Thank God for Drinkable Tap Water

                After only two panic attacks, I am now in JFK waiting for my flight to Reagan. The first of these occurred when I discovered I was at the wrong airport in St. Petersburg – there are two Pulkovo airports, one for international and one for domestic. I needed domestic, as my connecting flight was to Moscow, and thence to New York. The second occurred whilst checking in at said airport, when the woman was having a considerably difficult time registering me, and a Turkish man started yelling at both of us. I also met two American students on the plane, a true Californian hippie who tried to convince me to do peace corps, and sat next to a nice young man visiting his girlfriend in DC for three weeks from Kazakhstan. His English and my Russian were about equal, so we managed. I think he’s planning on proposing whilst here. So cute. Oh, and the Aeroflot plane that took me across the Atlantic was dedicated to Osip Mandelstam. Appropriate, much?

                Now, being in New York, I’d like to point out some beautiful things about this country. I can drink the tap water. Did you comprehend that? I can go up to a water fountain and drink out of it, because they exist here. I can brush my teeth with that stuff that comes out of a faucet. I am legitimately so excited. Secondly, I am currently typing on a laptop in an airport terminal. This would be a very, very stupid idea in Russia. You know what else? People speak English here. I can order food in English. I can smile, I don’t have to haggle, and my debit card and my cell phone are no longer useless plastic. My fingers have literally forgotten how to text. Really. I tried it earlier, it is significantly harder than I remember it being.

                And the not so beautiful things – literally the first thing I saw when I walked off the plane into customs was a row of posters with the word “accomplishment” written on them. One of these has Miss America on it. Way to embarrass me the minute I step onto your soil, America. Also, the customs officials are extremely inefficient here, compared to Russia. It’s pretty no nonsense there. Here they screw around. And, finally, I can think like a foreigner now and point out a fact that is obvious to everyone in the world except insular Americans – Americans are filthy rich. I can currently see Vera Bradley tote bags carried by cute little blonde teenagers, wearing their Abercrombie hoodies and leggings, hair in a soccer-style side ponytail. This is the least classy, most obvious wealth I’ve seen in… a while. At least in Russia, they have the good sense to use money (if they have any) to dress nicely. Assuming, of course, that they are not новые русские.

                So, yes, being in America is nice. But such a culture shock.

Is This Really the End?

                Today is, unfortunately, the last day of St. Petersburg. The departure is bittersweet. I am happy that in thirty six hours I will once again be Washington, with my drinkable free tap water, air conditioned rooms, usable debit card, and leash laws, but there is so much to miss about Russia. I love seeing the towering spires in the air, cathedral domes silhouetted by the sky, with backdrops of rivers and forests, and no-nonsense priests walking around the streets in cassocks. I have recently gotten sick of the city because I hate constantly being a tourist, but there is still so much to see and do here, even if only sitting in a café sipping Americano coffee with one’s friends while looking at the canal, or navigating the obscenely efficient and well-decorated metro systems.

                We went to the Russian museum today, which is interestingly full of art. Wouldn’t you think the name of an art museum would be a little more specific? Apparently not. After a two and a half hour tour that was supposed to be one hour, Virginia, Jonathan, and I went by the Stray Dog Café, got some obscenely over priced orange juice (110 rubles for a glass? Really?), and then went for dinner in a place called “Happy Pizza.”And that name is deserved, because it was so happy. They had pillows in the booths. Legitimate pillows. After a day of being exhausted from standing around too long, it was very welcome. Despite all of the warnings I got about the horrific quality of pizza here, it has honestly been really good both of the times I’ve had it in Russia. Perhaps they spent the last ten years figuring it out, and finally managed.

                I also went to a ridiculously good tea shop today. I honestly could have lived there. They let us smell all of the teas (which were divine), and wrote on the packages in a real fountain pen. Like, with an ink well. Also, tea is so cheap here! The average price for tea there was about 95 rubles per ounce (about $3.50). Can you imagine those sorts of prices at teavana? Also, the selection was gigantic. And they sold the cutest tea pots. Can you tell I’m in love?

                I also went chocolate shopping, since the two things the Russians do really well are tea and chocolate (besides vodka, potatoes, and caviar, that is). I found a bar of pineapple and champagne infused chocolate. So excited for this thing. Really. SO excited. And, finally, finished off the day watching Anastasia, with the rule that we had to drink for every place we had been to, and every inaccuracy. We quickly ran out of alcohol. This concluded with one last stroll around the streets of Petersburg… I’m going to miss it.

                It’s gorgeous, the sun never sets, and the river gleams at night. The concept of darkness at 8 pm will really bother me in America. So, please, everyone… never let me forget my romantic month in Russia. До свидания, Россия. Можно Святая Россия ещё?

Babushki

                I’ve decided that the women at the front desk of our hotel deserve a special post. They are such mothers. They do your laundry for you, scold you for not sorting it, re-sort it into the appropriate piles after they separate colors for washing, fold the laundry (really? I don’t even fold my own laundry), and then give it back, all in the same day. They’ve also scolded me for not wearing slippers around, because you don’t do that in Russia. It’s very rude, and the woman was also pretty considered that my feet would get could, and I’d get sick. And they’re just so sweet. I love Russian women. Can I keep them?

                Also, the cats here are awesome. They’re everywhere, and very willing to receive attention. And, finally, for my own memory’s sake – I’d like to point out that midnight is as bright as day.

Nabokov and a Brewery

                Life is getting interesting here in St. Petersburg, as my time is quickly drawing to a close. Today we discussed Nabokov’s autobiographical memoir, Speak, Memory. It’s actually really cool, because Nabokov was fully trilingual (French being his first language, English coming in as a close second, and Russian as third). Thus, this memoir was actually originally written in English. That thought astounds me. I love the concept of someone being just as beautifully fluent in one language as they are in another, but Nabokov being able to write as fluently and succinctly in two other languages as well as he does in English simply boggles my mind. I love how he treated pre-Revolutionary Russia almost in a teasing tone – nostalgically, but not without some humor or liveliness.

                The tour of his house museum was also a success. I think I largely enjoyed it because we didn’t have a guided tour (it would have been ridiculous, with the only rooms with exhibitions being so small), we got to see some wonderful visual anecdotes of his life, and we watched a decently long interview with him from the sixties. His accent astounded me – he spoke English in a French accent, and I cannot honestly say that I heard Russian at all in there. I’d love to examine his work more, especially since he was such a controversial figure. I’d like to know what sort of thought process led this man to write something like Lolita, and what his mental framework is. He seems like such an enigmatic figure in literature, he’d really be interesting to research.

                Anyway, after than Virginia and I headed back to the souvenir market by Church on the Spilled Blood, since she needed several more lacquer boxes for her nieces, as well as presents for her nephews. One of the men at a stand actually recognized us, remembered we were students, and gave us quite a good deal on three lacquer boxes. So nice. I love it when they’re really pleasant people, and they offer you the best prices you’ve found after walking through the rest of the market. We then went home, entertaining ourselves along the way by switching intermittently between English, French, and Russian while walking behind two obviously American (and obnoxiously loud, by Russian standards) men. I really do hope we confused them well enough.

                And finally, off to Tinkoff’s brewery for dinner. Yes, dinner. I promise they had things besides beer. Quite good food, actually. I was sitting completely in the middle of the table there, so I got to selectively switch between the two simultaneous conversations always going on at either end. It ranged from psychology to gender relations, husbands, puberty, teen pregnancy, Russian etymology and polite address, and gay marriage. In other words, so much fun, and I could switch to a different side of the table as soon as I got bored with the other. Best seating arrangement ever. Will remember to always do this in the future.

                I afterwards walked a few times around the block with Mia, frivolously discussing marriage, babies, anorexia, acting, and life callings… I enjoyed it. A random man also approached her, and I tried to quickly pull her away (because in Russia, you simply don’t wait for men on the street who are walking toward you, you run quickly). It all came to nothing though, he turned out to be British, and handed her a business card for modeling shots. I hope this is her big break, and not just some random creeper… it would be an amazing coincidence for her.

                In other news, I also had my views largely challenged today, from a debate on selective childbirth practices (i.e., creating embryos in a lab, and then freezing them for later when you have no reason not to have a baby right now other than that “you don’t want one”), gay and secular marriage (which I cautiously entered by stating my standard view of “can’t we call the secular idea something other than marriage, that’s equally good in society’s eyes?”), and gender relations when my professor asked me why I would never consider giving my own name to my children. Felt a little odd, I am very unused to even discussing such subject matter with those who are normal Americans, and thus completely disagree with me. I need to learn to not even try to cast my opinions in a PC light, and just keep my mouth shut when such things come up. No use in me getting slammed, and no use in them getting another reason to deny the benefits and necessities of social conservatism.

The Face of Nevsky

                The last two days were calm, though appropriately relaxing. Being in Russia (especially Petersburg) is starting to wind down. I’m honestly getting a little sick of being a tourist, and Russian oddities are beginning to get to me. Worst metro ride experience yet today: my friends and I got on the red line, which must be a major transfer line, because it was packed. Like, there were more people in the metro train that would likely ever even be allowed on the DC metro for fear of fire and safety hazard. Most crowded I’ve ever seen the metro in this country. To add to this, it was a very old train car, there was a couple making out next to me, and the lights periodically flashed in and out (I figured out after I got off that this was simply to signal an approaching stop, and not because it was short circuiting – but still very creepy).

As we were waiting outside the metro for the rest of our group before proceeding to the Akhmatova museum, two girls sat down against the wall on the sidewalk. Bad decision in Russia: here, only beggars and drunk men do that. One of them then decided to pull out her Mac, and start typing stuff. Is it really wise to pull out a lap top on the streets of St. Petersburg? I’m sorry, but I think that’s asking for trouble. It soon came, but not in the expected form. A crazy beggar (literally crazy – he seemed quite unbalanced) came up to the two of them, and started touching one’s shirt. When they moved back away and sat down somewhere else (closer to us), he followed them and raised his cane above the other’s head, as if he were going to knock her out with it. We then collected both of them, and moved inside, as we carefully observed him dumping out water for the florist by the side of the street. Very bizarre, and not a little bit creepy. The same two girls were subsequently warned by a man at the Akhmatova museum that sitting against a wall will make you infertile. Really not their day.

                And I’ve mentioned it twice, so I really should tell you: we went to the Akhmatova house museum today! I loved our tour guide (definitely one of the best we’ve had), but she was a little long winded. I didn’t overly mind, because she was so passionate about it and interesting that she made me want to listen, despite the fact that Akhmatova actually confuses me to the extent that I’d just rather not deal with her at all. This was followed by a nap (I know… but I really am so sleep deprived, bickering with Virginia over what to eat for dinner, going to subway where one of the employees now recognizes me (she smiled and waved… but it’s only the third time I’ve been there for dinner! I promise, I eat cheap Russian food too), and then entering a two hour long debate over the costs and benefits of southern food, living, habits, and efficiency. We’ve discovered I have an unhealthy anti-southern bias, am addicted to efficiency, and never relax. Sounds accurate enough to me.

                And now, despite the fact that I seem to be absolutely defying chronology, I should also tell you what happened yesterday, which really wasn’t much. We didn’t have an excursion, so we decided to go to the Kunstkamera, otherwise known as Museum of Curiosities, or where to see a pickled fetus preserved in a jar. Some went earlier, and some took naps (yes, yes, it’s becoming a bad habit). As the ones who were napping were just mobilizing to leave, the first group returned to inform us it was randomly closed, because it was the last Tuesday of the month. We therefore all left for H&M on Nevsky, where they were having a 250 ruble (a little less than $10) sale. I got a very cute sundress there, and can now say that I bought something on (the ridiculously over priced, touristy, and yet so classy) Nevsky Prospect.

                And now, to start synthesizing the trip again… I’ll be doing this for a while. I’ve decided (quite objectively, I promise) that I like Moscow better. The people of Petersburg seem to be very sick of tourists, and foreigners in general. They can put up a smile for you, but they’re less genuinely happy to talk to you, make friends with you, and drink with you than the Muscovites were. The Moscow metro also beats the St. Petersburg metro’s ass. The system for Petersburg is much less complicated and large, but I think that’s because all of the stations are all so ridiculously gigantic here – the largest seem to stretch for several blocks underground. It can take as long to metro to Nevsky Prospect from our hotel as to walk, because when you get to the metro, you have to spend ten minutes walking to the blue line. Everything is so far underground, and so far separated within one station, that choosing to metro a somewhat far, but walkable distance is still really walking there – you just pay a dollar to do it underground, and sit down for a few minutes in the middle of the trek. The Moscow metro is beautiful, however. It’s gigantic, complex, has far more stops, smaller stations, and a ring line. Oh, and murals of children giving flowers to Stalin. Always fun. Moscow is also faster and larger, and it simply seemed like there was far more to do – after two weeks there, I felt like I needed two more. Here in Petersburg, I started getting tired of it after a week – it’s pretty and pastel colored, but outside of the very touristy things, there is honestly not that much left to see. This is possibly the result of being tired and ready to stop being a tourist now, but I think there’s also an inkling of legitimacy to it. It also constantly smells by the canals. And finally, I just see more of the west here. Far more than Russia is known for… I almost feel like the city puts on a show for the cruise ships that come in (yet, surprisingly, they aren’t as pedestrian friendly, nor do they really bother to pick up the drunkards passed out on Nevksy, or the gypsies in the side streets). While it is beautiful, the initial charm is beginning to wear off, and I see a dirty city with a white washed face, with artificiality as the only secret it’s hiding.

Блат (Google it)

                Alexander Blok today. I absolutely love his poetry (and Symbolist poetry in general), but (as with most poetry) I tend to understand absolutely none of it on a level that I can articulate. My favorite of his works so far is still “The Twelve,” resounding in its conflicted and gloomy view of the Revolution. Nevertheless, I still find poetry too difficult to pin down well enough to actually analyze it. Sometimes it almost feels sacrilegious to pull apart those beautiful verses and dissect them, rather than just stopping in awe at the mystery of their beauty.

                Speaking of which, why do westerners always need an answer? The West has allowed natural curiosity to develop from a human trait into a cultural obsession and art form, and I’m not entirely sure it’s healthy. It leads to the need to define everything, pick it apart, and then put it back together again after you figure out exactly how it works, and there is no beauty left, because you destroyed it in order to play with it, and then tried to put it back together – which never quite works the same way (which I think we all realized when we tried to see the inside of Barbie at the age of four). Perhaps the most fundamentally harmful side effects of this cultural habit is that nothing is sacred. When presented with things other human beings have accepted for millennia, people want to know how Communion works, and why some things exist, even though they’re uncomfortable when they’re “inefficient” (confession: I also have an efficiency addiction. I cannot legitimately criticize this, but I can critically describe it… right?). The answers, of course, are honor, respect, self-discipline, love, and the fear of God. Things that America has largely forgotten. I honestly don’t understand making your world easier at the consequence of losing all meaning within it… but I suppose that’s just me.

                Speaking of America, though! (It appears I’m really on a roll today.) Fr. Victor Potapov reportedly once said that every Orthodox convert needs to visit an Orthodox country, in order to see the conversion goals for the US. Having seen Russia, I can say we have quite a distance to go. I even see the difference between Moscow and Petersburg. I see more frivolity and very western fashion-esque clothing, and fewer baptismal crosses and headscarves (on women of any age). People are a little less sweet to strangers, and my (admittedly terrible) practice of making the chain of my cross very visible when I need people to be nice to me is less effective. Compare to America, though, where I’m considering a Mary and idol worshipping cult member, and where a cross around your neck draws far more attention, and carries many more stereotypes and assumptions with it. So, what are our conversion goals? Let people know what this religion is. A Russian may be utterly non-religious, but he certainly knows what church looks like.

                And speaking of religion in Russia, I forgot to mention a guy who went to Catherine’s Palace with us on Saturday as a friend of the guide. He was my first encounter with a Russian Baptist, when he asked me if I loved Jesus, and surprisingly enough left me alone when I said «Я православная» (and then subsequently told one of the atheists in our group that “God was going to zap him”). Nice guy, but I do wonder how the Baptists regard the Orthodox… I expected him to see me as worse off than the atheists, but apparently not? Must do more research into this. Fully formed ideas by the time I leave. I promise.

                Anyway, we also went to a souvenir market by the Church on the Spilled Blood, where I got some ridiculously good deals. This was the combination of a few factors: I look really adorable when I say I’m a student of Russian literature/language, I can get away with saying that matryoshki are for my mom (it was true!), and one guy was basically trying to hit on me by giving me discounts. That, and Moscow actually made me a lot better at haggling, and knowing what prices I should walk away with. Fun trip, and souvenir shopping is officially done.

                Also, as tonight was Virginia’s (20^th) birthday, most of us went out to a Georgian restaurant for dinner, where we refused to let her pay one kopeck for the entire meal. Amazing food, but just one complaint: they didn’t actually have Georgian wine. I love Georgian wine. What kind of Georgian restaurant doesn’t have delicious, delicious dark red Georgian wine? Silly Russia.

                (OH! Fun fact! I also learned today that we apparently bribed the Pushkin Museum to get inside at Tsarskoe Selo. Russia +1)