Russians Take being Sick very Seriously, and Rum not so Seriously

Or, How My Dislike of Beer Will Turn Me into a Pushy Russian Yet

The professor who teaches the class I’m auditing on ancient Russian art doesn’t have a good sense of time. Classes only meet once a week in Russia, and the schedule is supposed to be something like this. An hour and a half of class, a twenty minute break, and then another hour and a half of class. Yesterday, another student finally asked the prof for a break at two hours and twenty minutes of lecture. The last week, the prof went over by 45 minutes.

Also, I apparently looked sicker than I actually felt yesterday. (I still have a cough and a very decent amount of sinus congestion going.) But when the prof finally paused, another student came over, scolded me for being out and told me that I should go home.

Being a bad person, I decided to take this as an opportunity to just skip out of the rest of the class. (Mind, I’m only understanding every tenth word.) Went down to the program office, found Bryan and the Count, who were heading out for Italian before the group bowling extravaganza. I went along with them to try the best Italian food in Saint Petersburg. (All I have to say is, poor Saint Petersburg, if that’s the best Italian they have. It wasn’t bad, but, well, just no, not quite.) And then onto the bowling.

Bowling is apparently a very elite sport in Russia. And while Columbia’s bowling alleys might not make for a good comparison base, this was certainly the fanciest bowling alley that I had ever seen. With a bouncer, who makes you check your coat, and inspects your bag on entry. And a bar.

So the majority of the Americans promptly go get beer – that drink I do not comprehend. I was up for a drink, so I decided I’d splurge on a rum and coke (rum is expensive in Russia). Justification: I shall be 21 on Sunday. First, I had two failed attempts at getting an order in at the bar – ordering requires assaulting the bartender – this is most difficult for me. Finally, I think I have ordered a rum and coke, and the bartender – who had a mullet, oh yes – sets a small glass of beer down in front of me. I hate beer. I want my Cuba Libre. I decide not to demure. I argued with the bartender in what I’m sure was bad Russian. Finally, he figured out that I wanted rum and Coca-cola. He’d apparently never heard of the concept of combining the two, so I received a shot of rum, and a bottle of Coke. Close enough. And I had the rest of the coke to drink after the rum was gone. So, yeah, I argued in Russian. I feel slightly accomplished.

Sick in Russia

So, I have a cold. A killer cold. But it's okay now. I can speak again and the congestion is draining out of my head as I type. (I do enjoy sharing unpleasant sensations.)

I avoided any terrible Russian home remedies. My host grandma had me suck on a piece of lemon to help my throat -- which helped actually, and isn't particularly unpleasant. And later, I tried warm milk with a bit of butter in it, which I don't think is any more helpful than hot tea. My host mom also told me that I shouldn't take a shower, which I don't understand, so I showered while she was out of the house and felt much, much more human.

And that's all I have to say about that.

Buses Walk in Russia

If you don’t get the joke, too bad. It’s based in Russian grammar. Just know that they do.

I’ve now taken the bus twice. Once with a friend and once by myself. It’s a long ride – it takes just as long to get to Smolny by bus as it does to take the Metro – one simply walks less.

On the positive side – I get to see more of the island by riding the bus. The metro does have the disadvantage of being underground. Unfortunately, the sections of the island that the bus goes through are dominated by auto shops. This area is the Saint Petersburg equivalent of Summer Avenue for those of you playing from Memphis (and Uncle Roman).

But, on the whole, I’m not loving the bus. They seem to be more crowded than the metro – it’s much more difficult to maneuver one’s way in and out of the bus. And, they’re dirty. I watched a guy toss his still partially full can of beer on the floor. He refused to pick it up when the conductor asked him to. So obviously, the solution is to kick the can of beer out from under to the seat, in front of the guy, and then off the bus into street, sloshing the beer all over the floor of the bus. Oh yes. The Metro tends to be a bit cleaner.

Surreptitious people watching is more difficult on the bus. You’re either looking at the back of people’s heads, or all of two feet away from a very angry looking Russian woman, or there’s a real crowd and someone’s behind is hanging out in front of one. And people watching (done discreetly – of course) is one of the highlights of my commuting experience.

So currently, I’m not loving the bus – but we’ll see when it actually gets cold.

All's Fair in Love and Russian Computer Labs

That's right. Getting a computer in the lab is some tricky business. You have go hunting, stalk your prey carefully, and pounce at the first possible opportunity.

Okay, so last week was – interesting. The RSL intensive continued, so I had Russian classes every day from 9:30 until 1:00. Then in the afternoon and evenings, we had the academic class. Classes only meet once a week in Russian – but they meet for a very long time. Each class period is broken into two 1 hour and 30 minute sections with a twenty minute break in between. So on Tuesday and Friday, I had RSL in the morning and then other classes until 8 in the evening. It was fun, let me tell you. And exhausting. And thus, you see, a lack of updates regarding my life.

Incidently, Galya – my entirely awesome host grandmother – thought that this schedule was ridiculous, unmanageable, and I thought for a minute that she was going to call Bryan and inform him that she thought just that. The word babushka doesn’t work for Galya – all the connotations are wrong. For one thing, she really isn’t very old – early sixties at the most. She reminds me a lot of how Anna was when I was little. She’s very active, independent, funny, and I would not want to cross her. She doesn’t know much English, but she doesn’t mind repeating herself and rephrasing things until I understand – or resorting to gesturing.

I like my host family (even the psychotic dog is beginning to let me befriend it), but its difficult readjusting to living in a family situation. I’m too used to being on my own and taking care of myself. I didn’t manage to convince my host mom – who isn’t a morning person – that I could boil water to make myself coffee in the morning (all coffee is instant coffee – it makes me sad) for about a week. She gave in when I needed to leave quite early last Sunday morning for a group excursion, but for the previous week, she’d get up, fix me some sort of breakfast, and then go back to bed. My nine-year-old host sister has started back to school now, so the past week she was up getting Nastya off to school anyway. However, I’m allowed to do most of my own laundry – my host mom takes care of the settings on the incredibly complicated washing machine, but I get to sort, hang up, and put away my own clothes.

I also have to remember to give my host mom an idea as to where I’m going and when I’ll be back, or else she’ll get worried. Very different from the past three years of dorm life. At the same time, it’s not like being at home – she doesn’t care if I’m going to stay out late (or all night) she just wants to know what my plans are. For one thing, you really can’t stay out late in Maury County – what’s to do? The times I’ve been out late were the result of going to visit family or friends and talking until the wee hours of the morning. Here, there’s plenty of things to do, and after a certain point you have to just spend the whole night out. The Metro stops running at midnight, and the bridges to the islands from the mainland go up to allow ships through around 1:30 or 2 and don’t go back down until 5 am or so, so if you go out, you’ll probably wind up staying out if you live on one of the islands. Thus, I got in at 6 am this morning after going out with a group of girls from the program. Which wasn’t a problem for my host mom – since I had told her that I was going out. (Actually, I think she was happy that I went out, I think she worries that I study too much.) And, when all is said and down, walking from the metro station to the apartment is probably safer at 6 am than it is at midnight.

Back to School in Russia

Shopping for school supplies in Russia is totally more fun than shopping for such things in the US. Why? Russians have much, much cooler school supplies.

Take notebooks for an example. Most of the notebooks here have graph paper in them instead of being ruled. I think I dig it. Also, the notebooks are just niftier. I bought a large, hardbacked one with a faux leather cover. It has the imperial double-headed eagle holding a pen instead of a scepter embossed in silver on the cover. ‘Tis quite groovy. But the average notebook is a small affair, lightweight, about the size of a composition book in the US. And they have tons and tons of different, usually rather funny covers. Remember the folders with the pictures from elementary school – the one’s that were “cool.” Oh yes, that’s the type of covers we’re talking about.

Folders, on the other hand, are plain, off-white numbers. They cost about 6 rubles each. (At 25 rubles to the dollar, that’s a bit over 20 cents.) You place your papers in the folder, and then fold the flaps around them, and tie it with a bit of cloth. All of them are stamped with Папка для бумаг. (Folder for papers.) However, I haven’t seen any folders for anything else. Or, you could splurge and drop some more rubles on translucent plastic folders, but then you wouldn’t have somewhat amusing Russian writing on your folder, would you? (I’m thinking of returning to the US with a ton of папки для бумаг.

Have I mentioned recently how much I detest Microsoft Word?

Peter and Paul Fortress

Here's looking up at the spiren of the church -- have I mentioned the lovely skies in Saint Petersburg. That isn't edited in -- it's really that gorgeous. Puts a whole new spin on Soloviev's azure empress.


I forgot of whom this is a statue, but you're supposed to rub his thumb and make a wish.


The side of the church.


Another side of the church.


We climbed as far up the belltower as they would let us. Good view of the city from up top.


It's a me at the top.


Here's the ceiling inside fo the church. The columns aren't actually marble, but it's a pretty good paint job.


This iconostasis disturbs me. All of the icons are painted in a very Western European, Italian Renaissance style. And it just feels entirely wrong to me. Icons aren't supposed to be that corporeal. (Click on the photo to enlarge it, you'll be able to see the paintings better.)


You can tell it's just paint here.


It's a big church.


And, look! Dead Romanovs! You knew I would get a photo. Incidentally, the bodies of the family servants who were killed are also entombed here. And, for reasons unknown, but presumed to be good, the king and queen of Thailand are hanging out.