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).
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