street, with only two street crossings, and about 10 minutes long.
At the main intersection, which has on respective corners a mall, the metro station, and the bus stop, is also home to several stands that sell everything from books to meat, fish, and flowers (there is at least one flower seller at every metro stop in Peter). There are also several street-food carts which my host mom warned me on the first day to never eat from.
After braving the street crossing as the sign counted down the seconds (I got to the other side just in time), I entered the metro station and went over to the single automated machine for tokens, discovered it was broken and wouldn't take my 100 rouble note, cursed under my breath (in Russian!), and joined what I judged to be the shortest line. Standing in line, constantly checking my phone for the time, I again lamented Russian beaurocracy and the fact that I don't yet have my student metro card which would allow me to skip this whole process. I got to the window, slid 100 rb. under the plastic thing, asked for "четыре" (four), grabbed the tokens that were slid back to me and proceded through the turnstile.
A quick note about the metro in St. Pete: Every Russian I meet asks me, in one way or another, if I'm impressed with their beautiful metro (and isn't it so much cleaner and prettier than the ones we have in America?). Having seen the Paris metro, Peter's is impressive, but not mind-blowing, though I'm careful not to tell Russians that. I really think it's just a different standard of public transport that is fairly universal in Europe, but somehow never caught on in America. The metro stops downtown are actually pretty impressive, but the further out you get, the less artistic they become. In a minimalist, modernist way, most of them still look better than the average MBTA or Washington DC metro stop, but to me, it's not as AMAZING as Peterburgans seem to think.
Back to my story: Having wasted at least five minutes in line, I went through the turnstile and onto the escalator. The St. Petersburg metro has some of the longest and oldest escalators that I've ever been on. From the beat-up look of the ones in my metro stop, I'd guess that they haven't been updated since the metro was first built here in 1955. Last week, I timed how long it took to get from the top of the escalator onto the train platform below and it was over 2 minutes.
This morning, after buying my tokens, I did not have the patience to stand on the escalator for the 2 minutes, so, imitating the rush-hour Russians I'd seen do so many times, I put my left hand on the railing of the escalator, secured my backpack, and started a brisk walk down the steps, wet boots squeaking on the metal the whole way down.
Got down to the platform, walked almost to the opposite end before the train arrived (there's one every minute during rush hour), got into the second or third car and was lucky enough to find a seat. Several of my friends who live closer to the city center often lament not being able to sit on the metro. I guess that's one plus of my 30 minute ride.
My school here is about 5-10 minutes from the metro, so I got there with 5 minutes to spare before my first class. Checked my coat, double-checked the notice board to make sure my classroom hadn't been changed since last week, and proceeded to Phonetics. After Phonetics, we had a 10 minute break, then my group (4 of us) had Speech practice (this is probably a bad translation on my part, we practice speaking in every class :P).
After the second class, from 12:50-1:40, we had lunch. There are a few options near the university, but so far the only ones that my friends and I have gone to are "чайная ложка" (literally: tea spoon) a lunch place that serves soups, salads, blini, and tea; and the food court at the mall next to the metro stop. The food court is, in my view, a perfect representation of both capitalism's entry into Russia and the affects of gloablisation on world culture.
While several of the places at the food court are definitely Russian, there are also Sbarro, McDonalds, and Burger King. The overall look of the place looks like any other food court I've been in, too. The major difference in service being that I'm intimidated to order from Теремок (the Russian food equivalent of McDonalds) because they all speak fast and act as if they can't understand my Russian. Today, however, I packed a lunch from home to save money so all I bought was a cup of tea for 40 roubles (a bit of a rip-off, but whatever).
After lunch I had one more class, the one that discusses slang and idioms (I can't translate the title well), which went well. At 3:30, everyone in my program had a meeting with our program director to discuss various points of business. It reminds me of Morning Meeting in high school. There are 19 of us, including the kids who are here for a year.
After the meeting, I took the metro home. Coming off the escalator, I witnessed my first passport check. Thankfully, I wasn't stopped, but just inside the door, a policeman was interrogating a man who looked Asian or perhaps Tartar. Outside the station, there were several more policemen standing around. Forcing myself not to stare and avoid meeting their eyes, putting on my best impression of a Russian public face (slight frown, determined to get to my destination), I walked past. As I was not stopped, I have decided to count it as a victory: I look Russian enough!
So that was my Monday, now it's time to stop (congrats to anyone who actually managed to read this long post) and start homework. Or maybe reheat some dinner for myself....
Until next time!
Saturday, February 5, 2011
Ra-Ra-Rasputin Russia's Greatest Love Machine
The title of this post comes from a song that played on the radio Monday--my first morning at my host family's. It really doesn't have any meaning other than my extreme surprise and amusement upon hearing it.
So. I've finally bought a modem. It was quite an experience as the guy who was helping me had trouble reading my American passport (he had to ask me which one was my last name and which my first). As always, he was, I think, a bit confused that I don't have a patronimic. Russians tend not to understand that other cultures don't use them. Anyway, I've got it now, and it's pretty fast now that I've stumbled through the set-up in Russian--no small feat by the way (technical terms are NOT in my vocabulary). Very excited to finally be able to connect to the world again.
Now on to more interesting stories of life in Russia. I'm going to start with a list of stuff that's happened so far and if you'd like to hear more about any of the following, please contact me in some way.
So. I've finally bought a modem. It was quite an experience as the guy who was helping me had trouble reading my American passport (he had to ask me which one was my last name and which my first). As always, he was, I think, a bit confused that I don't have a patronimic. Russians tend not to understand that other cultures don't use them. Anyway, I've got it now, and it's pretty fast now that I've stumbled through the set-up in Russian--no small feat by the way (technical terms are NOT in my vocabulary). Very excited to finally be able to connect to the world again.
Now on to more interesting stories of life in Russia. I'm going to start with a list of stuff that's happened so far and if you'd like to hear more about any of the following, please contact me in some way.
- Stray dogs
- Getting lost last Saturday night with most of the other semester kids. First to find a grocery store, then failing to get back to the dorm and somehow ending up on the wrong side of one of the canals (I have no memory of going over a bridge)
- Living in a Soviet-style dormitory for a couple nights (partly covered in previous post)
- beer can be cheaper than water (depending on the brand of each)
- the Metropolitan (as my host mom calls it)/ the metro to most
- buying lunch and struggling to understand servers
- accidentally pouring Emergen-C into sparkling water and the disastrous results
- Russian malls/ food court
- host family oddness
- tales of Soviet-style apartment building and my ghetto-ish neighborhood (complete with a couple photos)
- my host grandmother's patriotism
- Personal space has a different meaning here (even to pigeons!)
- impressive amounts of locks/doors involved in getting into the family's apartment
- tales of Nastya, the hyperactive 6-year-old (my host sister)
- Kasha and other...interesting Russian foods
- pickpockets (Piter is famous for them--even within Russia)
- Walking to school as the sun rises
- Losing but recovering my ATM card (don't worry, Mom, it's safe)
- Some parents in the neighborhood pull young kids in sleds instead of pushing strollers
- Classes--Grammar, Speaking practicum, Politologia (mix of current events/history/politics/cultural studies), Sytaxical phrasing (probably a bad translation--basically a class about idioms, etc.), and Phonetics
- First attempt at buying a modem (Tuesday)
- You can't do anything in this country without a passport
- Meeting my Peer Tutor (Vika) and bowling
- Weather/street cleaning practices/falling icicles/men cleaning roofs of snow
- My host grandmother's flagrant disregard for me perhaps wanting her not in my room while I'm not here
- Discovering Russian versions of American TV shows (including Married...with children)
- Style/culture-wise the nineties have just gotten to Russia (much like the 80s arriving late to Canada--10 points to first one to note the reference)
- Sickness in Russia and my trip to the clinic (not nearly as sketchy as I expected it to be and they all spoke English)
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Internet, я скучаю по тебе (i miss you)
theres no internet at my host familys place and i cant buy a modem yet. more updates soon!
First day in the motherland
I arrived in Peter (as the natives call it) last night and miraculously my bags arrived with me! The airport here is one of the smallest I've ever seen. Smaller even than the one in Asheville, NC; I can't believe it's international. After getting through passport control (my first Russian line) without mishap I grabbed my bags and went online to reassure my family that I'd gotten here safely.
We took a bus to the dorm and try as i might, I was unable to stay awake on it to view the city. I did, however, wake up to drag my bags first into the dorm (on a snowy/icy sidewalk and up several steps). In order to explain what a difficult task this was, I first need to describe my luggage situation.
Значит так: when packing, I decided to use the largest bag that I could find in my house (I was packing, after all, enough clothes for 4-7 months). The unfortunate thing about this strategy, however, is that my old hockey bag has no wheels on it. Skip ahead to the hotel in DC, where I finally thought of a way to push it around: balancing the 50 pound bag (rounghly 4'x2'x2') on top of my carryon with wheels (2'x1'x1') while also carrying my backpack. Now you may have some idea of both how ridiculous I looked moving my belongings and how challenging it was to get them into the lobby of the dorm/hotel (yes, this place is both--very soviet).
Ok, so once we got our room assignments we were told to go find them: the start of another adventure in soviet engineering. The elevators, though updated since the soviet era, are still the same size as they use to be. The sign said 4 people, but we were barely able to fit 2 of us and our suitcases. Getting off the elevator, I followed my roommate, both because she was in front of me and because as an academic year student, I assumed she knew where she was going. Turns out that was a mistake. After I had dragged and she had easily managed our respectives suitcases down probably about 100 yards of hallway, she announced that our room was not there and must be on the other hall. Sighing while steeling myself for more dragging, I turned around. At this point my roommate wisely pointed out that I could just leave it and come back for it once we found the room.
Carry-on in hand and backpack too, I followed her back down the hallway we'd just passed. We then turned onto another hallway (they run along the sides of the very large building) and walked to the end of it (100-200 meters). The next turn brought us into a staircase which was ok with my smaller bags but made me really dread bringing the big one over. Another turn after the third hallway that was just as long as the others finally brought us to our room. At the very end.
We took a bus to the dorm and try as i might, I was unable to stay awake on it to view the city. I did, however, wake up to drag my bags first into the dorm (on a snowy/icy sidewalk and up several steps). In order to explain what a difficult task this was, I first need to describe my luggage situation.
Значит так: when packing, I decided to use the largest bag that I could find in my house (I was packing, after all, enough clothes for 4-7 months). The unfortunate thing about this strategy, however, is that my old hockey bag has no wheels on it. Skip ahead to the hotel in DC, where I finally thought of a way to push it around: balancing the 50 pound bag (rounghly 4'x2'x2') on top of my carryon with wheels (2'x1'x1') while also carrying my backpack. Now you may have some idea of both how ridiculous I looked moving my belongings and how challenging it was to get them into the lobby of the dorm/hotel (yes, this place is both--very soviet).
Ok, so once we got our room assignments we were told to go find them: the start of another adventure in soviet engineering. The elevators, though updated since the soviet era, are still the same size as they use to be. The sign said 4 people, but we were barely able to fit 2 of us and our suitcases. Getting off the elevator, I followed my roommate, both because she was in front of me and because as an academic year student, I assumed she knew where she was going. Turns out that was a mistake. After I had dragged and she had easily managed our respectives suitcases down probably about 100 yards of hallway, she announced that our room was not there and must be on the other hall. Sighing while steeling myself for more dragging, I turned around. At this point my roommate wisely pointed out that I could just leave it and come back for it once we found the room.
Carry-on in hand and backpack too, I followed her back down the hallway we'd just passed. We then turned onto another hallway (they run along the sides of the very large building) and walked to the end of it (100-200 meters). The next turn brought us into a staircase which was ok with my smaller bags but made me really dread bringing the big one over. Another turn after the third hallway that was just as long as the others finally brought us to our room. At the very end.
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