No, I don’t care that you didn’t need to know that. I needed to share that. It’s painful, and I can’t decide whether to cut off the dead skin (don’t ask why I can do minor surgical operations on myself with no problem but break down when medical persona try to stick me with needles) or just bandage it well tomorrow morning. I suspect that the culprit is the type of socks I have been wearing with the combat boots. Usually, I wear them only in the dead of Tennessee winters with wool socks. I’ve been wearing them with plain cotton socks as it hasn’t been cold enough for wool socks or warm enough for flip-flops (and there’s that whole I would really rather not pick up HIV from stepping on a dirty needle). I think the thicker wool socks are necessary to prevent blisters, because these boots normally don’t give me this many problems. And, well, it seems that tomorrow morning (and perhaps through the day, I wasn’t quite clear on the weather report via my host mom) it’ll be getting down into the temperatures normal for the dead of a Tennessee winter. Walking home this evening felt about like walking around in December and January in Memphis.
The intensive RSL classes have started. So far, I pretty much like all the instructors. They all seem to know roughly what they are dealing with and have appropriate expectations. They’re also kind so far. (My host mom thinks that two one page essays is two nights is a bit much, but that doesn’t really bother me.) I feel like my biggest problem right now is vocabulary. I feel good about grammar. My active understanding is less than it could be, but my passive understanding isn’t too terrible. Vocabulary, on the other hand . . . Speaking of grammar, the grammar instructor is a character and a half – she is what I one day aspire to be, wonderfully eccentric!
I went to McDonalds for lunch. I know – the shame! But it was good and greasy – even if Carli and I forgot to order ketchup for the fried we split. Tomorrow, I want to find a blini place or something near the Institute.
Oh yeah, there are plans in the works to celebrate the birthday of Aleksandr Blok in an appropriate fashion. As close to the Teatralnaya Ploshad’ as we can manage, I think . . . There are also plans (with the same group to infiltrate Russian Orthodox Cathedrals) during liturgy so we can see the areas forbidden to tourists. Yes, we will be appropriately attired, and no there will be no photos. I feel that the simultaneous planning of such activities is somehow appropriate – in a delightfully twisted way. (By the way, there are two Russian and Religion majors!) (And how many more times can I write appropriate in that paragraph?)
And now, back to reading a depressing story about lovers parting before a war and writing a short essay on Oscar Wilde... по-руссккии! I learned last night that trying to write a review of book when you have to coin new words in Russian in order to translate the titles isn’t the best idea ever. Who knew that the Russian language didn’t have a word equivalent to homoeroticism?
And this is what my name looks like on my visa – Деметрия Кэтлин Ворли.
Thursday, August 30, 2007
Encounters with Babushki -- Number 1
On my way home from the institute today, I saw one of the large crows that hang around Primorskaya shredding and consuming the body of a pigeon in the parking lot of my apartment complex. Thought I’d share the love.
I got home early today and no one was in the apartment. I’m pleased that I managed to unlock and relock everything on my own. There are a total of four locks (not counting the entry to the apartment building), and then there’s the deadbolt for nighttime. The program manager keeps repeating that Russians are a little paranoid. While I was messing with the locks, a babushka came out of the apartment next door to investigate. She was nice enough, didn’t question me after it became clear I was a guest.
Oh yeah, this is the view from the balcony outside of my bedroom. Pretty, no?
I got home early today and no one was in the apartment. I’m pleased that I managed to unlock and relock everything on my own. There are a total of four locks (not counting the entry to the apartment building), and then there’s the deadbolt for nighttime. The program manager keeps repeating that Russians are a little paranoid. While I was messing with the locks, a babushka came out of the apartment next door to investigate. She was nice enough, didn’t question me after it became clear I was a guest.
Oh yeah, this is the view from the balcony outside of my bedroom. Pretty, no?
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Pigeons in Petersburg
They’re everywhere. It’s somewhat frightening. Flocks and flocks of pigeons followed by flocks and flocks of these little brown birds.
I think I have the metro down now. (At least until I have to make a complicated transfer.) I do think that the Petersburg Metro is less complicated than the New York Subway system. There are less stops, which means that one walks more, but this also means that it is simpler to keep up with what station one is at and where one needs to get off. It takes me roughly an hour to get from Smolny’s building to the apartment that I’m living in. Most of this is spent walking – and riding the escalator down into the metro. Since Petersburg is one of those cities that nature never intended to exist, the metros had to be built very deep underground in order to avoid the marshy soil. Thus, they have escalators. The longest escalators ever! I spend at least five minutes going down and coming back up – I think that I shall time the ride tomorrow. (Tomorrow: so I was wrong it's more like three and a half minutes on each escalator.) The stations and the tunnels are very clean – probably the cleanest part of the city. They are also very well lit. Unfortunately, there will be no photographic evidence of the state of metro stations in Petersburg. Photography within the stations is illegal, and frankly, I would prefer to avoid a run in with bored, broke Russian who think I’m a spy because I’m taking photographs of their metro station. Of course, I really just want to avoid any run-ins with bored, broke Russian cops; although, word on the streets has it that if they stop a devushka (young woman) what they really want is a phone number.
Primorskaya is the last stop on the metro line. I find this to be quite nice – it means that the train is not very crowded, and I actually have a bit of personal space. I suspect that this arrangement will contribution to my overall mental health while in Petersburg. Oh, and the announcements are far better than the ones in New York. I can understand them – even if they are in Russian. The announcements are pre-recorded, and spoken very slowly and clearly. In contrast, the driver of the train in New York makes the announcements quickly, usually with a heavy accent, and without any enunciation.
Some of the sections of construction have a barrier up with a boardwalk by which to get around the construction. It feels like walking across the footlog. I like them.
I think I have the metro down now. (At least until I have to make a complicated transfer.) I do think that the Petersburg Metro is less complicated than the New York Subway system. There are less stops, which means that one walks more, but this also means that it is simpler to keep up with what station one is at and where one needs to get off. It takes me roughly an hour to get from Smolny’s building to the apartment that I’m living in. Most of this is spent walking – and riding the escalator down into the metro. Since Petersburg is one of those cities that nature never intended to exist, the metros had to be built very deep underground in order to avoid the marshy soil. Thus, they have escalators. The longest escalators ever! I spend at least five minutes going down and coming back up – I think that I shall time the ride tomorrow. (Tomorrow: so I was wrong it's more like three and a half minutes on each escalator.) The stations and the tunnels are very clean – probably the cleanest part of the city. They are also very well lit. Unfortunately, there will be no photographic evidence of the state of metro stations in Petersburg. Photography within the stations is illegal, and frankly, I would prefer to avoid a run in with bored, broke Russian who think I’m a spy because I’m taking photographs of their metro station. Of course, I really just want to avoid any run-ins with bored, broke Russian cops; although, word on the streets has it that if they stop a devushka (young woman) what they really want is a phone number.
Primorskaya is the last stop on the metro line. I find this to be quite nice – it means that the train is not very crowded, and I actually have a bit of personal space. I suspect that this arrangement will contribution to my overall mental health while in Petersburg. Oh, and the announcements are far better than the ones in New York. I can understand them – even if they are in Russian. The announcements are pre-recorded, and spoken very slowly and clearly. In contrast, the driver of the train in New York makes the announcements quickly, usually with a heavy accent, and without any enunciation.
Some of the sections of construction have a barrier up with a boardwalk by which to get around the construction. It feels like walking across the footlog. I like them.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Sweet, sweet, oh, Baltic Sea...
So, I've had the Cold War Kids stuck in my head for the past few days. How are you?
I live right on the Gulf of Finland. As in, I look out of the window on the balcony my room is attached to and I see the sea. This is somewhat disconcerting. But I like it, I think.
I thought Memphis was a bad city to walk in. Saint Petersburg -- at least, in Primorskaya -- is worse. On one hand, lots of people are walking, so it feels a lot safer in Memphis. I'm not worrying about physical violence. Pickpockets and the police are another thing. Some creepy man asked my friend, Ana, and I for our cell phone numbers the other day. No intro, initial hitting on, etc. Ana's host mom has strictly warned her to only date guys she meets at the university -- not on the street. On the other hand, there are no sidewalks in Primorskaya -- at least, none to speak of. Just rubble, really. And the drivers are insane. And while some of the cross-walks not only have lights but also a timer with how much longer one has to get across before being run over by a Lada, not all of the crosswalks have anything in the way of crossing lights.
Books are inexpensive. I bought a collection of some of Blok's poems, plays, letters, etc. in Russian yesterday. It was just under seven dollars. This makes me very happy. But shipping things back could become a pain.
I live right on the Gulf of Finland. As in, I look out of the window on the balcony my room is attached to and I see the sea. This is somewhat disconcerting. But I like it, I think.
I thought Memphis was a bad city to walk in. Saint Petersburg -- at least, in Primorskaya -- is worse. On one hand, lots of people are walking, so it feels a lot safer in Memphis. I'm not worrying about physical violence. Pickpockets and the police are another thing. Some creepy man asked my friend, Ana, and I for our cell phone numbers the other day. No intro, initial hitting on, etc. Ana's host mom has strictly warned her to only date guys she meets at the university -- not on the street. On the other hand, there are no sidewalks in Primorskaya -- at least, none to speak of. Just rubble, really. And the drivers are insane. And while some of the cross-walks not only have lights but also a timer with how much longer one has to get across before being run over by a Lada, not all of the crosswalks have anything in the way of crossing lights.
Books are inexpensive. I bought a collection of some of Blok's poems, plays, letters, etc. in Russian yesterday. It was just under seven dollars. This makes me very happy. But shipping things back could become a pain.
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