мое русское приключение

violating gender rules, meeting pensioners in parks

2008-07-15T18:01:00.003+03:00

I’ll start by saying that my Russian teachers last semester were incredible. On the first day Youlya asked us which themes we wanted to cover throughout the semester, and we narrowed it down to Politics, Economics, Family Issues (including broader societal problems in Russia), Criminals, and Art/Film/Museums. Naturally this was WONDERFUL because the new vocabulary enabled us to read actual newspaper articles and have discussions about pertinent global issues. She also gave us a sheet full of common expressions and slang used among teenagers today. My Russian friends are always really impressed when I throw out phrases from the sheet.

So now jump to these summer courses, where I’m in the highest level possible with three other Americans, two people from Spain, an older man from Italy and a French girl. The possibilities of interesting conversations are endless! And what does my new teacher, with her dyed blonde hair and blingy jewelry have us talk about in class? Peter the Great! The Hermitage! Of course, yes, these are quite Russian themes, but really nothing I’d talk about with a Russian on the street. Nothing useful.

One day she told us that we’d be reading the newspaper the next day and to remember to bring our dictionaries. Woohoo! Maybe an article about the missile defense shield in Czech Republic, or the problems with the TNK-BP oil company, or Russia’s interference in separatist regions of Georgia! But no, none of the above. We dissected horoscopes. Horoscopes. What a waste of knowledge!

Today’s assignment was a new level of trash. Here is a translated version of the directions: “Do you know the male and female psychology well? Give in written form argumentative answers to the following questions.” And then the title: “Man or Woman?” Basically, you were supposed to dig into your pouch of stereotypes and produce the most gender-role abiding answer.

Translation of question one: “He and she are eating candy. Which one of them eats it right away, and which one eats it slowly to savor the taste?”

Or question number two: “A conversation is being held about the possible need to fly into outer-space if too many serious problems occur on earth. Which of the guests agrees with this and says, ‘I really want to fly there!’? And which answers, ‘No, the cosmos can wait!’?”

Or question number nine: “Three cars wait at a green light. One of them starts first. Who is the driver – a man, or a woman?”

It was hard not to vomit all over the room after reading this narrow-minded filth, and the urge became even stronger as people started answering by playing right into this gender-conforming game. “Well obviously he wants to go to the cosmos, because he’s a man and adventurous. She would be more worried.” “Clearly the man starts first. Men like to drive fast.” And my teacher would sit there and laugh in delight and agreement at these dumb answers.

We had been given time to write out our answers, and my turn arrived to read my response. “Truthfully speaking, I strongly hate these kinds of questions. I’m against these stereotype games and don’t think it’s possible to categorize men and women like that.” And went on, attempting to explain that although the stereotypes might represent the majority of men or women, it’s really just a vicious cycle of people fulfilling their gender roles and thus perpetuating the stereotypes.

My teacher laughed and said that she always loves my cute answers.

Destroying the massive rift between the genders in Russia would be a Herculean task though. I wouldn’t even know where to start to convince the girls here that life does not revolve around marriage and finding a husband, that appearance and fashion and name brands mean nothing in the long run, that feeding themselves would be a good idea, that they have a choice to break away from imaginary gender roles. Of course these ideas permeate through American society too, but they seem much more engrained in Russian society.

The other day was warm and sunny so I sat in the park near a small lake with my laptop. An older man joined my bench and we started talking.

“Guess how old I am.”

“Hmm… 60?”

“83.”

“Wow! That’s very old for a Russian man.”

“I know! I know. Do you speak German?”

“No. I speak a little Spanish.”

“So do I… un poco. I was a doctor with the military, and we were stationed in Cuba for a little while. 1963.”

“1963!? You mean right after the Cuban Missile Crisis?”

“Yes, yes the next year. I really enjoyed it there. The people are always dancing.”

“Wow… so you’ve lived through many changes here in Russia. Tell me, during which period has been the best quality of life overall?”

“Now! Of course now! We had nothing before! You work and work and work and see no results.”

“But you supported the communist regime at the time?”

“Well naturally, because of all the propaganda. But now I see that it was a terrible system.”

“And did you vote last March?”

“Yes, I voted. For Medvedev. The country has never been as stable and prosperous as it became under Putin, and Medvedev will probably continue this.”

He asked some questions about my laptop and family at home. I was able to show him some photos of my parents and Hannah and our home. He really wanted to know how many bedrooms and bathrooms are in our house.

Eventually he left and a few new women sat down, a middle-aged woman and an older woman. They also started talking to me.

“So, do you like St Petersburg?” (older woman)

“Yeah, it’s great.”

“Well I hate it.”

“Oh…?”

“Yes, I went to Canada three years ago. Vancouver. They do things right there. They have a democracy there. You know, last winter I was walking right over there. I suddenly hit some ice and fell, and I was lying there on the ground for a long time before some boys came and helped me. I hurt my hip, right here (pointing). I was in bed for months. This woman (pointing at the middle-aged companion) helps me do things now.”

“So you went to the hospital here?”

“Yes.”

“And how was the service?”

“Oh, not bad. Not bad. But you know how much money I make as a pensioner?”

“4000 rubles, right?” (160$)

“4000 rubles every month! How am I supposed to live! And with medical expenses on top of that!”

The conversation topic eventually shifted to me and my travels.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

“Twenty! Hear that, she’s twenty! Just a child! And who is paying for your studies?”

“Well, mostly my parents.”

“Wow,” the middle-aged woman added, “what parents! I have a twenty year old daughter, but we could never afford to send her anywhere… not like she’d want to. She isn’t independent at all.”

Oh, I’m suddenly being told to wrap this up immediately because it is time to leave the Hermitage.

update

2008-07-10T19:38:00.005+03:00

Spending the Fourth of July weekend in Russia was the strangest adventure of my life. It unfolded like a weird story or movie and it’s necessary to describe it in detail since everything somehow pieced together very nicely, but I have no time to start that right now. To give an idea though, the main characters of the evening were:

1) -- Phil, twenty, from St Petersburg, blondish hair, became the hookup to the raging Russian birthday party the following night (video coming soon)

2) -- Roman, twenty, from Krasnodar (42-hour train ride south of here, still in Russia), pagan, tattoos of pagan gods on arms and hands, bright orange Mohawk, large earrings in one ear, very intelligent

3) -- Vadim, twenty-one, from Moscow, tall and skeletal-like with massive earphones constantly around his neck

The four of us, all strangers before meeting at this café on July 4 in a sort-of art gallery and playing chess, ended up spending the entire night roaming around the city together.

In other happenings-

I was washing my hands in the Hermitage yesterday, and some woman stopped me before exiting and looked at my nametag.

- “You cryin’?”

- “Umm.. nyet…” (“No…”)

- “O, ya videla tebya tam ii doomala…” (“Oh, I saw you there and thought…”)

- “Nyet, veedete? Ya ne plachoo.” (“No, see? I’m not crying.”)

- “Noo, da, no you cryin’?” (“Well, yes, but you cryin’?”)

Then the third girl interrupted, laughing.

- “Nyet nyet, youkraiin! Ona doomala chto ti youkraiin!” (“No, no, Ukrainian! She thought that you were Ukrainian!”)

Ukrainian. Of course. Much more logical than “you cryin’?”

And finally, I saw this Harry Potter spoof on youtube right before I left Drake last December. I’m really no fan but it’s humorous anyway, and oddly enough some new Russian friends were raving about the same clip. I met Shama, an 18 year old with really sweet dreadlocks at the Russian birthday party last weekend. We hung out with her friends the other night then had dinner at her house, and on Saturday we’re all going to Vyborg (near the Finish border). Weird how this sock puppet video has fans all over the world.

More to come sometime, but I’m trying to maximize my time here which means blogging isn't a top priority. I return to the US in 2 ½ weeks, which should be total joy after 6 months gone but I’m really starting to be fully accustomed to Russia, complete even with Russian friends. The uncertainty about when I'll be in Russia again is almost alarming.

Must go — we got done early at the St Petersburg Times and I’m one of the last ones still here.

SERJ! TOSCA! VERDI!

2008-06-25T15:29:00.001+03:00

Serj Tankian’s performance defied adjectives! It’s been a year since I’ve been in a proper mosh pit (unless you count Barack Obama rallies, which probably do qualify). About fifteen of us die-hard Serj fans – a bunch of twenty-something Russians and me – had already gathered outside the venue about three hours early. In my defense, by the way, I wouldn’t normally show up that early but there are few musicians on the planet that I’d rather see live than System of a Down. And since System of a Down is on some so-called hiatus, its former lead singer (Serj) is the next greatest. He’s on a world tour to promote his highly-political, brilliant solo album, “Elect the Dead.”

We waited outside for ages with some policemen nearby while the concert staff twiddled their thumbs and got things ready. Most of the fellow music fans resorted to drinking some Tuborg or Baltika or other cheap Russian beer from the nearby kiosk while waiting, and I did sudoku and eavesdropped. We were finally allowed inside only to be hustled from locked door to locked door since they didn’t seem to know through which entry to send us. Once actually inside the auditorium, I managed to shimmy up to second-row standing: score! Anything behind the second row can be treacherous when the raging mosh pit comes to life, and you sometimes end up focusing on protecting your life rather than the musicians on stage.

There was a polite Russian boy next to me named Dima. I only know his name was Dima because he had drawn a picture for Serj, of Serj’s grinning face, and had written “From Dima” at the bottom. He stood there for the whole concert with this drawing, taking care not to crinkle or smear it, apparently waiting to give it to Serj. But the small fleet of jacked-up concert staff remained between the pit and the stage preventing a handoff, leaving a sad Dima with his artwork.

Concerts usually start late and they usually play some other CD of rock music to pacify the antsy mosh pit. It’d be weird though if the mosh pit started singing, even along with the music. It’d be even more weird if the mosh pit started singing nationalistic songs and ignoring the rock music on in the background. But in Russia this must not be strange, because the youthful crowd initiated different Mother Russia songs over and over.

Finally, after the infinite waiting period and after some poser-wannabe-metal band yelled about typical poser-metal band topics like love and girls, Serj emerged in a white suit & top hat combination (much like in his "Empty Walls" music video) to contrast the black suit & top hat combination of his new band mates. His energy, enthusiasm, and passion were exploding from his face as he tastefully raged about the debacle called American Foreign Policy. Every song from his new album, from “Elect the Dead” to “The Unthinking Majority” to “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition” was played and usually accompanied by some explanation or bonus information. He even played a few new songs and covered the Dead Kennedys’ “Holiday in Cambodia.” It was the epitome of all rock concerts in my life thus far and I can’t endorse him emphatically enough.

Other recent musical outings include seeing Puccini’s Tosca, my first real opera. Murder, rape, death, death, death… a real opera! Then last weekend Una and I went to Verdi’s Requiem, which was also pretty good. Actually I just stared at the men with the drum mallets and waited for them to get into position, because then I knew that the main theme with its powerful timpani bit would come again (because really, why else would you bother listening to this somber Requiem?) Next concert: Rene Fleming on Monday!!

I’ve been more busy than usual between these two volunteer gigs, which are both going great, and the classes which started again on Monday. A good base chunk of Russian grammar and vocabulary is solidifying in my brain, so even though I’m now in the highest level of classes it’s all starting to make sense.

There is so much to write about!! Including that massive gala mentioned in the last entry! Will make a concerted effort to add more so this week. I took some notes on my Euro-invasion so will post those soon….ish.

excuses excuses excuses

2008-06-20T17:50:00.002+03:00

A real blog will arrive eventually, but not at this moment, because we Hermitage volunteers are preparing for a gathering of people-with-money, set to take place in about an hour here and last until 2 in the morning. Earlier today Ludmilya and I delivered Mrs. Hennessy her invitation. That'd be the wife of the owner of this Hennessy. (A little shameless name-dropping to excuse what a negligent blogger I am.) Will update more soon!

"we don't need no thoughts controlled"

2008-06-11T13:28:00.003+03:00

Thank you, horrible internet connections in Russia! I tried to post this blog last Saturday, ran into problems and suddenly five days have passed and am just now adding it to the web. The blog also has nothing to do with the European trip, although those should be written/added soon… but no promises. All this volunteering is pleasantly packing my days more than school did last semester. And a positive side-note: This morning I woke up and decided that I’m fluent in Russian, which is a complete lie since I’m nowhere near the fluent ballpark yet, but psychologically it really works wonders. During the first of many tea-breaks this morning at the Hermitage Ludmilya and Katya commented instantly on how good my grasp of Russian is. So my advice of the day to fellow language-learners: follow suit.

(starting point of blog from last Saturday)

Pink Floyd was indescribable last night. Well, so it wasn’t exactly Pink Floyd, it was just Roger Waters (member from the eighties) and a few homies. The annual St. Petersburg International Economic Forum (an event Russia attempted to hijack from another country eight years ago) is currently taking place and included this free concert. Weird to have trippy Pink Floyd melodies associated with this capitalist-fest, but what a show!

I had been working in the Hermitage literally all day. “Working” is probably the wrong verb. Earlier this week we helped translate and tweak documents, or stood by entrances in the museum, or did minimal research for upcoming business trips, consistently interrupted with, “Tea? Tea? Yes, let’s have some tea now…” One massive sidetrack involved this new website that Mihail’s (volunteer director) girlfriend had sent him. It was some “incredible scientific breakthrough,” a program that some “genius mathematician” formulated which spits out percentages of how extroverted/introverted you are and enables you to find your “soulmate”. Another volunteer (Una from Ireland) and I thought it was nonsense but the Russian/Estonian volunteers (about four people between 20 and 35) pored over it in fascination for most of that tea break – which shouldn’t be surprising, because supposedly most Russians are quite the horoscope fanatics.

Oh, that reminds me of this new volunteer. Una studies at Oxford but is here for a month just to volunteer at the Hermitage. She’s considering a museum curator career path and thought she’d get some real experience here, but our tasks are more mundane than that. If nothing else it’s still great language practice, especially since we’re the only native English speakers here (aside from the cluster of Mormons from Utah… but they kind of keep to themselves). She also happens to live a couple apartment buildings away from me.

Earlier this week we were tweaking the translation of some forms and came across the words “firewall party.”

“What’s this ‘firewall party’?”

“Oh…. you know…” Katya, a volunteer from Estonia, tried to explain, “We, like, say it all the time… like… ‘I’m having a firewall party’ or something…”

And it really took some time before Una produced the obvious answer, “You mean FAREwell party!”

“Ahh, yes, that. Well we don’t know how to SPELL it… (Becoming slightly defensive) yeah… everyone just thinks it’s a firewall party…”

There can even be language mishaps between Una and I, like when I sent her a text this morning saying “delayed by my bloody nose, let’s move it up 10 minutes.” We met at the bus stop and she said, “At first I thought you wanted to say you got a cold and that you were using [the mild British profanity of] ‘bloody’ to describe it.”

Anyway, so yesterday we had been at the Hermitage all day but there wasn’t a ton to do until eight pm. I brought my chess set along though and killed a few hours playing that, and then we all played “Mafia” in Russian. In Mafia everyone is assigned a role (citizen, police, doctor, or mafia), then everyone in the city goes to sleep and waits for the mafia to kill someone and the police to arrest someone and the doctor to save someone. There’s more to it, but overall it was pretty entertaining. Finally we moved a bunch of chairs around in a gallery so some cruise ship goers could hear a classical concert and I fled to Palace Square, right in front of the Hermitage, to hear Pink Floyd (Roger Waters).

Roger Water’s age really didn’t detract from the performance. For the first half, he played some older songs and some of his personal newer songs for 75 minutes. They unveiled the massive graffiti-ed flying pig right during the last song before intermission. Its size almost rivaled characters from Macy’s Parade on Thanksgiving. Ten men marched through the crowd holding its strings, flanked by Russian military men and led by some shouting man in a white laboratory coat which had been splattered with red paint. When the song finished they all let go of the strings and this giant pig teetered into oblivion. It’ll somehow self-destruct before it reaches airplane traffic height, I’m guessing?

Then, after the intermission, Roger & crew returned to play “Dark Side of the Moon” in its entirety, followed by the song “Another Brick in the Wall.” Giant television screens behind the stage were full of bizarre themed images during the whole presentation.

Other news from this week includes the proofreading gig with the St Petersburg Times, which is pretty much what it sounds like and a really good experience. I sit in a huge room with wooden floors and large windows and proofread pages while writers and editors occupy other desks, speaking across the room in Russian and English while finishing and polishing their articles.

COUNTDOWN: FIVE DAYS TILL THE CONCERT OF MY LIFE-- SERJ TANKIAN! (FORMERLY LEAD SINGER OF SYSTEM OF A DOWN)

part one: exiting Russia, entering London

2008-06-02T20:36:00.002+03:00

Russia is grimier, hotter, and more intoxicated than when I left a few weeks ago. Here is a quick Russia update pre-EuroFest: Classes ended around May 14th and we took off for London on May 17th. The Russian language finals were almost fun. For the speaking portion, out of the five possible topics I happened to be given “Crime and Punishment.” What a great way to finish a semester—explaining reasons why George Bush should be considered quite the criminal himself, how he has no respect for international law, how thousands upon thousands of Iraqi civilians have died because our planes drop bombs on their homes… then discussing the current political race in America… then trying to argue against the death penalty…all in Russian! I’m finally talking about topics (in Russian) that actually matter! (As in matter more than “describe your daily schedule” or “what would your ideal wedding be like” or any of those other first-year filth topics.)

The excitement of EuroFest began before even landing in London. We were about two stories off of the ground, seconds from landing, when the pilot jerked the plane rapidly into the sky. Some other pilot hadn’t bothered to get his plane off the runway yet, and nobody had notified our pilot (who was luckily paying attention). The plane landed without problems though, and all the Russians clapped like the do every time their plane lands.

Being back in London was really strange. After spending four months in Russia including the one week in Egypt, small details of London stood out much more. It was so clean! The metros ran smoothly and appeared to be from the future, or at least the not-too-distant past. The traffic seemed orderly. The next morning when I was wandering around downtown killing time before my 9am train left, workers were already cleaning the trash from the streets. Bicyclists were getting some morning exercise. What a bizarre culture.

Cannot write more now. Today I had a really great lunch in a cafeteria-like restaurant for 140 rubles (six dollars or so) then accidentally left my Japanese cartoon character money pouch (which I had even named “Bakipanman”) at the table with about 12 dollars inside. I realized it right after exiting the building, but by the time I returned (maybe 1.5 minutes later) it had vanished and supposedly none of the employees had seen a thing. So I left the restaurant 12 dollars poorer and without Bakipanman, thinking over and over “Wow, I really hate Russia. Why am I not still in Western Europe?” (Although I did realize this was more of a personal problem—with failing to watch my belongings—rather than a “Russia” problem.)

My mission had been to continue to the St. Petersburg Times, the only English newspaper in St. Petersburg, and see if they needed any summer help. Still in a mildly annoyed mood I found the practically hidden building and asked the security guards if I could enter. “Where are you going?” “I’m looking for the St. Petersburg Times offices.” “Oh, go with this guy” (pointing to the man entering with me). We started walking upstairs and I explained that I was just looking for part-time work. “Ah, well you’re talking to the right person. I’m the editor.” And just like that, I’ve got work at 3:00pm Thursday to proof-read some future articles and can probably “work my way up from there.”

Which is why I can’t write more on EuroFest now: because I’ve got this resume to piece together (although I think it’s just protocol, since he already told me to show up for work). Tomorrow is the day I return to the Hermitage for hard-core volunteering, since summer hours have started. And tomorrow is also the day when Mr Tambourine Man himself, Bob Dylan, arrives in St Petersburg, which I’m tentatively planning on attending.

More blogs to come though on the three part Switzerland-France-Netherlands trip.

I just found a sub-par location to store photos online. But I can’t just provide the link, because it’s a goofy and inferior website but the only free one working for me, so leave a comment or something and I can add you to the privileged “share” list.

VICTORY DAY FESTIVITIES

2008-05-12T17:18:00.002+03:00

Taking a break from finals studying (which isn’t too difficult here anyway) to eat cashews, listen to Slipknot and write a blog. May 9th is Victory Day here (“Den Pobedi”) for victory in WWII, or the “Great Patriotic War” as the Russians call it. Even though the average male here dies around 59 years, I just read that there are still 3 million veterans from WWII as well as people who were younger and survived the 900 day Nazi blockade of St. Petersburg. Really, the impact of WWII on the Russians was and still is tremendous and Victory Day is one of the biggest celebrations of the year.

This year Victory Day happened to be two days after Putin and Medvedev got new job titles. I hope Medvedev uses colorful, provocative phrases in his speeches like Putin does. The Western press doesn’t usually pick up on these, but different English-language Russian newspapers fill in their readers. (One such phrase was, "We'll follow terrorists everywhere. We will corner the bandits in the toilet and beat the hell out of them.") Since the Victory Day parades were planned under Putin’s regime, they could almost symbolize his last real message to the world. Message: DON’T UNDERESTIMATE/CHECK OUT OUR MILITARY STRENGTH! At least that’s the only logical message. There haven’t been tanks and heavy artillery in Victory Day parades since Gorbachev when the Russian leader was striving for amiable global relations. The reversal this year brought massive muscle-flexing in both Moscow and St. Petersburg. Not like I’m trying to spew out “New Cold War” nonsense (like some current money-hungry authors) — but it’s still an interesting move from the Kremlin.

Annoyingly, nobody knew where this parade of potential destruction was going to go. Everyone, including random Russians like my host family and others on the street, thought that it would extend the length of Nevsky Prospect and end on Dvortsovaya Square in front of the Hermitage. But to actually see anything at Dvortsovaya Square was impossible. The throngs of Russians were thicker than imaginable so I wandered along Nevsky, hoping to catch some of the action there. Balloon sellers and flag sellers were dispersed everywhere and I thought it was especially interesting to see which flag people chose to wave or which flag they bought for their children to wave: the current Russian flag, the flag of the USSR, or a neutral “Happy Victory Day” flag.

I caught a glimpse of some missile launching tanks (probably not their official name) queued up along a canal before they entered the square, but other than that saw nothing. The “parade”, it turns out, just meant that the tanks would drive around the square for awhile then head out over a bridge to Vasilyevskiy Island. Since I was waiting on Nevsky, with a good number of equally confused Russians, I missed the main event. Afterwards I wandered over to Dvortsovaya Square anyway to see the festival decorations. There was an old woman there doing a lot of dancing and singing old Soviet songs, occasionally addressing the crowd as “Comrades!” and such. She was really entertaining and I have both film and video. I actually used my digital camera for the first time since London and will probably do so more often. I kept forgetting about it.

That night, like every year, they lit off fireworks over the Neva River not far from the Hermitage. The intensity of the celebration was like nothing I’ve seen in America. Loud, highly ecstatic, quite intoxicated Russians everywhere either drinking beer or sometimes pouring vodka and juice into plastic cups or drinking the vodka straight and often smoking their seemingly never-ending cigarette supplies. The actual firework display was pathetic—just puny, puny explosions which never really varied from the typical one-color flower-like bursts. This didn’t bother the crowd though because they cheered madly and toasted each other and waved more Russian/USSR flags throughout the whole event.

The next day we did an excursion to yet another Russian palace. I’m getting really sick of these palaces. It was supposedly the best one, called something like “Petrograff” on the Gulf of Finland with sprawling grounds covered in massive fountains. Not too shabby, but I went rollerblading around town instead and took that photo (near the top of the page currently).

Later that night I went to a Russian party with some American friends. Katie met these guys a few years ago while she was here and spends a lot of time with them. I hadn’t met them until last weekend when we all went paintballing together. Paintballing was incredible!! It’s probably 20 minutes south of town in farming territory. One playing field had some abandoned decrepit buildings, car skeletons and various tire/wood barricades. The second field was in a small hilly wooded area, complete with trenches and different wooden fortifications. “ВЫ ГОТОВЫ УМЕРТЬ?” was spray painted onto a building and greeted us upon arrival, which means “Are you ready to die?” Katie and I were the only Americans (and the only females and the only ones with no experience) with seven other Russians on our team. The only other team practicing when we arrived happened to be one of the best teams in St. Petersburg and also happened to be a bunch of 40-ish year old Russians. We got slaughtered. Pretty quickly though we gained strength and collaborated together and when a new team arrived we came close to victory.

My mind switched gears during the games in really interesting ways. Playing Halo (a Play Station killing game) was the most I’d participated in armed battles previously, which does nothing for adrenaline the way paintball did. You’re squatted down behind some measly fortification, gun in hand, trying to strategically kill the enemy. Then the game supervisors will chuck a smoke bomb into the center of the field, and you become somewhat disoriented with this new curveball but stay fixed on the mission of killing those other Russians for the glory of your team. Weird to think about the gun-toting youth of various warring countries who have these experiences too, only with probably a ten-fold increase in adrenaline and deeper psychological effects and AK-47s filled with bullets and not paint.

Afterwards we stayed out there and prepared the food we brought: grilled shaskliik (shishkabab), tomatoes, apples, and bread accompanied by vodka in small plastic cups the size of shot glasses. Yes, they actually sell those in Russia. It was all a very Russian experience.

So now back to that Russian party the other night, which happened to be in a communal style apartment. This was great because I haven’t seen a communal apartment yet and was very curious about this common Soviet-era way of life. We got there a little after midnight and Grisha met us downstairs, then had to bribe the woman on duty to let us all in (which was accomplished for about 50 rubles a person, or 2 dollars.) We proceeded up to his floor, which is really not a place I would want to live. About 10 different rooms line the perimeter with some filthy communal showers and toilets walled off in the center area. The two hallways meet in the communal kitchen at the end of the hall, which was equally grimy and has old ovens and stoves and some sitting chairs. All the walls are covered in some nauseous green shade. The individual rooms themselves— meant to house full families in their heyday— are pretty small too, maybe the size of a luxurious dorm room or a couple regular ones.

Ok this blog is probably long enough.

Returning from the unintentional hiatus…

2008-05-02T14:04:00.002+03:00

Cameron and Mandy, my friends studying in Egypt, visited last week for their spring break. Last December at Drake we joked (in a serious way) about the possibility of a “country swap” this semester and actually accomplished it. I was curious if they would be disappointed with all Russia doesn’t have to offer. Several other students have had their parents come to visit. They (the parents) must look touristy because they tend to get mugged pretty early on, cementing a “what-a-lousy-country” mood which remains strong through sub-par encounters with Russians and overcast skies. They usually tell their child here that Russia is “nice,” then go home and reveal their true disdain of their experience to their other children.

Not the case here!

Their first night was spent at a café/bar/hookah bar called Sahara and owned by Algerians. It’s small, below street level, away from Nevsky, open 24 hours, cheap and easily my favorite dining location in St. Pete. We ordered a hookah and started playing chess, which quickly drew the attention of a benignly drunk Russian. It was his 20th birthday and he was fired up to play some chess. Suddenly his other four male friends flocked to our table after he altered them that we were Americans. “Americans!! OOOO!” “Picture? Please? Picture?” “You have to understand… we never see Americans! This is amazing!” “And it’s even my birthday! This is a great birthday!!” They especially liked Cameron’s bowler hat and put it on their own heads for several pictures. This enjoyable madness, which eventually simmered down a little, lasted a few hours. It also turned out that the man sitting behind us was from Dubai so Cameron was able to practice his Arabic a little (though not much because the man had spent his entire life relocating and doesn’t actually know a single language fully).

Other highlights of their visit include: a concert in Rimsky-Korsokov’s apartment, finding a gas mask for 2$ at an outdoor market (where they were also selling various guns), a modern jazz club which not only had incredible music but also sold Cuban cigars (which Cameron smoked and I sampled), journeying around Kuntzkamera—the “Museum of Oddities”—which houses Peter the Great’s collection of distorted human and animal fetuses, going to the museum which allegedly has Rasputin’s penis on display (although there is some debate about its authenticity), having a grimy woman on Nevsky ask for any “spare change for beer,” and touring Dostoyevsky’s apartment among other things.

Cameron really wanted to find a Russian banya (a place where you alternate between a sauna and a pool of freezing water occasionally beating one another with birch sticks), so thinking I had located one we set off. Mandy stayed back because her shoes destroyed her feet by day two and walking became increasingly painful. We took a metro to the northern fringes of town near a lake called Ozerki. The banya was nowhere to be found but some locals on the shore thought we should “walk that way and ask again.” Having time to spare, we did this until the path was eventually drowned by high water levels and impassible. Two plump women, beers in hand, seemed as perplexed as we were. They responded with a not-very-convincing affirmative about a banya location and suggested we follow them. Why not! We all tromped through some brush then wove along gravel roads to find an even smaller lake. A banya, they predicted, would be on the other side. This lake was less welcoming than the first and we got the feeling that the groups of people standing around drinking were quite local. We thought about abandoning the mission when Cameron saw somebody getting out of a boat not too far away. “We could ask one more person, like that man…” (the man’s entire body now came into view) “…with the automatic rifle in his hand…” And after a few brief nervous laughs, since rifle man was heading in our general direction, in hushed voices, “Do you see the size of that scope??” “I think we should go.” “What could he possibly need a scope that big for?” “Don’t speak English!” So we briskly walked past rifle man, speculating about his weapon on our safe walk back to the metro.

Their last day in Russia was mildly chaotic for me, by choice. We had stayed out all night and caught the first metro the next morning around 5:40 am. I spent most of the morning running around town to get all the proper requirements for a visa renewal: forms, the results of my HIV test I had taken the day before (still negative, woohoo!), and new black/white photos. The photos take 15 minutes to process so I was wandering aimlessly from stand to stand outside the metro station when this old woman approached me. Her face was textured from deep wrinkles and large scabs and she was missing a couple teeth. She started going on and on about all sorts of things—how she was a teacher, how sometimes students didn’t know proper Russian grammar and this was very annoying, then jumped to the blockade of St. Petersburg during WWII and the upcoming holidays commemorating this, how her father was a general in the army, how people were always dying, how little food they had, how she remembers seeing her friends during the blockade and “they weren’t scared at all!”, and on and on. I understood the gist of this, and when in doubt just laughed if she was laughing or looked somber if she did. Finally I apologized and said I had to pick up some pictures, and she excitedly thanked me profusely and curtsied and blew a few kisses.

Cameron and Mandy flew out later that day, evading muggers and petty thieves during their entire stay. They even genuinely enjoyed their time here but don’t feel the need to return any time soon. Fair enough; it’s a much better report than most Americans seem to give. We did talk about how quickly the global food crises erupted. I had been reading articles about riots in Egypt in particular and they said that the week after I left, food prices doubled. They confirmed that the general atmosphere in Egypt has been deteriorating rapidly in the past month as everyone struggles to feed themselves and their families. A taxi driver even grabbed Cameron's arm after Cameron offered a fair rate. Food prices increased here too-- even bread has gone way up-- and Rita ("host-mom") believes that they'll skyrocket after Medvedev is sworn in next week.

Playing tour guide for a week was the first reason I haven't written. Then I bought some rollerblades which have distracted me from everything else in life.

About summer plans: Decided to do a short trip around western Europe then return to St. Petersburg to take classes and continue volunteering at the Hermitage. The classes are ridiculously cheap-- 525$ for up to 20 credits! And in addition to volunteering, I can continue my free Spanish classes at the Hermitage. A woman from Spain has been teaching a small group of volunteers: 20-ish year old girl from Estonia, two 30-ish year old women from Russia, two 30-ish year old men from Russia and me. I already took a few years in high school so it's mostly review for now but we cover aspects of Spanish culture, which is interesting from a Spaniard's perspective.

speaking with animals who don't know English

2008-04-16T09:48:00.001+03:00

We spent roughly 30 minutes in class yesterday learning Russian animal sounds:

Dog: “Gab-gab!”

Cat: “Mur-mur!”

Frog: “Kva-kva!”

Horse: “Eee-go-go!”

Duck: “Krya-krya!”

Rooster: “Koo-ka-rekoo!”

The Finish and Dutch students added their versions too but I won’t bother adding all of those. But for anyone really eager to know world wide animal sounds, kill some time on this website.

crooks? in Russia? you must be pulling my leg....

2008-04-09T15:36:00.003+03:00

Reason number 256431 on why moving out of the dorms was the best decision: The other night unknown bandits crept into dorm rooms of American students to steal things. Room one: two females, door unlocked (!!??!), both sleeping in their beds, both laptops stolen. Room two: two males but one victim, door unlocked (!!??????), both sleeping in beds, laptop, digital camera, wallet, and passport (!) stolen. The two last items were actually in his pants, wrinkled up on the floor beside his bed. Needless to say the dorms were total bedlam the next morning, so I’m told, as everyone shifted into full-out Nancy Drew mode. (“It’s someone on floor seven, oh I just know it, it has to be.” “What about the Germans across the hall? They know our room setups and none of their things are missing!” “Uhhh hello! They’re our friends. Nooo way.”) I feel really bad for Ben especially (passport-less) and I don’t know what the University is doing about it, but geeze, lock your doors! They warned us on day one that there are many thieves in the dorms!

I haven’t been in Egypt for almost 3 weeks but since I never finished writing about that, or Moscow, here’s more in a backwards version.

“Well hi-ya girls! Where you goin’!” This is how our seat partner greeted us on the flight back from Cairo to Moscow. “Moscow.”
“Aww why you goin’ there? I’ma goin’ to LA.”
“You live in Cairo?”
“Yeah, 2 years, but I was born in the US. But then I got to thinking, what’s the easiest way to get me to Saudi Arabia? And I realized, well hell, I know how to install air conditioning you know. So I thought, yeah, Egypt is pretty close to Saudi Arabia, I'll install air conditioning there. I’ma Muslim, by the way.”
“So have you done the Hajj to Mecca yet?” (Pilgrimage required of Muslims, the Mecca being in Saudi Arabia.)
“Aw no girl, I want to though, really want to.”
“You like Cairo?”
“You know, yeah, yeah I do… but Arabic, man, that is one tricky language.” Then he paused for a moment, as if thinking, and nodded gravely, “‘La’ means ‘no.’” (I didn’t bother telling him that we picked that up already during our time there…)
A little later Karli asked if he was married.
“Yeah, yeah I am. She’s real cool. Real chill. You know she ain’t gonna mess around on you, nuh-huh.”
“How’d you meet?”
(Laughs) “She was sittin’ on the street, sellin’ somethin’! And I said—now, you know, I can’t really speak Arabic—but I told her it was too much! And we started arguin’ and look at us now—we’re married!”
Then he told us his name, which was too complex to remember, and added, “But you can just call me Q.” He quickly pulled his jacket away from his chest to show the stitched on name, which was actually not “Q” but c-u-e: “Cue.”
We didn’t talk much the rest of the flight because he and Karli were sleeping (the flight was from 1:30am to 6:30 am) and I was able to enjoy the coveted window spot, which has become my favorite location anywhere on overnight flights. Sleepers really miss out on the sunrise. Cue had talked about being really nervous about the Russia stopover and not wanting to spend any time there (unfortunately if I were a black man with no Russian knowledge, I’d probably agree.)
After the flight when Karli and I were standing in line to get back into Russia, she pointed over to the line right next to us. “Hey… why is Cue in that line? He’s in the line to enter Russia…” So we called to him (really, we were close enough to touch him with a really long stick) and he quick jolts his head over, “Well there you are, girls! I’s been lookin’ EVERYwhere for you!” We sent Cue off in the right direction.

The last day in Cairo had been pretty easy going—just some walking, touring the Blue Mosque (built at the same time as the one in Iran and the one in Turkey but partially destroyed during the ’92 earthquake in Cairo), café at night with Cameron’s friends—to make up for the previous day, which had been packed.

Initially we had planned to go to the camel markets on that day, but abandoned this plan for several reasons. The camel markets are the ultimate antithesis of tourist events. Every Friday camels are herded up from Sudan to a remote location north of Cairo in order for farmers to buy camels. These farmers tend to be more traditional and fundamental in their religious beliefs than the city dwellers (not surprising since the same is true everywhere—look at the US). In Egypt’s case, this means that the farmers at the market may: have more than one wife, believe women have no right to an education, condone female circumcision (also called “female genital mutilation” depending on your viewpoint), and will be more inclined to dislike Americans. We probably would have been ok if Cameron and I had gone with me fully covered in clothing and a headscarf, but Karli’s clothing wouldn’t have been tolerated. Aside from that, it’s said that when the farmers get bored they beat their camels into submission. Karli had already exhibited a high love for animals and may have been inclined to intervene on a puking, bleeding camel’s behalf subsequently causing mass trouble for all of us. So we skipped that little plan.

Oh, must go now to the ballet… more on the pyramids in the next blog. I didn’t even realize it was today until somebody in class mentioned it, so I also don’t know which ballet, or the location of the ballet, but it should be interesting.

Russian television

2008-04-04T15:50:00.002+03:00

Television yesterday from 9-10

9:00-9:30: News. Every night the same woman gives the news on Channel One, the primary (only?) provider of television news in Russia, the state-owned news channel. And every night since probably December (when Putin announced his successor) but especially since March 2 (when this successor did indeed prevail) this news channel has gone out of its way to show Dimitri Medvedev doing something. Here’s Dimitri talking with folks, here’s Dimitri in a meeting, here’s Dimitri getting laughs during a speech. The next story was a man who killed three young girls. Rita took this opportunity to tell me that here “crazy people get crazier in the spring,” a fact “supported by science,” though she doesn’t really know why. Spring did appear out of nowhere this week, and so did a fresh load of bums. Previously vacant benches outside the apartments are now covered in grimy beer drinking men. There’s even a crew that just kind of lounge around the dumpsters… drink around the dumpsters… sift through the dumpsters… urinate on the dumpsters… and do other relatively harmless things, sometimes simply crying. We’ll see if Rita’s information about the “crazies” pertains to the dumpster homies.

9:30-10:00: The real excitement every night begins after the news, when the soap opera begins. The intensity of this installment was at full blast from the opening scene. Malnourished scantily clad female number one, the same female hated by the rest of the starving females in the room, had a pistol! She had accepted the Russian roulette challenge from the evil group leader and timidly pulled the trigger--- nothing! While she inhaled sighs of relief, the evil group leader’s rage grew and she swiftly grabbed the pistol and took a turn--- but luck was against her! Oh no, a dead character in the first 2 minutes! Oh well! Off to an auction for female number one, who did bother to put on a sweater (a tight sweater, that is), where she and another man flirtatiously continue to outbid each other! Finally he prevails (it would be unnatural to think otherwise in Russian society; the word for “wife” literally means “behind husband”; men don’t shake women’s hands unless the woman bothers to extend her arm; in short, “gender roles” are quite acknowledged) and they decide to have lunch together, where he confesses his love for her and gives her a broach! Wow, can’t wait for next Monday!

Egypt III

2008-03-29T12:13:00.002+02:00

The little neighborhood hooligans were up to some mischief again last night. Around 12:30 I heard a succession of loud explosions and ran to the window to investigate. Last time this happened, about two weeks ago, a car was sitting on the snow between apartment buildings and completely aflame. All the residents of the apartment building across from me had also come to the windows to watch, and eventually I think someone grabbed a fire extinguisher from the hallway (fire trucks never arrived). I called Rita over because it seemed pretty bizarre (not to mention dangerous) but she just kind of grunted and said “Huhhh! Those kids!” and walked away. The next day the automobile carcass was on display, but someone actually disposed of it quickly afterward. Last night the pyromaniacs altered their MO and set off massive fireworks right next to a different apartment building.

I completed the rigorous process of getting a library card the other day, followed by the more annoying process of getting in and out of the library. Fill out form. Show passport. Answer questions. Get picture. Try to enter—refused because of backpack. Try to enter without backpack—refused because of iPod. Try to enter without iPod—refused because of book (books in general aren’t allowed to enter the library—how do I study without books??). Finally enter, try to exit but refused because my sheet is lacking a signature. Go on rat race to find Stamp and Signature woman. Exit and mentally curse the library. All this madness paid off though, because I found a different puny library near Rita’s apartment. I think the number of books in our living at home trumps the number in this library, but that makes no difference, because I’m after their computers. Three ancient computers with all the free internet access you could want (“you” apparently only being me, because nobody else is ever taking advantage of them).

Moving on to Egypt. The next day we did Old Cairo which is basically a cluster of churches devoted to St. George (or, as I endearingly call him, St. George Dragon Slayer—his image is everywhere, and every time he is valiantly on a horse spearing some dragon). It’s the Coptic area of town, which is the Egyptian brand of Christianity. The majority of the population doesn’t really care for the Coptic but I don’t know how blatant the discrimination is. One of Cameron’s “chess cafe” friends, Victor, a Christian, is fleeing to Australia and citing religious persecution as his reason. Without knowing enough history, Old Cairo was more like another tourist infestation.

That night we did Khan al Khalili, a giant sprawling market. The offers for Karli and I started in the taxi ride there when the driver offered Cameron to give us (females) a tour of the desert (most of their conversation was in Arabic and I unknowingly caught the “desert” portion on film—when Cameron is clarifying that man is actually talking about the desert). Comments intensified in the market: (to Cameron) “Wooo lucky man, lucky man! You have two (women)!” “How many camel? How many camel? I give you 200 camel! 200 for your lady!” (And to Karli or me) “You want Egyptian husband? Come! I be your Egyptian husband!” And then they systematically tried to rip us off with asinine prices (by Egyptian standards that is), which we bartered down to mildly asinine prices. Overall, it was a good vibe of friendly people as seen in the video footage.

That night we ate at El Fishawry, the cafe in one of the wider alleyways of the market. Sellers are constantly walking through with goods to sell like watches and gaudy necklaces and small wall hangings, and kids walk through selling beads or funny glasses or funny visors or asking for food. We were sitting on a bench, Cameron-Mandy-Karli-Me, when the man near Cameron leaned over and asked Cameron if I was his sister. Occasionally throughout the week Cameron would answer “yes,” because it was an easy way to explain things. You can’t live together in Egypt without being married, so Cameron and Mandy would tell people that they were married (Egyptians typically respect this answer and, maybe partly because infidelity is such a grave crime in Islam, would not pursue Mandy). Cameron having a female friend visit would be illogical, but having a sister visit and bring her friend was ok. However, a brother is allowed to give permission for his sister to be wed (the drawback of our scheme). So when the man at El Fishawry asked Cameron if I was his sister, and he said yes, the next legitimate question (though a joke?) was if he could marry me. Cameron decided no, but that didn’t stop the man from giving me some flowers and a little metal key holder. Really though, none of the potential suitors ever became the least bit threatening.

Again, more Egypt stories arriving shortly.

Greatest news: finally gave in to the unreasonable Youtube gods and divided my footage into two parts in order to post it on the WWW:

Egypt II

2008-03-26T14:18:00.002+02:00

Yesterday we had the first real blizzard that I’ve seen in Russia. Pretty fun at the time until I remembered that today the streets and sidewalks would be a disastrous wasteland—which they are. So instead I will write more about 90 degree Cairo.

Cameron met us at the hotel and we flew through the mildly treacherous traffic to Mandy’s flat. They live on Zamalack Island, one of Cairo’s two islands in the middle of the Nile. It’s the most expensive living area in Cairo, occupied by elite Egyptians and foreigners. Crime is extremely low, and the police officers with AK-47s on almost every corner make sure it remains that way. There are several nearby apartment complexes, but Cameron and Mandy are living apart from those in an open-air store complex of sorts. A dry cleaning business is across the hall from them. The owner chooses really odd hours to work and usually around 1am would start blaring Arabic TV shows.

We crossed the Nile and did an entire downtown tour next. Cameron seems to have scouted out all the best places for food. For lunch it was possible to feed all three of us for about 7 Egyptian pounds— less than 2$. We ate kosherie (one of the restaurant’s two dishes) which is kind of like macaroni minus the cheese plus strange flavors and grains. Sometimes, if we were splurging, the meal for all of us would cost up to 16 pounds (barely over $3). Of course these establishments looked pretty filthy by American standards, but Cameron said that they’re nice by Egyptian standards and the only main health danger is drinking out of the metal cups at the tables. They tend to not wash these and they are probably the cause of Cameron’s dysentery a month ago.

Next we went to the “chess café.” The six tables in front of the windows have been unofficially reserved for a crew of maybe 12 or 15 older men who play chess every day. One regular is the grand master of Africa in last year’s competition. They’re very selective about allowing newcomers, but Cameron was accepted after staring intently at games for a week from a nearby table. My games with group members didn’t last long.

Later that night we met with Cameron’s two closest friends, Ahmed and Eslam. Cameron and Mandy are studying at the American University, which provides them with an unappealing selection of potential friends. They’re either other Americans or the wealthiest Egyptians who regard Arabic as a “dirty” language. Since Cameron needs to learn Arabic, he came up with a new plan to meet people: walk around with cigarettes and offer them to people outside in hopes of striking a conversation. At Drake we kind of laughed at him when he unveiled this plan, but it’s the exact way he met Ahmed and Eslam. We weren’t able to see them much though, because Ahmed works a lot at a pizza place and Eslam is in the army.

It was also on that first day that we met Aladdin on the street. He was about 20 and just started talking to us and followed us for awhile before parting. Cameron said Aladdin probably just wanted to practice his English. Then on day 2 we saw Aladdin again, who recognized us and talked for awhile. On day 3 we saw him again, in the same general area he had been the other days and in the same shirt (although appeared clean and polished). “Hey, why don’t I buy you some tea?” “Ok sure…” So we followed him to this café in an alleyway and had some tea until Mandy called to meet us somewhere else. We were about to exit the way we came when Aladdin quickly directed us out the other direction, “Here… uh this way is better…” where he revealed the cause of his friendliness: his family’s essences shop. Really, Egyptians will go to such great lengths to lure you into an essences shop.

No time to write more, but much more to write, so expect more… soon.

Egpyt introduction

2008-03-23T16:04:00.000+02:00

If given the chance to travel to Egypt or Russia, go to Egypt. I’ve never seen so many kind hospitable people. Russians aren’t outright gregarious with strangers/foreigners, but for the most part have been friendly and helpful when approached for directions. Egyptians, on the other hand, are so friendly that it occasionally (or often, if around touristy areas) becomes very deceitful. “Welcome!!” “Hello!” “Aloha!!” were all really common (with the occasional “YANKEE DOODLE!!” for some reason), sometimes followed by “My friend!” which is a blaring red light: no Egyptian who really wants to be your friend will address you that way as a stranger; they usually just want to lure you into their shop of essences and sell you something. So it’s kind of a tradeoff between Russia and Egypt: Russians are colder and appear more depressing but genuinely warm if addressed, but Egyptians always appear to be overly kind and friendly which is sometimes a complete ruse to mask some petty thievery (usually in the form of overcharging you for items). As a result, at least on the surface, Egypt is much cheerier than Russia.

Our plane arrived at 12:30am on Monday. My travel companion was a girl I didn’t know well named Karli, who is also in the Russian program here and wanted to see Egypt. We got a hotel for the first night since Cameron and Mandy (my friends from the US studying in Egypt) had class early on Monday. Taxi experiences were frequent and interesting. The traffic in Cairo is atrocious and is actually the only thing that the State Department really warns tourists about. Our first taxi driver, to the hotel that night, was friendly despite charging us 4x what he should have (we didn’t know better but frankly I was just happy to get to the hotel without problems). He offered us cigarettes then asked where we were from. “America.” “Bush!! OHHHHH BUSH!” January 20th of next year cannot come soon enough (well unless we elect another clown who meddles in the Middle East while the economy at home suffers, perpetuating and amplifying global havoc).

Blonde people are an extremely rare breed in Egypt. I saw maybe two other blondes during the entire trip, and they were in tourist areas. I’ve decided that the average tourist is kind of dumb because, if the ones in Cairo are any model, they stay completely confined to the tourist areas. They’re really learning nothing about the present-day culture or Egyptians or Cairo in general. They leave their hotels, hop into a nice air conditioned bus and set off for Old Cairo or the pyramids or Khan El Kahlili (the biggest market area) then return to their bus (full of fellow Westerners) and smile about how worldly they are. The point of this tangent is that my yellow hair drew a whole lot of attention because we didn’t spend much time in tourist areas, but never negative attention because I dressed respectfully.

Dress is a topic unto itself in Egypt. Egypt is an Islamic nation and Muslims dress quite modestly. Women almost always wear a headscarf (if not complete covering) and a shirt with long sleeves. Tourists can completely deviate from this if they don’t plan on leaving tourist land, or modify it if they do. Before we left I made sure Karli was aware of this fact, but somehow the message didn’t get through. On the second morning we were waiting for Cameron to get out of class. I was in the clear by wearing jeans and a short sleeved shirt which buttoned up to my vocal box, but Karli chose capris (exposing her ankles) and the larger problem of a tank top shirt. Even though the shirt did cover most cleavage, the massive amount of exposed skin was enough to make every passing Egyptian man stare intently at her chest. Every passing woman stared briefly at her chest then switched to her face with a look of disgust. Cameron partially remedied it by lending her his hattah, but it remained an issue for the entire trip. It really can’t be defended by any argument like “But it’s so hot here, and I’m an American, sooooo…” or “But I’m not a Muslim” or unleashing some feminist stance like “Women shouldn’t have to dress like that anyway.” It’s a matter of respecting local culture and mentalities; if that’s not enough persuasion to dress modestly, the fact that ignoring these norms makes you look like an Egyptian prostitute should be.

Will write much more soon… I also took loads of video.

2008-03-16T15:56:00.002+02:00

Aahh I just wrote a long post about Moscow and then hit the "back" button and it vanished!

No time to rewrite it though, because now I'm leaving for the aiport. Karli and I land in Cairo in 7 hours! Will give Moscow/Egypt update later!

kill a scarecrow and rid yourself of winter

2008-03-10T15:54:00.006+02:00

Happy Maslenitza!

Go to Youtube! Finally added some video footage and much more to come:

Tour of IMOP (dormitory)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VnW8WxBBn18

MONKEYMANIA (slightly blurrier but still viewable)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Usp4QJTOaXY&feature=user

This past week all of Russia has been celebrating Maslenitza, the wonderful pagan holiday worshiping the sun and the arrival of spring. Everyone stuffs themselves with blinies (really thin circular pancake objects—circular like the sun) and vodka and tea. This year Women’s Day fell toward the end of Maslenitza on Saturday the 8th. Like Defender of the Nation Day two weeks ago, this is sort of a Russian version of Mother’s Day on amphetamines because it encompasses EVERY woman. (Actually an international holiday, but I had never about it in the US). Russia has an overabundance of flower shops and most of them stay in business just because of this day. Valentine’s Day was mildly observed here by the younger generation (the older generations are boycotting the Western Hallmark influence) but most people seemed to save their rubles for Women’s Day.

The inebriated gluttony of pagan Maslenitza officially reigns in the Russian Orthodox Church’s version of Lent (“Post”), which is more hardcore than the Catholic Lent because it forbids any meat and dairy products at all times before Passover. Thankfully my Russian family is culturally Jewish; otherwise I’d stop getting plump cheesy hot dogs for breakfast occasionally.

All of this Maslenitza celebrating culminates into big festivals on the final Sunday (and on the next day, which is today, you’re supposed to go around asking everyone to forgive you for your sins). The study abroad group I used (AIFS), in all its infinite wisdom, decided to do an excursion on Sunday to tour Dostoevsky’s apartment. Firstly- you can do that anytime, as I already did, and secondly- it’s Maslenitza!! I heard about two separate festival locations so recruited a friend and investigated this Maslenitza madness.

We saved the bigger adventure for Sunday and went to a park in St. Petersburg on Saturday. This is where we found our monkey friends (as seen in the video footage) and a small band of military men—and by band, I mean military men covering Beatles songs and other Russian folk songs on musical instruments while old women danced along in ecstasy. This sight will be on Youtube shortly.

The next day, while everyone else either slept off their Maslenitza fun or went to the Dostoyevsky museum, Katie and I found the proper train and for 3$ went about an hour in the direction of Finland. Exited the train at the small town of Zelenogorsk then walked down toward the Gulf of Finland to join the celebration.

Really, I’m having the time of my life here.

The celebration goes on for several hours. Imagine an open area in a wooded area, packed with Russians in furs with picnic baskets of blini and vodka. Folk singers were on the stage and some ambitious men were trying to shimmy up a pole, comparable to a telephone pole, to retrieve the little mystery pouches hanging from the top. It was possible to walk past all the little craft stands (selling miniature scarecrows) and the children’s events and not stop until well out on top of the frozen Gulf of Finland. There were people pushing sleds on the Gulf, building snow-mermaids on the Gulf, flying kites on the Gulf, and just barely discernable were some people ice fishing on the Gulf. We returned in time for the main event: the burning of the scarecrow. Of course they had to build up the anticipation as long as possible with stupid “battle of the sexes” contests on stage, but this was bearable because intermittently they played “pump-up” music with funny clown-girls on stage. Soon enough we reached The Moment We’d All Been Waiting For: the clown children parted the sea of people with their massive scarecrow and stabbed it into a box in the center. The scarecrow was set aflame and everyone’s inner pyromaniac ripped out as we threw our mini-scarecrow dolls into the inferno, banishing winter and welcoming spring until next year.

my body is full of black tea and blini

2008-03-06T16:57:00.004+02:00

Surprise surprise- Medvedev emerged as victor of this fine presidential race in Russia. What is more genuinely interesting is that, assuming that the figures are correct (of course this is a foolish thing to assume), 62 percent of Russians voted on Sunday. My Russian language teacher said that this is a much higher percentage than usual. Although that teacher was supporting the Democratic candidate (but more like the Republican party by American definitions) and another teacher was supporting the Communist candidate, both acknowledged reasons why it is logical to trade democracy for stability and security (thus supporting Putin through Medvedev). For obvious reasons the West likes to paint Gorbachev in flattering light, but he’s no hero here and many who lived through his reign and Yeltsin’s seem to see more day-to-day gains under a leader like Putin.

There is some opposition. Although Western newspapers like to exaggerate the opposition and inflate the support that the opposition leaders actually receive, a miniature counter-check on the Kremlin’s centralized power seems to exist. Outside metro stations people are always handing out newspapers or business cards or flyers. One day I was walking into Vladimirskaya station, 2 weeks before the election, and decided to accept a newspaper to read on the metro. In larger alternating red and black words: “3 МАРТА 2008 17:00 МАРШ НЕСОГЛАСНЫХ.” Dissenters had apparently rallied together because this entire newspaper was an announcement for a protest gathering on the day after the election “for those who don’t agree.” After doing a little cost-benefit analysis in my head, I formulated a game plan about how to catch a glimpse of this protest madness without getting killed. Before the chastising begins about how stupid of an idea that was— to get anywhere near a protest in Russia— first at least read on.

The protest was set to occur at Ploschad Vosstaniya, a busy area at the east end of Nevsky Prospect. A metro station and the Moscow train station are both located on opposite sides of the “ploschad” (“square”) and a massive pillar/statue combo is in the center. There are multiple streets—maybe six or seven—leading into/out of/around this square. It seemed like one could probably arrive to the protest area an hour early, look around a bit, and safely exit before things turned ugly. There would also be a lot of regular civilians around anyway (because of the busy train stations). Around 15:50, 3 blocks west of epicenter Vosstaniya, I saw the first OMON tanks.

I’ve seen a lot of policemen here. I’ve seen a lot of military personnel. OMON doesn’t even compare. OMON is a fierce, brutal arm of Russian law enforcement. A google image search produces just a taste of OMON. Their slogan: "We know no mercy and do not ask for any." (I found this out afterward; had I known it then I would have aborted the mission on the spot). Entering the Vosstaniya area, the presence of OMON amplified exponentially. Several OMON tanks were near the center, and a mixture of OMON, police officers and military personnel were swarming the area.

There were still many, many regular civilians walking around, so since I look pretty benign I decided to do a few perimeter checks before leaving. It was during the second loop that my presence started to seem like a bad idea. Glancing down the side streets I noticed new OMON tanks and became kind of alarmed: although I was dutifully checking my clock to make sure I left at least 15 minutes before protest-launch-time, since when does everything goes as planned in Protest World? Some hooligans could try to start something at any minute and OMON, in their thick chest plates and helmets, would probably be overly-enthusiastic to quell the rebellion.

That was the strange thing though which made it feel deceptively safe: there were no protesters yet. It was about 16:40 and I couldn’t see a single group of potential protesters in sight. My brain started creating Hollywood answers, like maybe all of these fellow innocent pedestrians were actually the protesters incognito and at some predetermined signal they’d all whip out their weapons and charge into the center. This seemed very unlikely but I decided that I didn’t need to stick around to confirm it, so I left the area entirely.

A few of my friends took a different approach and showed up at 17:00, right when it was supposed to start, and stayed until 19:00. Their report is about the same though. The “protestors” did sort of gather, but the few who showed up were meek, docile creatures and didn’t really argue for much so unfortunately OMON wasn’t able to play with any new weaponry. The event was kind of a mirror for the larger political picture in Russia. Sure, opposition “exists,” but it’s more like a gnat flying around the walls of the Kremlin which can be exterminated whenever it becomes too annoying.

On a happier note, last week also involved an ice carving competition. I was taking a longer route back to a metro and accidentally found it. Bear, squirrel, chicken, whale— all chiseled masterfully around the area. Their creators then got on stage and a man in colorful clothing handed out awards. Everyone was really joyful there and I caught some of it with my camcorder (soon to be on Youtube I hope).

During the days I usually travel alone. Nighttime is different, but during the day I think I’m actually safer being alone. We Americans are supposed to be on “heightened alert” since the Kosovo incident (Russia has always fiercely backed Serbia throughout history partly due to their shared Orthodox religion). When I go out with other students, there always seems to be some idiot who speaks English really loudly while we’re on the street or in the metro. Of course the odds of being attacked as a larger group are probably slim, but it’s still unwise to strut around parading your American-ness all the time. Therefore, I’m probably safer alone because everyone assumes I’m Russian. When I speak I’m suddenly branded as a foreigner but they usually assume German or Finnish, so I’m still better off than being labeled a bloody American.

Plane tickets are booked for spring break…. which is (drum roll)…. Egypt! One of my good friends from Drake is studying in Cairo right now. He and his girlfriend have an apartment with two extra twin beds so I’m bringing another American from the Russian program. It should be an eventful six days of 80 degree weather and pyramid sighting! I promise not to go to any protests!

I almost forgot about the new living accommodations. As part of the deal, Rita makes me breakfast every morning and additional meals need to be paid for separately. So every morning at 8:15 I eat whatever she has prepared and she takes off for work. The food has always been extremely good. She even made borsh one night (a beet soup) and it was incredible. Adapting to the food here has been a cinch. Rita had mentioned her son Mackseem when I had the initial dinner at her house, but that was all. As it turns out, he actually lives in the apartment too in the living room. He’s 22 but works all the time at a doctor’s office, usually from 8 or 9 am until midnight. I’m going to film my new living conditions soon too for everyone’s Youtube enjoyment.

Alright, tired of wasting away at Subway… they just started playing Justin Timberlake so I feel the need to flee!!

no "vote or die" mentality here

2008-03-02T15:42:00.002+02:00

P. Diddy’s “vote or die” slogan during the 2004 American presidential elections can’t be applied to Russia. In Russia it loses all fierceness and becomes “vote… or stay at home… whatever…” Signs everywhere tell people to vote and where they need to go, but I’m eager to see how many people will actually bother. The state-run television programs are predicting an 80% turnout. The Kremlin really wants a high percentage of the people to participate to make Russia look like less of a fleeting democracy. I read somewhere that the Kremlin even told different districts to make sure that Medvedev receives 67% of the vote. The three candidates running against Medvedev debated earlier this week without Medvedev himself. They run things a little differently here.

Yesterday my wandering led me to the Rimsky-Korsakov museum. Nothing really special, but they do still have his grand piano. There weren’t many people there and one of the employees asked if I played, then said I could play it if I wanted to. So I was able to play on Rimsky-Korsakov’s piano which was also used by Rachmaninoff and Stravinsky! At the same time he lived in that apartment, Dostoyevsky lived about 6 blocks away.

More to come but I move in with Rita (host woman) in less than hour so must go now.

hooray for the Russian military today

2008-02-24T00:20:00.000+02:00

Today is Defender of the Motherland day in Russia, their equivalent of Father’s Day. Since the weather is favorable I scrounged the guidebook (Fodor’s) for outdoor markets. It mentioned a favorite of “scrap-artists and theatre designers looking for Soviet-era paraphernalia” but said “… the sight of Russian babushkas selling their home furnishings… can be somewhat heartbreaking.” Intriguing enough, I thought, and set off for Udelnaya.

Udelnaya is located well north of the city center, not too far west from my dorm location. It still took probably 45 minutes by metro because of the inconvenient metro configuration, but likely would have been the same on foot and I stayed warm this way. I exited the metro to sights of downright merriment: pony rides, a man playing folk music on the guitar, puppies for sale!! How little Fodor’s knows! The authors clearly weren’t here on a holiday, because “heartbreaking” isn’t even registering in my mind! But as I got deeper and deeper into the market, conditions and humanity’s well-being declined so dramatically that my two hours there were the most depressing two hours I’ve spent in St. Petersburg.

Upon entering the market I noticed a line of porta-potties. One of the doors was ajar and inside a woman was sitting on the toilet, but fully clothed and surrounded by some plastic bags containing her meager belongings. House/bed/toilet… combined into one. I walked along past many used-clothing stands and entered a small building which sold mostly food. Up to this point, I had been tempted to film the area with my camera but that seemed like a bad idea for a number of reasons: 1) Loss of anonymity: filming things in Russia is the fastest way to stand out in a crowd (assuming you’re Caucasian; otherwise you already stand out); 2) Theft: if you have a camera, you have something worth stealing; 3) Poverty: it felt like I would be exploiting their reality for a video project.

Still, I had been on the verge of revealing my video camera numerous times and finally caved in when I saw a few stray dogs sleeping next to some food shops selling animal tongues inside the smaller building. The power button was almost “on” when a plainly-dressed man approached me, unlit cigarette in mouth and lighter in hand. English version of our Russian conversation:

- What are you doing with that video camera?
- I want to film.
- Film what?
- Everything. (pointing around, not knowing the word for “surroundings”)
- No… you don’t need to do that.
- It isn’t allowed?
- I don’t want you to.
- Ok.

I wasn’t about to fight that demand. He was stern but not unfriendly, and definitely younger than thirty. Who knows the reasoning behind his instantaneous reaction.

I continued along the market outside. It snowed quite a bit earlier this week, froze into a thick ice-like sheet but then started melting again so there is now a deep slushiness mixed with the ice. It’s annoying but maneuverable, until you reach the outskirts of the market—the brink of normality, even by Russian standards. What had been narrow, almost orderly rows of stalls now opened into an expansive wasteland dotted with large trees and a thin metal wall bordering one side to keep the railroad and hurling trains separate from the marketers. There were no stalls here. Older women and men stood behind their makeshift plots, which were simple tarps on the ground, trying to sell what appeared to be every possession they had. Family heirlooms, framed photos of old relatives, half of a guitar, nuts, bolts, tools, Soviet-era canteens and bullets and jackets, children’s VHS movies aside XXX movies, miniature busts of Lenin, decrepit dolls, and toilet lids are just a small example of the items offered. The standing water and slush would occasionally creep onto the tarps, and owners would feebly try to spare their belongings by sopping it up with an already-wet tissue. Sometimes the wind picked up enough to blow not only trash across the area but also blow lighter items off the tarps, forcing the owners to scamper to recollect everything.

It was a really depressing slap of reality that I kept in mind while watching other Russians in the city center celebrate the holiday.

Next weekend I move in with a Russian “family,” which is actually just a 40-ish Russian woman. About half the group chose this option too, and a few nights ago we all had dinner at our future homes. I’ve heard Russian home-stays are really hit-or-miss but that gift giving is common in Russia, so bought some flowers (three pink/red ones— an odd number because even numbers and the color yellow represent funerals and death here; the concept of “a dozen” anything is nonexistent) for a positive first impression. Things could not have gone better. Rita (host “mom”) loved the flowers and I loved Rita. High energy, happy, good cook, and lives two metro stops away (at the “Square of Courage”) on the twelfth floor of a communist-era apartment. My room includes an enclosed balcony (!!!) and a piano (!!!!!), and from the living room Smolny Cathedral and the Peter and Paul Fortress are both visible along with much of St. Petersburg.

During dinner she was flipping through the channels and suddenly stopped, exclaiming that she loved this particular show and started describing its ingenious plot. In the show contestants get into what they think is a taxicab but is actually a game show on wheels— an exact replica of “Cash Cab,” just Russified. Funny she should like it because it’s a favorite of my mom’s at home. A few other girls were with me who won’t be doing home-stays so that they could try Russian cuisine. She fed us plate after plate of food, ranging from chicken to potatoes to a meat/rice combo to a tuna-like paste to bread to a vegetable tray, followed by cookies and tea. I’m so glad I chose the home-stay option because not only will my Russian improve (she speaks limited English), but I’ll genuinely enjoy the living conditions!

It’s been easy to keep up with the presidential elections in the US because the Russian papers cover the Obama/Clinton race (or should I say obliteration of Clinton) more than they cover their own presidential election (which occurs in t minus 7 days). They rarely mention McCain or the Republican race, maybe because the Democratic race is so much closer or maybe they’re convinced that a Democrat will be elected after Bush. I was really appalled with Mr. Former-POW-and-Therefore-Against-Torture’s Senate vote last week in which he (McCain) voted nay on a bill limiting the CIA’s torture methods. It appears to be some pathetic immoral attempt to align himself with Bush (who will veto the legislation) and possibly convince a couple indecisive voters that he has their best interests at heart. In general it’s really despicable that the US is even arguing qualitatively and quantitatively about torture. Who cares about human rights and the Geneva Conventions and that one Global Torture Ban we signed--- kids, grab your saran wrap and water bottles and sleep-deprivation manuals, we’ve got terrorists to catch!!

So back to the Russian elections— it’s pretty bizarre. I see posters and billboards advertising the election in general (including some really humorous ones with smiling families around dinner tables) but not for any particular party. The only poster I’ve seen for an actual candidate is a massive billboard on Nevsky Prospect. Naturally this is an advertisement for Medvedev, complete with the words “Together to Victory!!” Who comprises this “together” business? Maybe the Russian populace, you think? Or maybe some running mate? Wrong! (…well, kind of). It’s that other person on the gigantic billboard laughing right along Medvedev: Putin, of course!

notes from the underground (under Hermitage)

2008-02-18T22:56:00.000+02:00

Internet access in Russia is ridiculous. It works for awhile, then it quits. Or it works, but slowly. Or it doesn’t work at all, seemingly anywhere in the city. The things I take for granted!!

The past week was eventful (as I assume every week will be in Russia). Six other students and I went to the Hermitage museum to talk to the director about volunteer work. We entered a separate side door and descended the staircase to a party of sorts, which was completely unexpected. I still don’t know why we were offered cake and juice and wine while we filled out our applications, but we accepted it with enthusiasm as we listened to the Game Plan Hermitage. The mission is something like “cultural preservation,” so in addition to helping set up exhibitions I may make some short video to educate the public about the museum’s needs. Afterwards we were led through a labyrinth of underground tunnels filled with cats— an interesting angle of the Hermitage. I read somewhere the Peter the Great died in those tunnels. It was after leaving the Hermitage that I had my sketchiest encounter yet in St. Petersburg.

A group of six of us walked to the Subway restaurant on Nevsky Prospect to use their free wireless since we had planned ahead and packed our laptops. While there my friend Anthony left to smoke a cigarette outside. It’s important to note that Anthony’s mother is white and father is black so his features definitely stand out in Russia. The Subway restaurant in Russia is different than in the US. Aside from the fact that they serve beer, there is also a guard who walks around monitoring things. I watched the guard noticeably eye Anthony when he returned, and continue to do so while we were sitting there. After awhile Anthony told me we should leave, and added “Look at my twelve-o’clock.” So I look up and several tables ahead of us is a skin-head stereotype: bulging (BULGING) muscles, really tight shirt, short cut hair, occasional glares shot in Anthony’s direction, and attentively text messaging on his cell phone (another red herring: no food or beverage on his table). All this, combined with the guard’s apprehensive gaze, created an alarming (but possibly justified) paranoia and three of us exited quickly. We glanced through the windows from the sidewalk to make sure Potential Predator hadn’t shifted, but the opposite was true— he had just gotten up. We upped our pace to a trot and darted into the nearest metro, never to see the sinewy man again. Later that same night Anthony went to a bar with a different friend, where he met a German. German: (hostile) “Where are you from??” Anthony: (truthfully) “The US, but my mom is German.” German: “Oh, then you’ve got German blood… good, good… you know we say it doesn’t matter anymore, but down on the inside, you know Aryans are superior…” Luckily the encounters with nationalistic mentalities don’t seem to be overly prevalent, but it’s too bad that the race card is something of an issue in Russia.

Classes started last week. Three classes, each once a week for 90 minutes, each worth 3 credits. My Contemporary Russian Society and Cold War courses are both taught by a cheerful former communist. 19th Century Literature is the third course. The language classes (9 credits) are still really hardcore but already beneficial on metros, in restaurants, and everywhere else I need Russian language skills (which means everywhere.)

An Apocalyptica ticket is in my possession!! They’re a Finnish cello-metal-quartet known for covering Metallica songs but also write their own music. The concert is next Monday, the same Monday school is cancelled. The 23rd is a holiday here in Russia which celebrates “the Men who defend our country” (capitalization added by blogger; I’m not sure if women are allowed to join the service though, so maybe it is accurate but sexist for different reasons) and is sort of an equivalent of Father’s Day, since all men are require to be in the military for a few years. Since it falls on a Saturday we get to reap the benefits the following Monday, and what better way than an Apocalyptica concert.

Russian toddlers are worth mentioning. Since the primary mode of transportation is some kind of public transport, I see many of them out on the streets with their parents. I rarely, if ever, get excited about how adorable kids are in the 0-4 years range but the Russians may change this. Most Russian adults wear massive dark coats but dress their children in exotic oranges and blues and pinks. Their layering techniques for these children put the mom in A Christmas Story to shame, and to make things even funnier it’s common to see parents dragging these bright puffy lumps on sleds on the sidewalks. And thanks to the maintenance crews of St. Petersburg never doing their job (maybe the crews are nonexistent), after a snow the streets and sidewalks stay buried deep in snow and slush forever— enabling parents to pull their sleds anywhere.

As hard as I try, I can't escape Britney Spears. I feel like the quality and respect level of my blog just dropped dramatically by mentioning her name and I don't care to go into some analysis about her mental state (seriously, could care less) but think it's interesting/annoying that the London tabloids were obsessed with her and even in Russia her name is brought up occasionally, just last week even by a Finnish boy in class. I understood the Britney phenomenon in America with our brainless reality tv/game show/celebrity gossip culture but am disappointed (though shouldn't be shocked) that the rest of the globe is also disintegrating to that level.

I'm going to fall over from sleep deprivation but hope to write more soon. Russians think it's funny to do construction in the middle of the night so sometimes I wake up to a power drill above my head. At first I thought I must be mistaken but then other floormates started complaining too... so must go before some jackhammer power show begins.

abnormally warm winter = high spirited Russians

2008-02-11T17:09:00.000+02:00

Last week AIFS had us running around to Russian cultural activities, from the Hermitage to an operetta to the town of Pushkin to see the Katherine Palace and its Amber Room. Although we spent two hours at the Hermitage (with a guide, who was helpful) we still barely saw it and kind of just rushed through. The Hermitage is made up of six buildings and used to be the winter home of different czars. It started as Katherine the Great’s private collection and eventually noblemen and upper-class individuals were granted access. After the revolution it became a public museum and is now the largest art museum in Russia. I'll have to return again because we missed entire floors.

The operetta was Sylva and it was entirely in Russian. Really not the high point of my stay here, but they did implement the use of a black light sometimes which had a cool effect on stage and every so often I understood what they were saying. My accent is still completely putrid, which is frustrating for now but can only improve.

The next day we bussed to Pushkin, a fringe town in southern St. Petersburg. It is the location where Katherine the Great had a summer home built for her and where the Amber Room used to be. The tour guide kept saying how incredible the architecture was or a painting or something, and almost every sentence would end “… and then the Nazis came.” There were photos of their extensive damage including robbing the Amber Room of its walls which, they say, haven’t reappeared to this day. The Russian government re-ambered the walls though so you can walk through and marvel at all the wasted money. We were given a few hours to wander the town and a few others and I found a local market. I had my video camera with me and plan to eventually put the footage on YouTube.

I’ve really enjoyed being able to meet so many other foreigners. We Americans had to change floors in the dorm and half of the new floor is full of Germans. The other night some other Germans and Finns were having a get together so I was able to meet a lot of fellow dorm dwellers. Although Drake has a large international community, and most of my close friends are foreigners, it is completely different when you’re the foreigner. There are so many tiny adjustments to make to the new culture-- like toilet paper, for example. Some internet forum advised me to carry around my own toilet paper when in Russia, which I took as either outdated or not applicable in Saint Petersburg. Wrong! Restrooms, even at the University, will sometimes simply not have toilet paper. Many don’t even have a toilet paper dispenser. Also, it is taking a bit to get used to the food. In London the problem wasn’t the selection, it was the price. You look at the prices and think it’s somewhat reasonable, until you remember that your dollars are worthless right now and you must double all the amounts you read and then wince a little with the loss of every 10 pound note. 10 pounds are roughly equivalent to 20 dollars and to 500 rubles, which seems to go on forever in Russia. The selection though is only so-so; fruits and vegetables never look fresh and the thinnest milk is 2.5%. The grocery stores also do their part to contribute to the alcoholism killing Russian men: a full aisle, both sides in some stores, is allotted for just vodka. Cigarettes are only 50 cents a pack, helping fuel another major health issue here.

I ended my American-fast-food-boycott prematurely yesterday because the Subway (as in “Eat Fresh” Subway, not the metro) on Nevsky Prospekt is the only place in town with free wireless internet. They still haven’t hooked us up in the dorms, but when they do it won’t be free (nor is it free in the library, nor is using the weight room, nor is using the ping pong tables, nor is ketchup with your meals... they squeeze a few extra rubles out of you for everything). So I was sitting near a window in Subway, occasionally street-watching, when an entire musical ensemble of brightly dressed Hindu women and white-clothed Hindu men waving their arms around and singing marched past. It was really the funniest most bizarre thing I had seen. I eventually left and wandered back to the metro, picking up the only English-language St. Petersburg newspaper I’ve found on the way. I could faintly hear a little drum beat and singing from a distance so I waited with my video camera ready to catch the Hindus this time. They stopped in front of the station and were dancing for awhile there when one of the women came up and grabbed my arm and pulled me over to the group and told me to dance too. At this point a crowd of Russians was gathering to witness the strange attraction, made all the more strange by the transplant of a foreigner in a big winter coat and backpack dancing with all the clearly Hindu women in their colorful skirts and face paint. I thought they might grab a lot more people too, but maybe I appeared to be an overly enthusiastic bystander (as opposed to the Russian Scowl) because I was the only non-Hindu in the choreographed show.

Needless to say my first week in St. Pete was incredible and I am eager for more strange encounters with the people here.

welcome to the motherland part II

2008-02-05T19:39:00.000+02:00

Continuing from the last entry…

St. Petersburg Polytechnic Institute is an interesting university, already different from Drake in many ways. Their written policies on alcohol and smoking are identical (“zero tolerance”) but St. Petersburg twists it up a bit after that. We receive keys for our rooms, and attached to the key ring is a plastic object which says the room number. The plastic object is better known as a bottle opener. Upon entering the room the first things visible are two ashtrays. After opening the cupboard we found four glasses, four forks, four knives, no bowls, but four shot glasses.
Welcome to Russia!

During that first bus ride around the city we stopped at some statue. An old woman was standing around there with a baby bear on a chain. She said that it was her pet bear “Oomka” (“Smarty”) and that one day Oomka would excel as a circus bear. She tried to tell everyone their fortunes, and informed my friend that he would live a long time (the cigarette in his mouth didn’t seem to affect his fortune.)

So far I’ve seen a lot of policemen and military men. Two years in the military is compulsory for all males, and afterwards some of them go directly into the police force around age 20. My friends were at a restaurant near a movie theater the other night and suddenly heard a loud noise. They looked over at another section to see a “genuinely evil-looking” 20-ish year old wielding a taser and threatening to zap the younger teenagers around him, who were slowly backing away. Eventually the police arrived but only looked over in the menace’s general direction before leaving. Fortunately I can blend in quite well because general opinion states that the police are a worse threat than taser-boy. I have to carry around copies of my documents at all times because the police enjoy harassing foreigners and demanding money for imaginary violations. They are corrupt, underpaid, and typically drunk. Not having the proper documents could mean being hauled off without question.

A sidenote: Stray dogs are rampant in St. Petersburg. There is one living on the front steps of my dormitory, and more all around the city. I saw an especially angry one today outside the metro station, barking like mad at random pedestrians. I also saw a common Russian stereotype: Around one in the afternoon a few guys were walking down the street drinking a few bottles of beer. Which reminds me of another thing-- traffic is unbelievable in Russia. They apparently didn’t bother with the whole paint-to-identify-lanes-of-traffic thing. There will be areas where the road is wide enough for about three cars in one direction, but it’s just complete black pavement and cars compete for space and lane shifts. The lights do the same thing that they did in London. Instead of going green-yellow-red-green, like in the US, they go green-yellow-red-yellow-green almost giving you a little head-start for the green light.

Russian language classes started today. I tested into group 4 of 5 and I’m glad because it’s going to be very challenging. Over three hours we focus half on conversation and half on grammar, but the entire thing is conducted in Russian so I was constantly translating while trying to take notes and participate in the exercises. Afterwards it felt like my brain had been put through a meat grinder- but in a good way. Everyone else in the program is overly-interested in Russian as well which is a good environment to accelerate learning. Next week the other courses begin, including a course on Soviet Russia, one on contemporary Russia, and one literature course.

Ah, Super Tuesday in the United States! I am eager to see those results. The hysteria of the media there is a funny contrast to the upcoming presidential elections here (March 2nd), which are hardly even discussed. Everyone knows that Medvedev will win, they know Putin controls the media, they know their votes won’t really matter, and many would probably also tell you that at least life under Putin trumps life under Yeltsin. I found an English-language newspaper today on Nevsky Prospect which talked about the steps Putin took to consolidate power. Something that really benefited him was the Beslan school hostage crisis in 2004, in which hundreds died when armed Chechens took over a school. Putin was able to manipulate the public, business leaders, and state government leaders much more; he’d stress increasing their “security” to justify lessening their liberties while neatly increasing his impenetrable power over the entire system. Sounds like he read the handbook of a certain vice president/ventriloquist and moronic puppet combo overseas!

Tomorrow we visit the Hermitage! The fatal combination of my unending energy and flat feet cursed me once again after miles and miles of walking in London. I had really sore shins for several days but they finally seem to be healed, which means more exploring!

welcome to the motherland

2008-02-05T17:03:00.001+02:00

We flew into Saint Petersburg last Saturday, and got a real feel for Russia on the ride to our dormitory. About half of the cars appear to be on the verge of breaking, like a bunch of little flimsy boxy old school Volvos. The area felt incredibly bleak, not only because it was overcast but there was also trash and graffiti here and there. Saint Petersburg is known for its “beautiful European architecture” and such but that’s only in the center of town; my university is located 20 minutes (metro ride) north of that and the ride from the airport to the dorms included much different scenery. We passed dilapidated, grimy, possibly Soviet-era apartments- one after another after another until finally arriving at our own dingy dormitory. The inside though was somewhat a step up and the accommodations really aren’t awful. I received a new roommate here- unfortunately a Disney freak this time, complete with a 3-ft tall plush Pooh Bear. I think she’s the only 20 year old I know who would haul that massive creature across the ocean. We get along fine though, and hopefully in a month I will move in with a host family (if on schedule, the day before the presidential elections.)

We had to all get HIV tests again yesterday. We already needed these to get our visas, but it’s an endemic problem here so we are required to take another test. The study abroad group warned us beforehand that the hospital may not look safe, but to trust them, it is. Just one more thing that we take for granted in America, apparently, because there were broken windows and peeling paint all over the inside of the building. Misha, one of our tour guides, told us that the Russian women just bite your arm instead of using a needle. This wasn’t the case though and it ended up being a pretty normal procedure, in spite of the broken floor tiles and the irate Russian woman who didn’t want to do her job and take our coats.

On the second day we had a bus trip around most of St. Petersburg. We were walking around at the Peter and Paul Fortress when suddenly a cannon went off nearby. A lot of people almost jumped out of their skin but I guess the Russians do that every day at noon. I’d write longer but we still don’t have the internet in our rooms (they’re “working on it”) and my time has expired on this computer! Do-Sveedanya.

from kalashnikovs to the rosetta stone

2008-02-01T20:02:00.000+02:00

Yesterday I met the rest of the study abroad crew at a Holiday Inn. It turns out that AIFS, the abroad program, has the St. Petersburg crew and the Cannes crew here together before we all take off. The first person I met was my roommate, who happens to be with the French portion. I noticed a little smiling stuffed bunny rabbit poking its eyes out of her suitcase, and the possibility of everyone bringing ragged childhood toys alarmed me. Fortunately this does not seem to be the case because I managed to find quite a few interesting non-homesick people in the Russian group. After the meet-and-greet everyone seemed antsy to race off to Piccadilly Circus to bask in its glory, but the people I was with were easily convinced that we should go to the Bangladeshi neighborhood instead. I had only been there in the morning when all the shops were closed. As soon as we arrived at Brick Lane we were bombarded with Bangladeshi men trying to lure us into their particular restaurant. It was the craziest atmosphere! Afterwards we did go to Piccadilly Circus for awhile and on the bus ride back to the hotel I met a South Asian/Kenyan/British man and we were able to talk about the current conflict in Kenya. His family is still there, supporting Kibaki rather than Odinga (a contrary view to the Western press) and doesn’t believe that the election was rigged or that Odinga could do a better job. Interesting to be 2 degrees of separation from some eyewitnesses.

Before the meet-and-greet yesterday I was able to go to two more museums. The first one I heard about from a local person, and it’s very well hidden. John Hunter was one of the earliest surgeons and collected hundreds and hundreds of specimens to dissect. He was particularly interested in deformities and individuals that would have found work in freak shows during that time period. Animal heads cut down the center to expose the brain makeup, bones inflicted with vitamin deficiency, double-headed animals, chameleons with their tongues fully extended (approx. 15 inches) and all sorts of strange body parts fill jars on the shelves. I recommend this stop.

Next I saw Bertrand Russell’s London apartment on the way to the British Museum (and was disappointed not to see some sort of museum in his honor.) The British Museum is an incredible display of all the stuff the British have stolen from other countries throughout the centuries (under the defense of "preservation.") From the Rosetta Stone to Cleopatra’s mummified body to ancient Greek buildings and much more, the quantity and importance of items is unbelievable. I was headed to a certain gallery and glanced to my left, suddenly screeching to a halt one I spied one of the actual "Easter Island Heads" (moai)- one of those mysterious monolithic stone statues. It would take weeks to actually get through that museum.

This morning I went with the study abroad crew on a bus tour of "important" London spots. This inevitably included London Bridge, Westminster Abbey, St. Paul’s Cathedral, the hotel where Jennifer Aniston stays, the hotel where Michael Jackson stays, the really street full of expensive name brand shops, the London Tower, and Buckingham Palace. The changing of the guards was kind of odd. A full marching band greets the guards ending their shift, and then an entire new marching band accompanies the new guards starting their shift. This was really all the touristy stuff I could take in one day and afterwards I hopped on the Underground to go to Bethnal Green station in East London.

Bethnal Green was unique from the start: Caucasians are in the clear minority on the sidewalk and in the cars driving by. There was graffiti everywhere and the buildings looked really grimy and run down, and something even more rare: there was no Starbucks or other chain restaurant in sight. The area had been recommended for its art, but since it looked a bit (ok, significantly) sketchier I went into a bank and got another opinion about my overall safety. The intelligent-looking employee said that as long as I didn’t go past the river and left before dark I’d be just fine, otherwise a robbery or something was likely. Great, mission on! I ate at a Thai restaurant then walked the eight blocks or so to this art area. There is an over-ground metro a few stories above this area that helped add to the un-London-like feel. It’s funny because in the center of London it is impossible to find a garbage can but there doesn’t seem to be much trash anywhere. (Sayyeda said that the garbage cans were removed in the 90s when the Irish Republican Army was frequently putting bombs in them and nobody bothered to replace them). But although this area was full of garbage cans, trash was strewn all over. It was closer to a slum than any other area of London I had so far visited.

I finally reached the road where supposedly all of these art galleries were hiding. It looked like a bunch of warehouses with an occasional car shop. Discreetly on one corner I finally saw the word "art" next to a window that looked like it could be a gallery. "Is this an art gallery?" "Yes, the room to your left." I looked over. An AK-47 was chained to the floor on top of an American flag, and dead roses were scattered around. The walls in this small room were all white. On one hung a large mirror, and on the opposite one was a flat screen television. The artists, called Art Kaeda, had staged themselves like an actual Al-Quaida video except they were speaking against the use of children soldiers. Gallery-goers were encouraged to pick up the lovely Kalashnikov from the floor (during certain hours, when it wasn’t chained down) and look at themselves in the mirror just to know what it feels like to hold the world’s most popular killing machine.

I was having trouble finding another gallery (there were supposed to be tons of them) until I reached a large steel door. In tiny letters it said "gallery" but there was no doorknob. So I rang the buzzer and the door magically opened. The whole process was very strange. As soon as I walked in I saw the words "RAPID CITY" surrounded by macabre sketches of skeletons. Funny coincidence, I thought, until I entered the next room and was surrounded with paintings of Indians with the words "Sturgis" and "Eagle Butte" and such. Turns out this artist is from Pine Ridge but now lives in NYC. One of his works included a morphed Mount Rushmore where the faces were those of Native Americans.

I walked across the street, now having an eye for potential galleries (what a welcome change to not be harassed with flashy signs!). In completely unobtrusive script read "chicks on speed." I buzzed the ringer and was granted access to find a completely white room except for one entire wall playing a movie. There were two "chicks" doing really odd things in metallic and lime green costumes in New York City. This went on for awhile, and they did appear like they could be "on speed."

Amazing to think that so many people visiting London, or maybe even living in London, are probably next exposed to this fascinating area and stick with the tour bus spectacles!
On to Russia tomorrow!

condensed version of the past 72 hours

2008-01-30T19:52:00.000+02:00

I just found an internet cafe themed Anime Manga, which seems like a good place to write this initial entry. London is fabulous. The first day I arrived (Monday) I met Sayyeda Salam at the train station (a friend of my roommate from last semester). The flights had been great, and since I was unable to sleep I caught the lights of Dublin when the sun was just rising. Throughout most of the flight my seat partner, a 63 year old Swedish man, occasionally burst with excitement because of his readings on consciousness and the ego. The first night Sayyeda and I drove to a local outdoor vegetable stand and bought a variety to stir fry for dinner. Several of her male friends came over for dinner and afterward we went to the pub right next to her house because it was quiz night. Quiz night involves paying 4$ to hear an enthusiastic questioner ask 50 questions about anything, and the winning group wins the pot of money. Although we lost (A.A. Milne named his son Christopher Robin rather than just Christopher like we guessed, and you must say "DIANA" Princess of Wales to give her proper full title- another error) it was still enjoyable to spend time with so many Brits.

The next day was mostly devoted to museums. Sayyeda works during the day so she points me in directions for my solo traveling, which has felt really safe and is quite simple. I first stopped by Camden Town, an area known for its punk scene. Mostly this seemed to just be another version of a tourist trap; Abercrombie and Fitch clad girls fondling the various skull and crossbones gear with mock enthusiasm. I stopped next at Waterloo and walked along the Thames for awhile before glancing at Shakespeare’s Globe Theater then going to the Tate Modern Museum. Much to my delight there was an entire Surrealism section housing three paintings by Magritte. After wandering more I found my way to the Natural History Museum and the Science Museum, again both incredible.

Today I started in the Bangladeshi portion of London called Brick Lane. It was only nine or so and most of the stores were closed, but still a worthwhile walk. I just read yesterday that after the London bombings in 2005 the Brick Lane area became the receiver of violence when windows of mosques were smashed. I saw a light pole with a sticker on it that read "This is not a bomb." Sayyeda said that since 9/11 British Muslims have faced many more societal problems much like American Muslims.

I next took the Underground (which I love-- I've heard complaints but it has treated me very well) to Edgware Road. Edgware Road is an Arab portion of London: predominately Lebanese, Iranian, Moroccan and a few other countries. The Saudis, I was informed, live in a separate more "posh" area of town. I walked around here and found a shisha and tea restaurant, so I stopped by and had some outside. There I met a man from Toronto and one from London, and they were both very helpful to point me to different highlights in London. Their conversations turned to the upcoming elections in the United States. They expressed worry about McCain's strength and the prospects of him emerging as overall victor, and thought that British people in general were sympathetic toward Obama but also optimistic about a Clinton power team. As a whole this "Arab" portion of town really never felt un-London like, it was just London with signs in Arabic and a few more hijabs. I liked it a lot more than the walk I took next to Notting Hill, since that road is paved with touristy shops selling Princess Di and double-decker bus postcards.

Les Miserables filled the afternoon and did not disappoint. The soundtrack has been in my brain since I was seven and finally seeing it live was outstanding. My internet time at this computer is about to expire so I must go fill my time until I meet with Sayyeda for Chinese food tonight!

trial run

2008-01-22T23:58:00.003+02:00

I am conducting a test run....................... posting now.