World Spins Madly On

It’s been a relatively peaceful week. On Wednesday night there was apparently a really important soccer game going on (Real Madrid [of which Jesus Navas is unfortunately not a member) vs. err, some German team [of which Mario Gomez is unfortunately not a member). The plan was to meet at a British pub close to the Primorskaya metro station, just one north of Vasilieostrovskaya, and I got there in time for the game to start at 10:45. Adam and I left the bar at midnight to catch the metro home before it closes at 12:30, but apparently Primorskaya actually closes at 12:10, so we were forced to walk home. I think it’s supposed to take around 40 minutes to walk from Primorskaya to Vasileostrovskaya, which, during the day shouldn’t be that bad, but it was late, and all the tall, gray depressing buildings made our walk home extremely sketchy. Thank god I had Adam there with me, because there was no way in hell I was going to walk home by myself without knowing the way. We basically ran home, and at one point, as we were passing a graveyard and after having gotten spooked by a closing door, I told him that if I took off without warning for some unknown reason, it’s not because I’m ditching you or leaving you behind to get eaten by some mafia guy that comes out from behind a bush; it’s just my flight or fight response. We passed by my place at a quarter to one, but Adam still had to cross the bridge to get back home to the dorms; the same bridge that supposedly goes up at 1:25. Needless to say, we said our goodbyes quickly, and vowed that we were never, ever getting back together going to Primorskaya again. 

On Friday night I watched the Hound of the Baskervilles Sherlock episode with Adam in the dorms, and I brought a bottle of Ukrainian wine for us to share. Good thing it tasted like raisins (I usually like sweet wine), cause neither Adam and I could drink it without feeling disgusting (alas, it was on sale). In any sense, I had had an awful Friday, and I needed to let loose (I finally had an explosive meltdown on Thursday [I’m fairly positive my host mom will never ask me about my past history with любов at the dinner table ever ever again], was so distraught that I absentmindedly set my alarm at the wrong time for the next morning, showed up to Marina Olegevna’s grammar class 45 minutes late, and missed our test). And I guess I did exactly that, because after having finished that bottle of wine, that episode of Sherlock, some seriously needed gossip sessions and the first ten minutes of the movie “This is the End,” I puked my guts out. Adam was sweet enough to walk me home, and I fell asleep immediately after I hit the lights and got under the covers. 

Bleh. 

But WHATEVAHH. I’m feeling better, both physically and mentally at the moment, so I can now finally tell you about the ballet we went to last night. We had an excursion to the Mikhailovsky theater where we saw a performance of “Sleeping Beauty.” The Mikhailovsky looks a lot like the Mariinsky, but I think it was a little bit smaller and less ornate (picture cream and burnt orange-red colors). I sat in a box to the left side of the theater on the first level, and I had a tough time seeing one of the corners, but it didn’t matter, cause I thought the show was pretty amazing. I can’t pretend to say I know anything about ballet (ask me about the movie “Black Swan” though and I’ll rant for a good 10 minutes about how AWESOME I thought it was), so in that regard I think it’s easy for me to overlook just how complicated and demanding some of the dance moves and techniques are, but there were a few scenes where my jaw definitely dropped a little as I watched them unfold. One scene in particular sticks out in my memory: Sleeping beauty was standing on one leg (on her pointed foot, to be more precise), with the other leg extended out perpendicularly, and she stood like that for a good thirty seconds as different male ballerinas came up, took her hand, and walked her in a full circle. It reminded me of the ballerina figurines you see and watch twirl in a circle when you open up some music boxes. It was both beautiful and painful to watch, for I could only imagine the strain that put on her entire body. Of course, the ballet was full of playful bounds, leaps and twirls, but I enjoyed the last act the most when they did a sort of sampling of various other fairytales. My favorites were two cats that were so feisty and graceful (Aristocats?), and the couple that did Little Red Riding hood; the wolf looked like he was having the best time flying from one end of the stage to another! In the end, the character that got the most applause was definitely Maleficent (as he should have). When he first came onto the stage though, the only thing that I could think of was Jim Carrey in SNL’s spoof of the Black Swan (a must watch here http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uwby0YmAXVc). 

So that’s that! Ballet at the Mariinsky? Check ✓ The next big adventure is Moscow, and we’re taking an overnight train (hello sleeping pills) on Wednesday night. Stay tuned :)

Take Away the Words

I finally made it to Tsarskoye Selo on Sunday, and although I’ve been fending for myself and have had to figure things out on the fly (for the most part) over these past two and a half months, I’m pretty proud that I managed to get all the way to Tsarskoye Selo in one piece, by myself, without having gotten miserably lost. You see, Tsarskoye Selo (the Tsar’s Village) is located about 20 miles away from the city center in the suburbs of St. Petersburg, and the only real way of getting there is by taking a marshrutka, those mini-buses that have a certain route, but that which only stop if you tell them too. I’ve taken them before, but only with friends. I usually avoid marshrutkas because a) I don’t know where I’m going most of the time, and b) I don’t speak Russian (I’ve been in a pathetic funk since last week; every time I try and speak I get so nervous that I stutter and make more mistakes than my normal amount. I feel utterly shaken, having lost all of the confidence that I’ve gained since arriving here at the end of January, and I desperately need to have a solid interaction in order to get back on track. Bleh). 

But I needed to come to Tsarskoye Selo. We have an excursion planned to this summer residence of the Tsars in May, but I’m not sure that we will definitely tour the Alexander Palace in addition to the Catherine Palace and Catherine park, which attracts the most visitors. The Alexander Palace is where Nicholas and Alexandra lived after they got married, and it is where they raised their children. Sure, they definitely lived in the Winter Palace during the... winters, but they preferred quiet Tsarskoe Selo over bustling Petersburg. And they even chose to live in the Alexander Palace over the Catherine Palace, which is smaller and much cozier in comparison to the latter. 

Over the past few days I went back and forth over whether or not I wanted to go before the excursion, and I realized that the only reason why this was even a question in the first place was because I was afraid of the commute there and back alone. When we went to Peterhof, we took a marshrutka, and we passed the palace without even knowing it. We got off past the palace once we realized that that was probably Peterhof and had to walk backwards. Marshrutka drivers don’t announce stops of any sort. They just wait for you to shout “остановите пожалуйста!” and then they’ll pull up to the curb and let you out. While they’re driving, they are constantly receiving money for fare and giving back the exact change, with their eyes hopefully on the road. Sometimes they talk on their cell phones while doing all the above. It’s certainly not comforting, but what can you do. I disliked that fear was the reason I hesitated to go; I knew I would have hated myself if I missed out on an opportunity to see the Alexander Palace because I was afraid of taking a marshrutka by myself. Pssh, DESPICABLE.  

So I went. I took my time getting there, and I didn’t actually spend more than an hour and a half there, but it was blissfully worth it. I woke up before 10, had breakfast, went to the gym, came home, showered, packed a little lunch, and was in the metro by 1:15 pm. I took the blue line all the way down to MOSKOVSKAYA, and from there hopped on what I hoped was the correct marshrutka. I tuned out on my iPod for the next hour, as the marshutka stopped and started, picking up people along the way. Before long, the marshrutka was packed with Russians (how do you say deodorant по-русски?), and eventually we started driving around a neighborhood that I thought might be close to Tsarskoye Selo. I saw signs for the Catherine Palace, but judging from the neighborhood we were driving through, I was skeptical. I was expecting Tsarskoye Selo to be out in the open, with a giant welcoming sign... in English. While looking frantically through the windows on both sides to decipher if I was actually where I was supposed to be, I spotted a golden church dome. I must be here! I was just getting ready to get off when the marshrutka turned in the opposite direction, away from what I thought was the Catherine Palace. Shit. I need to get off... I think. In my hasty panic, I asked a friendly-looking Russian woman if that was indeed Tsarskoye selo. Did I need to get off now? Is the driver going to stop at the park as the sign explains on the window of the marshrutka bus? After immediately dismissing me, she and a few other travelers around her told me, from what I understood, that I would get off at the very end of the route; that we were going to the other side of the park. Okay, phew. I waited and waited and didn’t get off, until I started to second guess myself. Did I hear that correctly? Considering it looks like we’re going very far away from the palaces, you most certainly didn’t, Liv. Seriously freaking out (why can’t I stay calm in these situations?), I stand up and head towards the door, preparing my weak voice to tell the driver to stop. Thank god some older woman who had heard me ask my questions before told me to sit back down, девушка, my stop has yet to come. She told me that she would tell me where to get off, and I breathed a sign of relief. My deer-in-the-headlights, pitiful disposition has paid off (I am certainly going to go out of my way to be friendly to foreigners when I come home).

So, I got off at the very end of the marshrukta route, in front of a somewhat important-looking gate into Catherine Park. Relieved, I entered the park, took out my camera and sandwich, and munched/took photos as I walked through the winding paths of the park. In short, the park is gorgeous (surprise, surprise). There are canals/rivers and trees and what I would imagine will be luscious green grass. I ended up walking towards a pond in which there was what looked like a rostral column and a building which is called the “Admiralty”. There were a lot of visitors out and about; older couples and young ones with their children racing ahead of them. There was also a newlywed couple posing for pictures in front of the pond (I don’t blame them. It had a great view). 

Before long I ended up at the Catherine Palace. The side of the Palace that I found myself on was under construction though, and the entire right side of the palace was covered with a sheet whose pattern matches what the side of the palace actually looks like, so from afar you have no idea it’s actually a giant cloth painted to look like a palace. Tricky, tricky, Russians... I hovered in front of the Catherine Palace entrance for a few seconds before I trekked onwards. I’m pretty sure we’ll go with the group inside the Catherine Palace in May, and because it was already 3:30, I needed to find the Alexander Palace. I went to the back of the palace and followed a diagonal road into what looked like more residential housing. Soon I found a sign pointing in the direction of the Alexander palace, and then more gates leading into what looked like another park. I entered the park, and found myself walking through more woods and small hills. It was more quiet over there, and I remember thinking how awesome of a backyard this would have been to have growing up. It was a nice location to take walks, to ride a bike, or to throw a frisbee. I came up towards the back of a large building, which seemed pretty important, but it wasn’t as extravagant as other palaces, and it looked abandoned from the inside. “Is this the Alexander palace?” I wondered. I walked around in front, and I found a sign to confirm that it was indeed, the Alexander Palace. I moved further in front of the palace and took it all in. The palace is not that tall, but it extends pretty far length wise. It is a pastel yellow, and the main entrance in the center has two statues on either side of the entrance staircase. All the doors were shut, and I didn’t see anyone going into the palace either, however. This started to make me nervous as I second-guessed whether or not I saw something about gaining admission into the palace or not online. I was about to find someone to ask where the main entrance was when I saw a security guard walk through the front doors, which pissed me off, because who knows if it would have even occurred to me to even try to open the front doors if I hadn’t seen someone go through them (the building looks absolutely abandoned, and there were no signs for an entrance anywhere!). 

I walked around the front of the palace before I went inside, and I seriously started to get the chills. Like, faster than I ever have in Russia before. 

So, the Romanovs were really into photography, and almost everyone in the family took photographs and kept extensive family albums. As a result, there are a ton of photos of Nicholas and his family floating around the internet, as well as in countless books and archives. As you can imagine, I have tried to find ALL photos that exists of them (a serious endeavor), and so when I first started walking around the staircases and front columns, I quickly acquired a sense of my surroundings as being oddly familiar... as if I had seen this place before. Obviously I haven’t in person, but because I’ve seen so many black and white photos of even the outside I started to feel an almost deja-vu sense. I took photos and laughed out loud to myself. As much as I love visiting sights with my friends, I am really glad I went there by myself. This was something I needed to enjoy alone, without being rushed or judged. I spent a few minutes longer outside, pressing my palm against the stone walls and the white, thick columns. When I was ready, I concentrated for a second on this eerie feeling that was growing inside me, shuttered with excitement, told myself that THIS WAS IT, and then I went inside. 

First I paid 130 rubles ($3.64) with my student card to get in, and then I followed the old women who work there’s (why is it always old women?) signal to pass through the first large doors. When I walked through them, I found myself in a bright hall with geometric floor patterns and paintings on the walls. To my left looked like a little sitting area, but what caught my attention was the huge ass tiger rug, which was complete with a full tiger head gaping wide with it’s crazed eyes staring at me (what’s up Shirkan?). The hall was made up of three such rooms, and I walked through them with only the echo of my squeaky shoes to remind me that I was alone. There were paintings of generals and perhaps Nicholas I (? I forget what he looks like), as well as a large portrait of Catherine the Great. There were some decorative vases, and more chandeliers. In the last large room, there were two glass cases with Faberge eggs in them (see below). 

When I walked through the next large doors after I had finished with the halls, I found myself in a large room that appears to have been completely untouched since the initial construction of this palace. The walls were bare, and parts of the ceiling and the walls were cracking. There was a red carpet that led me to where I was supposed to be, but I stood there for a few minutes wondering what this room was used for. It was definitely spooky, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. 

I walked along the red carpet until I entered a room that was clearly the resumption of the tour route. I read on the sign by the door that this was the room in which official meetings of the Tsar were held, and that I was currently standing in the room in which Nicholas II announced that he was going to take command of the army in World War I. It doesn’t look that political, for there is a beautiful piano in the center (the Empress was apparently really good at the piano), but I learned quickly that the Alexander Palace isn’t like the rest of the palaces I’ve seen here during my time here so far, and I just went with it. 

And then I almost cried in the next room, hahaha. It was Alexei’s room (the hemophiliac heir), and I think that’s when it really hit me that this was probably the closest I would ever get to the last Romanovs. Closer there than to their actual remains in the Peter and Paul Cathedral, closer there than to the rooms throughout the Winter Palace. This is where they spent their daily lives, and I was in the room where Alexei spent his time. I saw his closets, his toys, and his little outfits. The next few rooms must have belonged to the daughters, and then there was a sitting room. 

The next room, however, was the Mauve Room. The Mauve Room was Alexandra’s little haven, and just as you would imagine the room to be one hundred years ago, it was complete with purple flowers sitting on a bureau in front of the window. What got me the most though was the chair in the corner. For some reason, the Romanovs had a bagillion photos taken in this chair, and when I saw it I just about fell over. I could see them all siting in it! In THAT chair! It is such a bizarre feeling to have seen a picture a thousand times and then finally see it in person; your imagination is confronted with the reality, and when that quick process is all over, you’re left with nothing but surprise that the way you imagined the position and lighting of the scene is not at all how you imagined it to be. Does that make any sense? Like, I had no idea that the chair, which I had always seen to be resting in a corner, was inches away from the door frame. All the rooms in the palace are lined up in a row; there are no left turns or right turns, but instead one giant hallway with rooms all on your left and all the windows opening to the backyard on your right. Ah, I can’t explain myself. You have to believe how surreal it was! 

There were only a few other rooms, including Nicholas’s reception rooms (imagine how many ministers were dismissed in that room!), and his personal study, which was complete with a pool table and an old fashioned camera situated on a tripod. I must have taken 30 pictures of that one room (did I get every angle?!). There was a hall with photographs hanging on the walls, and then there were a few cases at the end of the hall that had some fancy armor and swords. I could have stayed there for a long time, and I wanted the rooms to continue, but before I knew it, I was back to where I started. Ah how I wish I could just be left alone unsupervised! I didn’t want to steal anything valuable of course; I simply wanted to sit in that chair! I wanted so badly to pass beyond the barriers and sit on the floor of whichever room - EVERY room I was in. 

Nicholas and Alexandra wanted to live in a smaller, cozier home, and after visiting the Alexander Palace, it was easy to see how they preferred to live. The Alexander Palace is unlike any other royal interior I’ve ever seen before, mainly because it didn’t appear royal whatsoever. The rooms of their children were modest; they had stuffed animals and regular looking beds. The walls were full of photographs, with the occasional painting, but it wasn’t full of bling like all the other royal residences. There were icons on the walls and more photographs in frames sitting on the desks. Flowers sat on tables, and there were pretty, homey rugs lying on the floors. There were books, dolls, china, dressers and chests, and I felt like you could honestly believe that people actually lived there once upon a time. I couldn’t believe that I had even hesitated to come here. Why did I ever think that? This is probably the most important destination to me, and how I felt throughout the entire time I was inside the palace only underscored that point about a thousand times. I had all but forgotten about everything. Conn? Maine? Forest and Cooper? Studying abroad in St. Petersburg? What’s all that?  I was so lost in this dream while I was there, and it was an experience I would never trade for anything. The Yusupov palace (the one where Rasputin was killed) still remains my favorite palace, but this, as a whole, has been my favorite excursion since I arrived here. It’s been so personal! 

093aslkfi””:”@(YFD:jhad’oawjh!!!

On another random note, spring has sprung here and spring fever has hit me LIKE A TRAIN. It went from full-length LLBean parka weather to my thin fall jacket weather overnight. Similarly, the days are getting extremely long. Everybody always rants about how great the White Nights are in 

May and June, but nobody ever talks about the nights leading up to those during which the sun never completely sets. 

Currently, the sun rises early and doesn’t set until about 10 pm. It is so weird, but I LOVE it. On Friday night a bunch of us were out and about in parks around Gorkovskaya until we headed for the Leningrad bar after 9 pm (on another note, we all tried to buy alcohol in about three stores beforehand, and you know what happened? We couldn’t because nobody would accept the copies of our documents. We tried and failed three times to buy alcohol in RUSSIA. I repeat: we could not buy alcohol in Russia. What’s that called? An oxymoron? A paradox?), and I anticipate many more nights of park-hooligany before the semester is over. But hey, I’ve got no problem with that! 

Good Gracious (The Chainsmokers Remix)

I currently have a precious jar of Skippy chunky peanut butter resting against my left hip as I write this in bed, and it might as well be gold. Jackie’s parents are visiting her, and Jackie had them bring a giant communal jar for all the Americans as well as a special jar for myself. She whipped it out at about 11 am this morning and I shouted with shock and happiness so loudly I’m sure everyone in Smolny heard me. Best thing that has happened to me all day. However, this means that I’m going to stress about how long this is going to last me, and tonight marks the first of many where I will literally be scooping peanut butter out of the jar like a bear and honey. I put my jar on the other side of the room in order to write this. It’s literally my CRACK. 

Ok, let’s get down to business. This blog post is going to be full of angsty complaints. Prepare yourself. 

So, a lot is going on with Connecticut College this week. Rising senior class registration began on Tuesday (did I just write... senior?), and the senior housing lottery also opened on Tuesday. East coast time. In terms of my academic schedule, I signed up for a slavic class called The Net Generation, which is about contemporary Russian youth, International Economics (my last econ requirement for my IR major), a government seminar on Germany with my all time favorite gov professor (I <3 Patton), and I’m hoping to enroll in an honors thesis seminar with the history department (granted my honors thesis proposal gets accepted).  I’m really excited for my government seminar, but I can’t say I’m too pumped about all the others. I don’t know; has this semester’s academic classes at Smolny disenchanted me? Perhaps. The fact that there are no Russian language classes past intermediate offered this fall (#smalldepartmentproblems [#ineverhashtag]) is deeply saddening, and on top of it all, I won’t be taking any classes with my Russian professor Petko next year... AHH! (Did you hear that?? That was the sound of MY ENTIRE BODY AND SOUL DYING). УЖАСНО!! 

But I digress. That was senior registration. Onto the housing lottery. So, out of about 500 seniors, my lottery number was 432. Shitty, but I don’t usually get lucky with those sort of things, so I expected it. I became available to select my room at exactly 6:42 pm EST yesterday, which translated to 2:42 am St. Petersburg time. This meant that I woke up out of my beautiful REM sleep (I was probably having nightmares anyway) at 2:30 am this morning in order to select my room. I threw my mac onto my bed, and with sleepy eyes logged in and waited until the moment of truth. However, when that moment came, and I clicked on the button “Search for Available Rooms,” I found that the only rooms that were available to me and the other unlucky seniors to have received such a high lottery numbers were located in the plex. 

The plex is not a bad place. I lived there all freshman and sophomore year, and it has great perks like being attached to the dining hall and AC. The rooms are large enough, and if a hurricane decides to blow through New London like one did last year, I know I’ll be safe. With that said though, NOOOO! I was so spoiled with living in Knowlton in south campus last year that the mere thought of going back to that dungeon castle makes me sad. Luckily, I don’t think I was fully awake to get this angry at nearly 3 am this morning, so I selected room 505 in Lambdin, my favorite dorm in the plex. There is a room swap period at the end of May that I’ll take part in, so there’s a chance I won’t actually stay there. It’s just a bummer because I really wanted to spend senior year in central campus, but oh well. I have ZERO right to complain. I get my own room, and I go to Connecticut College for crying out loud. SNAP OUT OF IT, LIV! Be grateful, ya brat. 

So there’s that. In my reading and writing class we began to go over participles on Monday, and it’s only Wednesday, but I feel like my confidence in Russian has plummeted down to the deepest depths of my core in this short amount of time. There are few things in this world that makes me smoke-coming-out-of-my-ears angry and frustrated (well, at least I’d like to think that there are only a few), and not getting a concept in Russian is one of them. Of course, I make mistakes every time I try to speak Russian. My accent is actually so bad it’s not even funny (Barry tells me that I just have to pretend I’m a Russian gangster and everything will sound more authentic), and I forget really important vocab when I desperately need it. But not understanding a concept is different. It reminds me of all the times in Nucci’s 7th grade math class when I had to go get extra help, and I was always on the verge of tears because I felt so stupid. I also remember being so mad this fall when I couldn’t get the concept of который for about a week (I finally got it though, thank god), and the concept of participles has been evoking the same oh-god-Liv-don’t-you-dare-cry-in-class feelings. How does one describe participles? According to my text book, “adjectives formed from verbs can be called participles or verbal adjectives.” Okay, that doesn’t sound that bad, but trust my brain, they are. Here’s an example. In Russian literature (participles, thank the heavens, generally are only used in formal writing, not speech), a sentence like “Since 1824 the theater has been called the ‘Malyi’ to differentiate it from the Bolshoi Theater, which is located next to it.” “Which is located next to it” can be condenced into one long-ass Russian word. Along similar lines, in the sentence: “It’s a list of world-famous cultural figures who have attended the Malyi Theater,” “who have attended” can be replaced with one word. Except these magical, long one-worders seem to evaporate and appear in complete RANDOM (not really, I think there’s a reason behind it) places in the sentence. Are you lost yet? Good. So am I. On Monday’s class, as all this was being explained, I was like, yeah! Totally got this. Until we started going over examples. Like I said earlier, I get things wrong all the time. I blank in classes occasionally, but on Monday my brain literally stopped working. I think I forgot how to read cyrillic, and when I was asked to answer an exercise, I sat gaping at my paper as the seconds ticked painfully by and my poor friends cringed and watched me crash and burn. AND THEN I forgot the ending for the dative case. I should have taken the time to think before I said that I forgot, but I was so embarrassed and ashamed at that point that I didn’t want to dig my grave any deeper, or speak for that matter. My professor responded by asking the class if she should bring in a chart of case endings. Now, THAT really ticked me off. NOOOO!!! I KNOW THE ENDINGS, GOD DAMNIT. BELIEVEEEEE MEEEEE. 

Nope, Liv. You done fucked up. I wouldn’t have believed you EITHER. 

Grr... 

Let’s keep going and rant about how much I hate the gender roles here. Yes, it’s finally gotten so under my skin that I’m ready to curse out the next person in this country I hear saying something about women (good thing I can’t understand anything anybody says [yes, this is actually still true. Why haven’t I improved?]). If there is anything that is going to prevent me from ever coming back to this country (I will come back, don't kid yourself), it’s the inequality of the sexes. It’s not that obvious, but, on the other hand, I’m not very observant. What I have noticed though is that once women get married, they are expected to do all the cooking and cleaning while their husbands watch TV in the living room until they are called (my blood is starting to boil). Women are supposed to get married young, like <27 I’d say (I learned this when I tried to explain to my host mom my marriage pact with my best guy friend: “we agreed that if we weren’t married by age 40 that we’d marry each other.” My host mom’s response: “Why so late??” I think my host mom began praying for me double after that, and then triple THAT when I told her I wasn’t sure if I wanted to have kids or not). Additionally, women don’t really play sports. To which I say, fuck you, Russian society. I get weird looks at the gym. I’ve noticed that I’m the only one that wears shorts. There are no female club sports teams at Smolny (that I’m aware of). I know I shouldn’t be getting this worked up because I’m only here for a little bit longer, but this has really been getting to me. 

I'm ashamed to say that I have never been this fierce about feminist issues before. My mom loves Gloria Steinem and she has always encouraged me to listen to her podcasts on women’s rights and whatnot. I’ll get to them eventually, I would tell her. In all honesty, it just wasn’t something that was interested in. Moreover, you’d think that growing up with a half-Cambodian family that I would have developed an opinion earlier on in regards to patriarchic, sexist cultures. I’ve been surrounded by it my whole life, but my parents have done the best job of letting me do what I want and standing up for me to my grandmother and whatnot. I’m forever grateful to that. Of course, it’s a bit easier to defy my Asian relatives at home because, well, they are in the minority in the States. That’s not the case here in Russia. I don’t know; feminism definitely still has a scary connotation to me, and I am in no way against men now. Dear lord no. I cannot survive without them. But, again, I feel like I’m about ready to bite someone’s head off if they say anything that merely IMPLIES what a women’s place should be. Sometimes people don’t even have to say anything; I can just tell by the way they look at me/react to something I say. Oh gosh, I sound frightening, don’t I? Like my eyes have turned red and my teeth have gotten sharper? I apologize. I used to laugh at Will Hallet’s sexist jokes in high school (hi Will Hallet...), and I can absolutely still joke along because I think it’s insanely stupid if you’re THAT sensitive, but I’m definitely coming back to the states with a different perspective on women's issues. I mean, I’m not going to take any classes from the gender and women’s studies departments, nor do I picture myself diving into any feminist literature, but who knows. Maybe someday...

Ok, I think the world has had enough of Liv (I certainly have). Hah, sometimes I wonder when I walk over that bridge on the way to Smolny in the mornings, “will anyone like me and/or respect me anymore after having read my blog and all my secret, dark thoughts now? Am I going to have ANY friends when I get back to Conn in the fall?” I feel like you all have gotten a little big more than you bargained for my choosing to read “Adventures in St. Petersburg”... 

P.S. Ingrid Michaelson's new album "Lights Out" released yesterday and I'm obsessed with it. Two thumbs up (go listen to it now)! 

Pagan Angel and a Borrowed Car

So we spent this past weekend in Pskov, which is located 4.5-5 hours outside of Petersburg on the Estonian border. Saturday morning we met outside the metro station MOSKOVSKAYA right in front of the giant Lenin statue at 7:30 am. From there we hopped on a bus and began our long journey. I had taken a Dramamine before we boarded the bus, but after 20 minutes for some strange reason I started to feel incredibly sick. Five hours is a long, miserable time to be car sick, so I took another Dramamine. The next four and a half hours were a complete blur; one of those, I-feel-like-I’m-awake-but-considering-4.5-hours-felt-like-30-seconds, occasions. I “woke up” right as we were entering Pskov. 

Before I describe what the city is like, I want to underline the fact that I am well aware of how, umm, spoiled (?) I sound beforehand? I don’t know, I’m going to call the city poor and depict it as being, well, quite scary and dreary, but I want to publicly acknowledge the fact that I know that doesn’t sound good. I don’t like how I’m about to make things sound because I'm going to come off like I've been lucky enough to spend most of my life so far surrounded by wealthy people in relatively sheltered, cozy environments... which is true. I would like to emphasize about a million times how LUCKY I am to be living my life as it is currently, but I guess there's no use in apologizing for my first-world bias any longer. I hope this has made sense? 

In any sense, now that I’ve given that disclosure, I want to write that the city of Pskov, which doesn’t appear that big, comes off as an extremely run down, neglected city. The roads on the way to and throughout the city are not all paved, and even if they are, they are filled with cracks, holes and other dangerous hazards. The houses look like rotten shacks, and when we drove by them I constantly wondered if people actually lived in them. Paint is chipping everywhere, fences are rusted and twisted, and there are piles of junk everywhere. The trash throughout the city is terrible. The apartment buildings are grey and depressing. Buses look like they need serious repairs as well as the people. The contrast between Petersburg and Pskov is striking, and it makes me really uneasy to think of all the other cities, towns and villages throughout the Russian Federation that are similar to or worse off than Pskov. 

But we can come back to this. 

Once we arrived, the first thing on our agenda was lunch. Our bus dropped us off in front of a restaurant where we were met by our guide for the weekend - a lovely middle aged woman who enunciated all of her words clearly and slowly for us, and whose name is currently escaping me. For lunch we had a typical salad (which means no lettuce or any form of leafage), the best borsht I’ve had yet, chicken Kiev with potatoes, and then some raspberry cheese cake tart. We were full at the end of it all, and I still had drugs flowing through my veins, but we proceeded to our hotel. After we unpacked all our stuff, we met up and went on a walking tour of the city. Unfortunately, the skies were grey and it rained periodically, which only made the city seem more grim and gloomy. At one point we walked through a street where I thought literally ALL the houses could be the perfect setting for a horror movie. The end of that street, however, opened up onto one of the main rivers in Pskov, and directly across the city was the Trinity Cathedral, constructed in 1699. We continued to walk towards the Trinity Cathedral and we eventually entered the fortress surrounding it. There were ruins and a sword whose height must have equaled that of a one story house. Our guide was describing away, but I was too busy with my camera to stay in one place to listen, nor was my attention span at its best. Consequentially, I didn’t get much details. But I don’t think I would have really understood anything really even if I was paying attention. 

The inside of the church is filled with gold and icons. The ceiling is extremely tall, but the main room is quite small, so it could have been an illusion trick that made the tower appear that high and narrow. The church definitely appeared to be much older than those in St. Petersburg. Women had to cover their heads to go inside, and there were a bunch of older women lighting candles. Some Russian students from Smolny joined us this weekend, and there were a few that crossed themselves avidly. For someone who didn’t grow up religiously and who knows nothing about other religions, it’s very peculiar for me to witness it all. Sometimes I feel the need to follow everybody else’s conduct when I’m in these type of religious situations, but I usually end up reminding myself that I’m happily nonreligious, and that to not do anything just because other people are doing it won’t send me to hell because I just don’t believe in it (I had a little bit of an existential crisis one day after history class my freshman year in high school when Bob Johnson made it clear that some religions believe that people who are not baptized are going to hell; I distinctly remember Meghan shouting “Liv, don't worry. We’ll be worm food! We’ll be worm food together!” in the student center after I freaked out to her, and I haven’t thought about not being baptized since). 

After the church we continued out of the fortress and then we broke apart. A few of us wandered the souvenir stands, and I bought a red-painted wooden bracelet with pictures of slavic icons on them, which then ended up bleeding all over my left wrist for the next two days (it was only 50 rubles). For the next few hours a bunch of us just wandered the city, stopping occasionally in front of a Lenin monument or plaque on a building to read what happened there. We ended up in a little park where me and a few others whipped out the frisbee disc to toss for a bit. I cannot tell you how GOOD that felt, oh my god. I don’t think I had thrown a disc since November, but it felt so nice to get back into the groove of it. Now that the snow is gone and spring is struggling to break free over here in Russia I’m hoping that some friends would be more willing to come out to a park and play with me. No intense frisbee skills are required; just as long as someone can get it in my general direction will make me giddy with joy. 

After dinner at the restaurant “Beer House,” we all went back to the hotel. We congregated in one room and drank whatever people found in the nearest диски. Adam and I split a bottle of Argentinian wine, but we didn’t have a cork screw, so we spent a good 15 minutes nervously slicing through and chipping the cork with the knife I had bought Forest earlier that day (So worth it. Thanks, Chaka!). People went out later, but because we had to get up earlier that morning, it sounded like everybody got back fairly early for the most part (except for Dylan and Bill, who apparently ran into a bachelor party and got invited along to partake in their shenanigans for the rest of the night...). 

Sunday was a pretty jam-packed day. We first drove about half an hour to Pechori, where we took a tour of the Pskov-Pschorski Monastery. Sunday was a holiday, and there was a special service going on in one of the churches, so we all went in to check it out. Women wore head scarves and long skirts, and as we were walking up the stairs to the church, with almost perfect timing, a chorus started singing (except, as embarrassing as this is to admit, the only thing that I could think of as I entered the church with the music in the background was the “Duel of the Fates” song that played during, yes, the epic final fight scene in Star Wars: the Phantom Menace). 

The church inside was packed full of Russians of every generation. People were lighting candles and kissing icons. I couldn’t really see what was going on in the front of the church, but there were priests with long black cloaks and full beards. I felt like I had just walked into a National Geographic article. We only stayed inside the church for about 15 minutes before we walked out. We took more pictures, went to another part of the fortress, listened to a bell show/performance, went into another church, and then left the fortress. 

After lunch (the restaurant we went to was located down a residential road - exponentially sketchy) we drove to Izborsk where there is a famous fortress and some lake/big river nearby. There are also springs there that apparently contain holy water, so we all collected some in our water bottles. The views were pretty incredible. Lots of roaming hills (the grass has still yet to turn green though, so everything was a bit dead looking) and open fields (frisbee!). When we got off the bus we were greeted by a stray dog who had broken one of his paws (I was too afraid to look). The poor thing. I pet him and explained to him in English that someone needed to take him to the vet, and that I would if I could. Oh, my heart! 

When everyone finished getting their water and taking pictures with the white swans floating in the lake in the background, we walked further past the springs and towards the Izborsk fortress. We all had to pee like crazy though, so we weren’t there for that long. The fortress has a few castle towers and crumbling walls. Can’t really get more descriptive than that. 

On the way back to St. Petersburg, we dropped our guide off at the main train station there, which worked out splendidly for me because Nicholas signed the abdication at this train station in March 1917, and I really wanted to see it. We only stopped there briefly; everybody who didn’t have to use the bathroom stayed on the bus, but I got off anyway and searched for the plaque which marks the spot where it happened. Unfortuantely, I couldn’t find it. It was on the other side of the station, and I didn’t see that I could go around the back way until I had gotten back on the bus. Oh well, but at least I got to see the train station! 

Overall, it was very cool to go from St. Petersburg, where all it’s history begins roughly from 1703 on, to a city like Pskov where all it’s history comes from centuries before that. I also just appreciated the opportunity to see other parts of Russia. However, I would rather not spend any longer than a weekend in a place like Pskov again. In all honesty, small cities like that make me feel claustrophobic, and the rampant poverty there made me incredibly uncomfortable. Therefore, I was happy to return to Petersburg (which, oddly enough, really felt like coming home). Our next big trip is to Moscow (whoop whoop!) at the end of April into the beginning of May. I’m really curious to see how all these places differ from each other, although I’ve heard from most people here in Petersburg that they’re not fans of Moscow (my host mom included). We’ll just have to wait and see in a few weeks! 

Song of Ice and Fire

I’m always incapable of doing anything after I get home from classes on Wednesdays. I don’t have much to complain about these days though (for now). On Monday morning a bunch of us came in early to watch the season premiere of Game of Thrones. Will was nice enough to have our director Mike save us a room. There were massive glares on the screen, and the audio wasn’t the best, but it was the season premiere, and we all squealed and hollered with happiness all the same. I can’t really tell if it was that good of a season opener; I was just so excited to have the show back on that everything seemed AWESOME. So I guess my good mood has been lasting for a while!

Yesterday was my day off, and I didn’t have that much homework to do. As a result, I didn’t feel like staying home all day, so I planned an impromptu trip to the Hermitage... for the fourth time. By the time that I had showered after the gym and had lunch, it was past 1 pm. I had a nice leisurely walk along the embankments on my way to Palace Square, and by the time I got there around 2 pm there were no lines. I went up to the ticket office, showed my student ID, and got my ticket free of charge. My goal was to get to the third floor (finally), but I still walked through the palace interiors first. I stopped in Nicholas’ dark library, and because it was a Tuesday, there weren’t a whole lot of people in the museum. Taking advantage of this and being by myself, I hung out in that library for minutes alone until some visitors came through. While I was standing there though, in that room by myself with my torso as close to the line as possible, one of the older women who works there removed the line/barrier thing and went behind the staircase of Nicholas’s library to get a scarf or shawl she had in her purse. She didn’t have to disarm any alarm or anything. She just removed the line and walked into the library, beyond the point where visitors could go. While she was back behind the staircase, I came SO CLOSE to asking her if I could go back into the library. I don’t know why I thought it would be acceptable, but it was just me in the library, and ahh! I should have. She would have said hell no I'm sure, but I liked to entertain the thought nonetheless.

I did make it up to the third floor eventually, and I was able to see most of the 19th century western european art, as well as art from Central Asia. All of Matisse’s work and Picasso’s are located up on the third floor. Additionally, I was able to take my very own picture of Henri Mattise’s “Dance” (albeit from my iPhone). I didn’t linger at any of the paintings for that long, however. Actually, you could hear my Sperry’s squeak through the halls of the Hermitage going at quite a brisk pace. I just wanted to make sure I saw it all (for the most part). When I got done with the third floor, I thought I would just wander for a bit on my way out. After walking through what felt like the same halls OVER AND OVER AGAIN (it's probably because they were the same halls, Liv), I finally figured my map out and made it to the throne room. I took my time there, soaking it all up, and finally made my way out. I was only there for about an hour and a half, but I was fully drained by the time I left. I walked back to Nevsky, stopped into some souvenir shops, and bought myself 10 postcards (which I don’t plan on sending, I’m sorry!) at House of Books before I got on the metro and headed back home. It was a quick, but an efficient afternoon well spent. Although I would probably like to go back maybe one more time before I leave, if I didn’t return to the Hermitage before I left I think I would be perfectly content. 

On a completely different note, this weekend we have a trip planned to Pskov, which is located on the Estonian border and it’s about a five hour bus ride from here (hello Dramamine). It’s one of the oldest cities in Russia, and it’s also where Nicholas II signed his abdication when his train stopped there on the way back from the front back to Tsarskoe Selo as the Revolution was breaking out in March 1917. Apparently there’s a plaque on the train station where his train cart stopped (Must. Find. Train. Station). In any case, I’m just super excited to take a trip. Seriously, I’m actually way more excited than I should be. Perhaps I’ve overestimated my desire to see what other, non-city parts of Russia look like. St. Petersburg is so western and, well, big compared to other cities. I know I’m craving nature and being surrounded by trees; I’m really looking forward to getting out and smelling fresh air. Driving out of the city and staying in a hotel with all my friends here actually also makes me giddy with happiness. What’s gotten into me?

Anyway, one last thing. Just when I thought my host mom couldn’t get any cooler, I found out last night over dinner that Nicholas II is her favorite Tsar! Hahah! I was talking about how excited I was to go to Pskov, but that the only knowledge I have of the city is that it’s old and it’s where Nicholas abdicated. And then, with a few shots of лекарство (which directly translates to medicine or medication, but it was really just some awfully strong type of liquor) in me, I said after that, “you know that I love Nicholas II?” To which my host mom responded, “yes. He’s my favorite too.” And then this is how the rest of our conversation went:

Me: What?! Really?? Me too!! Why?

NV: Он добрый и красиый (he’s wonderful and good-looking). 

Me: HAhahaha! Я согласна! 

And then I told her to wait while I retrieved those 10 postcards I had bought earlier, which just happen to be really amazing photos of the last royal family. Nina Vasilievna proceeded to put on her glasses and examine the postcards. Как ты молодец; как ты молодец! (Look at how good you are; look at how good you are! [in the same tone that she uses to talk to the cat, Emelya]). Как прекрасная пара; как хорошая пара! (what a lovely couple; what a great couple!). Как красивые дети! (What beautiful children!). 

Could they have matched me with someone better?

(I am SO WEIRD). 

Settler

I cannot believe it’s already April 5th. I just bought another month’s worth of internet from Megafon. I will have to buy another month for my gym membership after tomorrow. We are spending this upcoming weekend in Pskov, and then in a few weeks, we’re off to Moscow. Although the two months we have left here is still a long time, I am starting to worry about leaving. They’re silly, premature thoughts of course, but I know, oh how I KNOW, that it’ll be time to go home before we know it. I was talking with some friends last night about eventually leaving each other and how we’ll try to stay in touch as best we can (wine certainly helped us get all sappy and mushy-gushy, that's for sure). Wow, that sounds so sad, but that’s because it IS really sad. On so many levels we’re all still somewhat strangers to each other; we’ve only known each other for a little over two months. On the other hand, however, these past two months that we have know each other haven’t been your average two months spent away at college. There is a lot to be said about the bond between those who struggle to communicate in a foreign language on a daily basis. And don’t even get me started on our language classes. I wholeheartedly believe that we all have achieved a different type of friendship by how much time we’ve spent in classes together, making absolute fools out of ourselves. If you were a fly on the wall during any of our phonetics classes enough to catch glimpses of us with our tongues out and mouths in weird positions, or to hear us “coo” and “BLeaH” in order to correctly pronounce Russian letters, sounds, and full words. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we’ve all been going through these weird, priceless experiences since getting here, and I believe that whether we know it or not, we’re grown highly attached to each other, to these other young American students who understand what it’s like to say da or nyet to questions without knowing exactly what was asked, or who understand how difficult it can be to get from point A to B, to buy a bottle of water, to take public transportation, etc... 

I really hate change. I know it can be good, and there is a huge part of me that welcomes it with open arms, but I am most comfortable when I’m in a familiar environment. For example, I was beyond excited to graduate from Waynflete and move on to college. There was no doubt about that, but one of the hardest parts was leaving the people I had been surrounded by for my whole life. How do you just do that? You say that you’ll keep in touch, and that you’ll always have memories, but that is still so depressing to me. I want to move on through my life and to create awesome experiences for myself, but I hate the fact that in doing so I can’t take everybody with me. Of course, there are some people I’m glad have left my life. There are a few I hope I never have to see again (you have a few of your own, don’t lie), but these people that I’ve met and spent time with here in Petersburg are ones I sincerely wish never leave my life. That is undoubtedly impossible. As much as I wish it weren’t true, I will not keep in touch with most of the people once we leave and get back to our lives. I guess the next best thing would be to hope that they stay in my memory. 

Jeez, how did I get so gloomy all of a sudden? I don’t mean to be. I think I’m just simply starting to become more aware of how fast time is going by here, and that as time is picking up speed, I find myself loving this city more and more. Do you ever have moments where you’re outside, walking somewhere by yourself, and you look around and know with absolute certainty that you love where you are right in that moment? I’ve been feeling that more and more often lately. It always hits me when I leave Vasilievsky island and walk towards and over the bridge on my way to Smolny. I’ve felt more at peace with myself lately over the past few weeks, and that has translated to something along the lines of contentment and happiness. This joy and comfort that I feel comes in waves, but for the past few weeks, I’ve been consistently in a good mood. I’ve been here long enough to have created a little nest for myself, and I’m afraid to leave it. Ok, I know I’ll be escatic to go back home in June, but I know that I'll also be incredibly nervous. The nest building will have to start all over again. Part of me is scared to return back to the states because I have created a whole list of expectations of who I am supposed to be when I get back. I didn’t intentionally make this list, I just gradually noticed that these have been my expectations. I’m supposed to be noticeably better at Russian. I’m supposed to feel a lot more mature and cultured after having lived abroad for four and a half months. I’m supposed to be more independent and confident. I’m supposed to have stopped feeling depressed about my ex-boyfriend. I’m supposed to be more aware of who I am... But what if I don’t feel like I’ve completed any of this? I believe that I should come back stronger in so many regards, but as time is going by so fast, I feel like it’s not giving me enough room to grow and become the person I had intended to become at the end of this spring semester. I’m hoping that I’m just so lost in everything that’s going on here that it’s impossible for me to tell that I will have accomplished more than I think I have by the end of all this. 

Well, that wasn’t what this blog post was supposed to be about. I wanted to write about how frustrated I’ve become with Russian society’s sexist disposition, but I guess I can save those comments for another angry blog post. 

But guys, I feel like this post is particularly dark and personal. With that said, I feel the need to emphasize that I SWEAR I’M STILL HAVING A BLAST! Don’t worry about me over here :)