Run

Today was beautiful. It was so sunny outside, and it wasn’t too cold out either (by St. Petersburg standards, of course). As usual, I enjoyed my morning walk to school and being able to see the Winter Palace clearly from the bridge I walk over everyday. During that 20 minute walk to Smolny, I first walk down a few streets to get to the end of Vasilievsky island where I pass individuals on their morning commute. Many wait for the bus, some hail marshrutkas off the streets, and others, like myself, walk through the cold all bundled up. I walk past small grocery stores and banks, restaurants and bars, until I reach the embankment on the Neva. I cross the embankment, and walk to the left alongside the Neva for 5 minutes before I reach the bridge. On my right, I see smoke stacks in the distance, a golden church with onion domes, colorful, tall buildings, and a giant ship that looks like its from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, except this one is immobile and frozen in ice. It looks almost out of place as cars and buses whiz past it, but it’s nevertheless super cool to look at. The year is 2014, but this kind of ship is still in the Neva, almost as if it hasn’t moved for centuries. I wonder what its current purpose is... 

Once I get on the bridge, all I have to do is turn my head to the left to spot the Winter Palace, the Peter and Paul Fortress, and the top of St. Isaac’s cathedral. Majority of the Neva is frozen, but you don’t really see ice. Instead, the water is so frozen over and it has been that way for some time now that so much snow has collected on the top to make it look less like a frozen river and more like what I would imagine Antarctica to be like. There are some parts of the river that are not frozen, however, and sometimes I’ll see ducks playing in these pools that, when it's really cold out, have steam wafting on their surfaces. It takes me another 5 minutes to cross the bridge (I walk fast), but it has the best view of my entire morning commute. Starting in the springtime these bridges connecting Vasilievsky to the main part of St. Petersburg lift up (like the South Portland bridge) after midnight or so to let big ships pass under, and I while I trust the stability of this bridge, I still sort of hop over the section of the bridge where the two parts meet. It’s easy to tell where this part is because they have triangular teeth and come together like a shark’s mouth. 

Ever since I can remember, I’ve always been afraid of walking over pot holes or those drain sections in streets (do they have a name?) that have a metal criss-cross covering over them. Does that make any sense? Sometimes they’re vents...? Anyway, I asked my parents a few years ago if I fell through one when I was a toddler and blocked it out because, for some crazy reason, TO THIS DAY I still don’t like walking over them. Of course I do, but every time I do, I acknowledge it and wonder if I’m going to fall through. I wouldn’t call this a phobia by any means, but it’s just another one of my weird quirks. Moving along, once I get done walking over the bridge I cross the English embankment, and then turn right onto Galernaya ulitsa where Smolny is located. Other people have a much longer commute which involves metros and busses to get to school in the morning, so I’m incredibly lucky that I get to walk it, despite the freezing temperatures. 

My day was normal. They jammed a lot more information in my head, but it’s all good. I’m often anxious in class because I don’t know as much as everybody else, but I’m comfortable making mistakes and asking questions (you don't really have any other choice). I also know that I have less experience with Russian than everybody else, but to be honest, I don’t think it's THAT obvious. Other people make mistakes all the time, and if I don’t know a specific vocab word, chances are there is somebody else in the class that doesn’t know either. Everybody else brings something to the table, and I feel relieved that I don’t stick out. And even though I stress sometimes about understanding the material as its being explained at such a rapid pace, I get a thrill out of how fast everything is going. It’s challenging, but I get really excited when I understand all this new material. I have learned probably more than a month’s worth of instruction in these past two weeks, and I’m excited. With that said though, the more and more I learn about Russian, the more and more I understand why people say Russian is one of the hardest languages to learn. I didn’t think that was true, say, a semester ago, but at this point, I’m learning all these things I could have never even imagined existed in linguistics. For example, Russians have two words for the word “through:” через (cherez) and сквозь (skvoz). You use через when you do things without difficulty and there’s generally no obstruction (the sun shone through the window). However, if you want to say that nobody could see through the frozen glass window, you have to use сквозь. Furthermore, if you’re in the woods and you want to say that you walked through it, it depends on how much swerving you had to do to get through the woods. If there are not a lot of trees and its more of an open space, you use через. However, if you are a hobbit trying to reach a mountain and there are roots everywhere and the trees are so dense that you can’t see through to the end, you must use сквозь. I’m oversimplifying here, but you get the idea. Russian is an incredibly precise language, and for that reason I think it's more sophisticated in some ways than English, but boy, you really have to think about everything before you can produce a simple sentence (don’t get me started on verbs of motion, dear lord). 

Back to my day. After classes ended, Jacob, Will and I walked back to Vasilievsky island in search of a gym on средный проспект (sredny prospekt), and I can finally tell you now that I found a gym! I did end up buying a membership for a month, but I must tell you about this gym. First of all, the gym is located under an arch in off the street. You walk under an arch off of the sidewalk, down a really dark and sketchy alley (it was short though) before you end up in a "parking lot" of sorts. After looking at each other skeptically, Jacob, Will and I spotted a sign stating fitness something that pointed to stairs which looked like they were leading into a basement. It was. With a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, we walked down the stairs, opened the door, and found ourselves in a gym... of sorts. Your nose knows that you’re in a gym before you look around to see all the weight machines. Now, I’m going to sound pretty spoiled here, and for that I apologize sincerely. I’m used to my newly renovated gym at Conn, and over break I worked out at Planet Fitness. This gym here was grungy and to be frank, really freakin’ scary at first. Not that I’ve ever been in a Russian prison (*knock on wood*), but if Russian prisons provide their inmates with any sort of gym facility, this seems like it would be the place. The gym was dark and it consisted of two connected rooms. I spotted two treadmills, two bikes, and the rest of the machines were those that I don’t really use unfortunately. Heavy metal was playing in the background. There were posters of meatheads, but also some nike ads blown up into posters too. The place put me a bit on edge, but in a twisted way, it had its charm. It kind of reminded me of Average Joe’s from the movie Dodgeball, but worse. However, Атлет is less than a 15 minute walk from my apartment. The prices were cheaper, and I could pay by the month. Additionally, the owner and the woman working with him were super friendly and patient with us. They were in their 30s I’d say and they gave me a good vibe. I thought for a few minutes before I made my decision to buy a membership for a month. Let’s be real, I am desperate, and I don’t want to have to take a bus or the metro to work out. It’s convenient and it has the bare necessities. Once everything was said and done, I went and got changed. I hopped on the treadmill and ran for 30 minutes, which went by fast (they never do). I walked around the rest of the machines afterwards, and I noticed some fun wall decorations. There was a poster of Muhammad Ali, and another one of Lebron James. There was also a lovely wall painting of Gerard Butler (it was actually very well done) from the movie 300 with “TONIGHT WE SQUAT IN HELL” written in English, in red. And then, oh ho ho I couldn’t believe it, there was a legitimate painting of our comrade Lenin on the wall. Ohhh my god I’m in Russia. 

In any case, I left the gym happy. It was still sunny out, and I felt much better about getting a little exercise in (although since then I’ve eaten 2 cookies, 4 little chocolate candies, a full dinner, goldfish, blackberries, peanut butter crackers, etc... [not in that order] IMA MONSTAH). I’m hoping to go back tomorrow afternoon. There’s a chance I may be seriously stressed out after taking the tests tomorrow, and I may need to run it out. 

Wish me luck!

The Hat

I should be studying for this test on Friday, but I really need a break from Russian at the moment. After classes today I had an individual meeting with Darya Pushkina about which courses I want to sign up for. My RSL professors said that if I wanted to, I could take a class in Russian. I was flattered to hear that because I expected my professors to flat out tell Darya that I wouldn’t be able to take any classes in Russian, but nevertheless, I specifically told her that I highly doubted I could take a class in Russian without drowning. I know many of you would jump at the opportunity. You’re abroad, Liv! Why not challenge yourself? The class would be difficult, but so worth it. Right? 

Probably, but I’m not going to budge. I have to pay attention to literally every word my RSL professors say in grammatika and phonetika. If I don’t, I’ll miss something big. Even when I do pay strict attention I still don’t understand everything. Because I’m still learning a lot of fundamentals in Russian, I cannot afford to not pay attention. If I were to take a real class in Russian, I sincerely believe I would strain myself too much. I hate the idea of doing mediocre in a class, and that’s what would happen if I took a class in Russian. I would definitely try hard, but I would have to spend about quadruple the amount of time that anybody else would spend getting through the reading — no, scratch that. It would take me forever to even get through the syllabus. While it would no doubt be beneficial for me to push myself that far, I simply don’t have it in me. Despite the fact that I did well this past fall semester, I felt burnt out most of the time from my summer at Berkeley, and if I wasn’t burnt out from Berkeley, I just didn’t care about my classes and lacked motivation (except Russian. I would rather chop my own toe off than disappoint Petko). I did my homework, but barely. I was not my normal self on every single level imaginable this past semester, and my love for school and academics certainly suffered. At this point, I just want to get excited about classes again, and I think that would come most easiest to me if I could understand what was being said in them to start. 

It was with all this in mind that I listed off all the classes taught in English I wanted to take. My first choice was a class on Nabokov. Lolita is my favorite book in the whole wide world (I reread it over break and if you haven’t read it yet, add it to your list [but know that I warned you its a wee bit twisted]), and I’ve been meaning to read more of Nabokov’s books. Darya gave me a few caveats about the professor (he’s a bit disorganized, too laid back... etc), but I want to take the class so badly they hardly seemed persuasive. The second class I want to take is on the Cold War. At Waynflete all the history classes stop at 1945 (except, of course, World Since 1945 which I did not take), and I haven’t had the opportunity to take such a class at Conn yet. The professor here is in both the history and IR departments at Smolny, which is definitely a plus. He is apparently a very good specialist, and I can only imagine what types of perspectives we will get with his mixed background. My back ups include an IR class taught by Darya Pushkina herself called the 3 C’s of War: Conflict, Consequence, and... I forgot. Chaos? No. Dang, now that’s going to bug me. Anyways, my other back up is a class about the architecture of the Soviet Union. I’m not really into art, but I think this would be a good class to take while abroad. The Americans at Smolny have a 2 week of shopping around period in terms of classes, so I’ll have to give all these classes a try to see which final two I’ll end up taking for the rest of the semester. 

When we got done with the meeting, me, Jackie, Alicia and Hunter took a bus to Primorskaya. Jackie, Alicia, and I wanted to get Sochi gear and go grocery shopping afterwards, and Hunter simply took the bus with us to get home. Jackie, Alicia and I spent so much time in a little Marden’s-type store above a grocery store where we found hats, scarves, gloves, tshirts, etc... with Sochi and Russian logos on them. In sum, we went crazy. I ended up buying a blue winter hat with Sochi written on the bottom, a red scarf that says RUSSIA at the bottom, and a few tshirts. These tshirts have really awesome pictures of retro women skiing with “Sochi/Сочи” written on the bottom. Picture Rosie the Riveter skiing, and that’s what is on our white tshirts. They are something my mom would love, and they are awesome. We got a ton of different ones, and yes, we plan on wearing them during the opening ceremonies this Friday. More specifically, when it starts at 20:14 pm (clever Russia). I recognize that we left the store looking like total tourists, but WHATEVER. Oh! I also managed to cause a complete scene in the store. I went up to a rack that had tshirts hanging from it (this wrack was metal and had a circular top, so you could go through the tshirts and move them along the metal circle), and I swear to god I merely brushed one of the tshirts on the whole rack when the entire thing toppled over! It was a very slow downfall, and once it started there was nothing I could do about it. I tried to grab the wrack, but when I noticed it was slipping and there was no way I could keep it from falling, I screamed “Jackie!!!” just as it, along with 50 or however many tshirts were attached, came tumbling down. Two men came over and helped me put it back up. I apologized like a mad woman, but they merely laughed and said something to themselves. At one point one of them said "she doesn’t understand." I understood THAT, my friend. So awkward and so embarrassing. Jackie and I went immediately to the cash register and left. 

After that we did a bit of grocery shopping below. I wanted to buy stuff for sandwiches for lunch, but I ended up buying some fruit, chocolate, and tea as well. When I got home I had cabbage soup for dinner with some macaroni and sauerkraut on the side. Yes, sauerkraut. I ate so much of it yesterday at dinner without even knowing that it was sauerkraut. If she had told me what it was (waaiiiit, she probably did!) yesterday, I certainly would have hesitated. I don’t know! You get a certain impression when you hear that word. Clearly, my family doesn’t eat a lot of it. Nevertheless, it was really yummy, and I ate a ton of it (along with more raw garlic and bread). After that Nina and I did my laundry (hello clean socks), and I retreated to my room. 

Today was certainly productive, but I still need to do a lot of reviewing for Friday.

P.S. THE OLYMPICS START IN 2 DAYS УРА!

Cat People

I laughed so much today! The day wasn’t even that special, but all the little great things added up. Firstly, its still warm outside. The downside of that is how wet the streets are and how frequently you have to jump over gross puddles. At some point I wondered if it was raining, but I think it was just unusually wet snow. Thankfully my bean boots persevered, and I was able to make it through the day with dry toes. 

We started off the day with grammatika, and the first conversation we had was so random, yet so incredibly wonderful. When we all sat down (at seats and desks that make more noise than a tractor anytime you move or touch anything), our grammar professor asked us how our afternoons were yesterday. Most of us didn’t have anything to report, but good ol’ Jackie told us that she and Beryl went to Cat Republic yesterday afternoon. Yes, I just said Cat Republic. Apparently, this is a cafe where you can enjoy coffee or tea in the company of 12 cats (or was it 19? Двенадцать или двадцать?). Jackie went on to explain that there was a room specifically for customers to pet the cats and another entirely for the drinking part of the cafe experience. There was a cat, according to Jackie, who the woman in charge of the place described as Tsarist because he was such a prince. There was another cat whose face had to be trimmed in order for him to smell and see. There was also mention of hairless cats (this sounds like the beginning of a Dr. Seuss book...). If you’re still intrigued, there’s no need to fret. Memberships are available. 

Oh I can almost feel Becca Skelton shake in her chair at her desk in Wright! Same goes for anyone on Camel Throws or Dasein that reads this. 

Yes, Russia is most certainly a cat country (Dogs > Cats, sorry). Or so explained my grammar professor Natalia. Now, before I go any further, I must describe Natalia. I can see how some people might find her boring, but I personally get a kick out of her. I love people that are shy and perhaps hard on the outside but occasionally show their funny or goofy side (always with a little regret and embarrassment on their part). Every time I notice that someone who otherwise appears cold or too serious is actually secretly hilarious or strange its like I get a whiff of my favorite pasta dish its so lovely. I almost seem to perk up and want to like, stand up in my chair and shout AHA! Your secret is out! I KNOW you’re fun deep down! COME OUT OF YOUR SHELL NOW!! Obviously I am not a shy person. As much as I’ve wanted to be come more mysterious and less open about myself when meeting new groups of people, I fail every single time (college would be example numero uno). Just this morning when Jenna mentioned that she is a bit embarrassed of her attraction to Tierian Lannister on Game of Thrones (our Bard-Smolny program is all obsessed), instead of sitting quietly and soaking up everybody else’s reactions, what do I do? I say something weird like, “Jenna, please. I CANNOT TELL YOU HOW MUCH I WANT SER JORAH.” I just cannot shut up, ever. What can I say? I love to share stories because I think it helps me to become closer to people and to get to know them better. The weirder and more exposing the story, the closer and faster you get to know others. 

But I digress. The whole point of that little rant is that my grammar professor Natalia is one of those shy, quiet, perhaps too-serious-for-her-own-good people who has given us a taste of her funny bone. Even though I am aware that she can be funny and enjoys humor, I still find taciturn people especially funny when they make jokes or say silly things. Talking about cats was like throwing a dart (and we all know about my aim ;) directly on soft spot. After Jackie finished describing Cat Republic, Natalia asked the only logical question that one could devise at that point, “Well, do they work there? Cats work in the Hermitage...” with a snicker, but she was dead serious! Haha, I am laughing as I write this. Russia is sooo weird!!

Natalia went on to talk about how there are special cats that work in the Hermitage, apparently employed to eat all the mice there. When Elena showed us where the post office was last week she said the same thing. Wow. Even the CATS must work! HAhahaha!! Ok, focus Liv. So after telling us that cats are hired to work at the Hermitage to eat the mice, Natalia just kept going with this joke. Of course it was all in Russian, so please forgive me for my lack of details, but Natalia started to say that these cats required interviews (was that some sort of joke? I mean, you can assess a cat’s behavior, but could that qualify for an “interview” of sorts? Let’s just roll with it). They must be nice she said. They must be tame, they must be nice to the tourists, they must know their art. And then we all chimed in. No, the cats must be EXPERTS in their field of art (suggested one of my classmates)! Better yet, you hire one cat and have it work in only one exhibit, so they become more familiar with that particular section (suggested another)! THE CAT MUST BE ABLE TO GIVE DIRECTIONS TO LOST TOURISTS. 

Oh god, this is too funny. But anyways, that was the opening of my grammar class. After our fun with the cat jokes, we got down to business. An hour and a half later, we managed to cover grammatical constructions such as то, нибудь, кое and all its lovely variants. My brain felt like a skipping DVD player by the end. I think I got most of it, but I just a ton of practice. Good thing we have a test on Friday so I’ll be forced to study haaaaah naht.

Phonetika, thanks to Jackie, also featured a lovely fou rire (Madame, thank you for teaching us that expression! I desperately wish English had a translation). So, in my phonetics class we are currently going over food vocabulary. We were being quizzed on different words when our professor Elena (not the program coordinator Elena) asked us in Russian what prunes were in English while showing us a picture, and Jackie, with so much confidence, just shouted “PORN!” She covered her mouth the second the word escaped from her mouth. As expected, she became beet red and pressed her face to the table, her body shaking the whole table with laughter. I, meanwhile, was on the other side of the table blatantly cracking up without any restrictions. When I caught my breath I told her that that was some kind of Freudian slip. You got porn from prune? Were you thinking of the word “prude”? But even if you were, why...? I couldn’t stop giggling. Common, Jackie. That’s something I would do now. Let’s be a little bit more mature here. 

Oh boy. Whoever said laughter makes everything better was spot on. 

Anyways, after classes we had a quick meeting with Mike and Darya Bulatovna who is our academic advisor. Throughout the rest of week we will be meeting with her individually to select our classes. She went to Reed College in Oregon and got her PhD from Maryland. She speaks English better than I ever will, and she seems like she’ll be able to give me some excellent advice about selecting courses. I look forward to meeting with her tomorrow!

After that a bunch of us set off to the Chamber of Curiosities. Many of you may have heard about this before, but I haven’t really. From the little that I do know, the museum is a collection of different things that Peter the Great found... curious. Is that correct? Either way, there are apparently a bunch of fetuses in jars. Some people have told me to prepare myself and that the Chamber is quite disturbing. So, you’re telling me its a must-see? Sold. Unfortunately the museum closes at 4:30, and because of the meeting, we wouldn’t have had enough time to get there and look around. The Chamber of Weirdness will have to wait for another day. 

Instead, me, Jackie, Hunter, Sean and Fabi found a cafe right off of St. Isaac’s Square. When we found out that it was called the Decembrist Cafe (I almost named this blog post “Revolution” [see the Decembrist Revolt on wiki]), there was no question; we were going! When you walk in you have the option of staying on the ground floor, where there was a bar and wooden tables throughout (it was small though), or you could take two steps forward and walk down the stairs to the basement, where there are more wooden tables. There was nobody there, but I lead us downstairs for some reason. The cafe itself is so cool! The basement walls are brick and there are old posters, pictures, and paintings hanging on them. The wooden tables are also made with large boards, so almost like a picnic table, but hipster cool I guess. The music inside was also totally chill. Lots of the Arctic Monkeys and bands that sounded like Franz Ferdinand, but “Africa” by Toto also came on which I appreciated (“its going to take a lot to drag me away from youuuuuu/theres nothing that a hundred men or more could ever dooooooo/ I bless the rains down in Aaaaaafricaaaa...”). I ended up ordering a black current cider, while others ordered apple ciders and some food. Hunter, sitting to my right, ordered a burger (YES they have burgers!) that arrived on a slab of tree... Our waiter was a guy around our age who spoke decent English. He also liked to joke with us and he just seemed cool (we gave him a nice tip). So there we were, sitting, drinking and speaking in Russian (heeeeeey!) with each other. After the first two minutes of arriving there, I knew that I was coming back. While it’s a little far away from where I live, it’s less than a 10 minute walk from Smolny and it’s everything I need to become a regular. I think I found my place! 

When we went our separate ways, I walked back to a bus stop with Jenna and Will (who showed up later). We waited for Bus 6 for half an hour, and when we finally got on, we didn’t really get on. It was packed so tightly the bus attempted to close its doors twice before people could shuffle to make room for our limbs that were obstructing the doors. I didn’t even get off at my stop it was that packed. I ended up walking a few minutes back from a different bus stop to the apartment, but that was fine with me. I wanted to see if I could find any grocery stores around. I’m currently on a mission for snacks and stuff with which to make sandwiches for lunch. I didn’t see any bigger stores (there were only продукты, or producty), but I also needed to get water, so I thought I would just go in, buy water, and anything else if it was there. I found water, but while looking for snacks, I saw some dried apples on a shelf behind a counter. I stood in front of the counter while I decided if I even wanted to buy them or not, and if so, how much of it I actually wanted, and then suddenly woman came out of nowhere and asked me what I wanted. Not even considering trying to tell her that I was thinking and wasn’t sure I was actually going to buy anything, I panicked and quickly pointed to the dried apples. She brought a huge bag down in front of me and placed it on the scale. Pssh, like kilograms mean ANYTHING to me. I asked her how much it was. About $3. Okay, I guess I’m buying like 10 lbs (exaggeration) of dried apples! I payed for the water and the dried fruit and went home, just around the corner. I guess I know what to expect when I go back there! 

I literally just got up to try some. They’re big, fluffy, and a healthy snack. Soo worth it.

P.S. I ran out of my last clean pair of socks 3 DAYS AGO. Waah I need to build up the courage to ask about laundry! 

Roam

It always seems to be snowing here in St. Petersburg. It’s sometimes so light and gentle though that you wonder if it’s actually snowing outside, or if it’s just the wind blowing flakes off the tops of buildings. While I miss seeing how the snow accumulates on the trees in Maine or Connecticut in the winter, it is so beautiful here when it snows. Of course, the streets and sidewalks are full of mud and slush, but if you keep your head up everything is white and Christmasy. 

It was warmer out today, and by that I mean it was above 25 degrees fahrenheit while I was out and about. You could honestly tell a difference between yesterday and today. On the way to Smolny this morning, I walked with my hands outside my pockets and I even took my scarf off! I've missed not walking around like I was the Michelin man...  

Classes were uneventful. In my grammar class we went over a structure that I struggled to grasp for most of the class, but I began to catch on towards the end and after asking some clarifying questions, completed my homework with a little more confidence. After classes we had a quick meeting with Mike just to check in about how everything is going. How are the host families? Has anybody had any problems? That kind of stuff. We didn’t have that many comments and we all left around 3 pm. 

I walked back to Vasilievsky on a mission. I was going to find the damn gym today. I had researched which buses go where, to the best of my abilities, and I hopped on the correct bus that would take me all the way down Bolshoi prospekt to what I hoped was the 27th line (or street). The website I was looking at told me to get off after four stops. I did just that, but when I couldn’t find a number on any building around me, I started to walk back the way I came to see where I was once I did find a building with a number on it. I was only on the bus for 10-15 minutes, but it seemed like I was a good distance away from home. I had only been walking a few minutes from where I got off when I noticed a sign on a building that told me I was on the 21st/22nd line. So close, but yet so far! I had already walked some distance and didn’t feel like turning back, so I forgot about finding Alex Fitness and decided to walk back towards the apartment along Bolshoi prospekt. Plus, I remember reading about another gym that was located at 68 Bolshoi prospekt, and I was walking past the 80s at the moment. Miraculously, after a few minutes, I found myself in front of Fitness House! FINALLY. I went inside and inquired about memberships. More specifically, I told them that I only spoke a little bit of Russian but that I wanted to know how much I would have to pay per month. Apparently, they only have year-long memberships. Umm, WHO DOES THAT? Fine Fitness House, be that way. You most certainly will not be having your friendly neighborhood American join your gym. I was definitely bummed, but this whole gym predicament has been so disappointing that I couldn’t possibly be surprised. Of course there was going to be, yet again, another loophole. Ohhh well, my search shall continue. 

I made it to my street, but it was still early. It was also so nice out, what with the slightly warmer temperature and the pretty snowflakes accumulating all over my scarf and hat, that I didn’t want to go back to the apartment just yet. Instead, I decided to walk around. This little stroll, however, went on for an hour and a half longer. I just walked through different streets, plugged into my iPod, absorbing all my surroundings and trying to make sense of all the various signs in cyrillic. I also love people watching, so it was fun to walk through crowds of people and pass different Russian faces on the sidewalks. When I initially got off the bus at the 21st/22nd line, that was at the most western part of the island, and by the time I got home, I had walked all the way to the eastern side where I could see the faint image of the top of the Peter and Paul Cathedral and the back of the greenish blue Winter Palace through the snowy fog, which gave the Peter and Paul Cathedral and the Hermitage a spookier, older air about them. It was a nice, relaxing walk, and I felt a little better about not having worked out in a while when I got home. 

After I went straight to my snack drawer and poured myself a mountain of goldfish to munch on, I sat down at my desk to do homework and decided that instead of going immediately to iTunes, that I should try and find some Russian radio stations to listen to. Ever since I got to Russia, I feel like I’ve been in a bubble. With the lack of wifi on my iPhone, I don’t check my BBC news app every morning. As a result, I feel like I am so out of the loop in terms of foreign affairs, which I enjoy reading every day. Except oh my god Philip Seymour Hoffman died?! I did manage to read about that this morning. How sad. 

I went on to find the Эхо Москвы (Echo of Moscow?) radio station, but I only seemed to find different programs filled with ads and commercials. When I got bored of that 3 minutes later, I realized that I could simply listen to Russians talk about the news on YouTube. I searched for videos of Putin giving interviews about Sochi. The first video that came up was an hour and twenty-seven minutes long of Putin being interviewed about Sochi by representatives of various countries, and I listened to it as I did my homework. Of course I wasn’t actually listening to it, but every once in a while my ears would pick up a word or a phrase I did recognize, and my attention would be captured. I really hope that on a subconscious level listening to Russians speak, at their normal pace whether I’m avidly paying attention or not, will help me improve. I know that I haven’t even been here for 2 weeks yet, but I’m already worried about how much english I surround myself with, and I REALLY want to get better at Russian before this is over. I understand that it takes time; I’m not going to become conversational overnight, but I want to be able to carry a fluid conversation with my Russian professors when I return to Conn in the fall. That is the ultimate goal. I get that 4 months in this country will help me quite a bit and that I will learn a ton in my classes, but what if I don’t? What if I continue to absorb new lessons but forget all about them once I get home? What if I never wake up in the morning with my thoughts automatically in Russian? What if my mind never makes that switch? MUST. NOT. HAPPEN.

I can definitely try harder. 

Comes and Goes (In Waves)

Ugh. Today was a bit rough. At breakfast I made an inappropriate and stupid comment about prices of food in Russia in comparison to the prices of food in the states. I said it literally without thinking, and while Nina Vasilievna showed no offense at all and carefully explained something about incomes here, I felt so ashamed and embarrassed. Finances is a topic you stay clear from in Russia, they made that clear in orientation. I guess I just needed to be a complete idiot this time so that I will remember to never touch a sensitive topic like that again. 

Trying not to think about it, I tuned into my iPod as I put on my jacket and headed out to the metro station. We had an excursion today to the microminiature museum (I know, what in the world?), and we were all supposed to meet outside the Nevsky Prospekt metro station through the exit to Gostiny Dvor. I left for the metro station giving myself time to spare. Once there, I had the misfortune of stepping onto the escalator down the metro directly behind this couple who happened to be engaged in some game of kissing tag. They were uncomfortably close. To make things even better, when I got on the escalator behind these PDA mongers the song on my iPod changed to, of course, Taylor Swift’s “Red.” I guess it was the next thing on my playlist (OF COURSE IT WAS). The ride down the escalator was painful, and as I looked around at the people passing me on the escalator going up, I seemed to notice couples everywhere. Fuck you, happy people in love. 

My next blunder occurred when I walked through the wrong exit in the metro. There are two exits when you get off: one to Nevsky Prospekt, and the other to Gostiny Dvor which is where my group was meeting. When I exited the train I took a glance up (without my glasses) at the sign to my right which I thought said Nevsky Prospekt. Okay, I don’t want that one. I want the exit to Gostiny Dvor. I turned and went in the direction of the other exit, but when I got off the escalator at the top, I found that I had managed to exit through the wrong one. Wait, what? I thought the other one was clearly labeled Nevsky Prospekt! Are they both named Nevsky Prospekt? Liv, haven’t you done this before? 

Flustered, I called Jackie. After 5 minutes of crossing the street and trying to figure out where I was, I spotted my group down a ways and I literally ran down Nevsky Prospekt. I was the last one to arrive and they were all waiting for me. I was truly upset with myself; I cannot tell you how much I HATE being late. To be completely honest, I think its rude and completely avoidable (most of the time).

Strike two. 

I continued to beat myself up for the rest of the day. Why did you make that comment, Liv? Why couldn’t you have taken another look at the sign in the metro, Liv? Consequentially, I was drained of energy and enthusiasm at the museum. The museum was small and consisted only of one large room with microscopes all lined up in rows. In short, this was a museum of microscopic objects. We had a little lecture at the beginning which explained how this museum came into being. Apparently, back in imperial Russia, there was this guy who wanted to make little mini objects (how does one come to such a decision, might I ask?). There are only a handful of these types of artists that still make such tiny pieces, and what they actually do made me question their sanity. Using incredibly specialized tools and instruments, these artists made airplanes, camels, horseshoes, medals, flags, submarines, roses, etc... that are crafted on top of the tip of a single human hair. Sometimes they are painted onto rice, while others are placed on top of poppy seeds or the halves of apple seeds. That’s how small they were. There were also mosquitos, spiders, and other insects incased in amber that you could see under the microscope (well, you needed a microscope to see everything there). Do you remember the second or third scene of the first Jurassic Park movie? When they found the mosquito in the amber? That’s what it was like. Very cool, but I was ready to go after half an hour. 

We had lunch at a nearby restaurant (excellent mushroom soup), and after agreeing to search for Sochi gear, I changed my mind. I was exhausted and feeling blue. I took the metro home instead, and now I’m here. 

It happens, these gloomy days, but I’m going to get some studying done and relax. I haven’t read Eat Pray Love in a while, and Elizabeth Gilbert will definitely cheer me up.

Eyes on Fire

I finally made it to the Hermitage! Jackie, Beryl and I were there for around 3 hours, and we only made it through HALF of the first floor. The Winter Palace, as you can imagine, is enormous. They say that the Hermitage is second to the Louvre in terms of art, and I can see why. Earlier today I wrote that I would get lost so easily if I were left alone in the Yussoupov palace. While that still holds true, I would literally starve to death before I found a way out of the Winter Palace if there were no signs and if it was just me inside. These palaces are so ridiculously intricate and full of rooms on rooms on rooms that the frickin’ Minotaur would have a hard time. The Winter Palace is a labyrinth, but it is absolutely breathtaking. 

We covered most of the palace interior rooms and the exhibits dedicated to Russian culture. There’s just so much I have no idea where to begin. After a while, you just can’t handle it anymore. There is so much gold. Every chandelier is a masterpiece. The candle holders are worth more than a year at Connecticut College (I just made that up; I don’t know if that is actually true [probably not]). You also begin to wonder how anybody could spend that much time carving ceilings or painting portraits. Every square inch of the Winter Palace must have taken someone, or a team of people most likely, years to complete. I certainly appreciate it, but damn! Rich people are CRAZY. Did you really need to pour that much money into your chair? Your tea sets? I am really happy that peasants were not allowed inside the Winter Palace because if they saw where all their tax money went I’m convinced they would have staged a revolution centuries before 1917. I’m not saying that the Winter Palace should not be this extravagant. Hell no. This place is incredible and I’m eternally grateful it exists, but sometimes you have to wonder. Somebody had big dreams. My goodness!

It was pretty awesome to see paintings and grand staircases that I read about in my textbooks. There is a giant hall with portraits solely dedicated to the Romanov Tsars, starting with Mikhail and ending with Nicholas. I really enjoyed that, but my favorite part of what I saw today was Nicholas’ library by far. You walk in and you’re like, hot damn. Now, THIS is a library. It wasn’t huge or anything, but it was dark and old. The books look like something Indian Jones would be searching for. You couldn’t see any walls in his library; they were bookcases instead. There was also a mini wooden staircase. I don’t know why it was so small, but it only added to the room's general charm. I think part of the reason I liked this room so much is because it was infinitely more humble than any other room in the Winter Palace. It didn’t set your eyes on fire. Very much Nicholas’ style. He wasn’t a fan of court life and his preferences were less fancy. He sometimes needed to leave meetings to just go out for a walk or chop wood (my L.L. Bean boyfriend circa 1900?) to clear his head, and he liked to wear simple peasant shirts “around the house,” so to speak.

All in all, it was amazing, but there was just too much. Serious sensory overload. I’m going to need to take a few more trips to cover everything, but thanks to our handy-dandy student IDs we can get in for free (thanks Bard-Smolny!). Soo, let’s go back next week? I think so. 

Afterwards Jackie, Beryl and I decided to find a cafe to relax for a bit before we took the metro home and went our separate ways. We headed back the way we came, to Nevsky Prospekt, and ended up at the Literature Cafe. The Literature Cafe is where Pushkin went right before his fateful duel. As expected, Pushkin is everywhere in this cafe. You can find portraits and drawings of him on the walls, along with Dostoevsky and Lermontov, and there’s even a wax figure of Pushkin sitting at a table, sideburns and all, in front of the window. I just had a hot cocoa that had the consistency of cream almost, but it was super tasty. I’m glad we went — it was on my bucket list. 

Check! √

Today was definitely a success, but I’m exhausted (I've added at least 300 photos to Facebook today, so go check them out!). Time to be lame and catch up up on what my favorite vampires and kings are up to. I should probably get some work done. 

Maaaaaybe... 

Royals

Yesterday was SO. MUCH. FUN. The first half of my day was fairly normal. Grammatika and then phonetika, both successful (my definition of success for my RSL classes are defined by my not making a complete fool out of myself). After classes ended, me and three others, Fabi, Jackie, and Hunter, headed to Smolny’s столовая (stolovaya), or cafeteria, for a late lunch before making our way to the Yussoupov palace which is only 0.8 miles from Smolny. For those of you that don’t know, the Yussoupov palace belonged to Prince Felix Yussoupov, who married Nicholas II’s niece Irina, and it was in this palace that the many attempts to murder Rasputin took place. 

On the outside, the palace is mostly pale yellow with huge white columns in front of the entrance. Once we bought our tickets, which were much more expensive than other museums, we headed up the grand staircase to check out the rooms upstairs. I was immediately reminded of Versailles. Each room is extravagant. Every single chandelier, light, chair, bed, nightstand, clock (ANYTHING) shines with jewels and/or gold. It’s not AS fancy as Versailles or what I imagine the Winter Palace will look like of course (I’ll find out today!), but it still makes your jaw drop. Within seconds of getting upstairs and making our way through all the rooms, we all agreed that this was worth the price we paid. We started to explore towards the end of the afternoon, and the palace closes at 5 pm, so we had missed the bulk of visitors and we were rarely in any of the rooms with others, which really gave me a lot of leeway to shriek and say “OH MY GOD” often without having to worry about disturbing the experience of others (minus the three other people I was with). We strolled through bedrooms, dining rooms, vast halls, creepy, dark hallways, offices, libraries, and even a private theater. The palace seemed to twist and turn every which way, always leading into something equally more luxurious and colorful. It’s impossible to imagine living in such a place, on so many different levels. I would have gotten lost so many times! And to think of all the rooms and hidden passageways that we don’t even know exist in that palace. It was fun to explore, but I can imagine it becoming extremely spooky once the sun sets. It was already quite dim when we went there. It’s clear that I would not want to be wandering the halls of the Yussoupov palace by myself at night!

And that’s not just because Rasputin was murdered in the basement (well, technically he did not die in the basement, but it’s just easier to say it that way). Heh, at one point Hunter asked me to tell him what actually happened. Clearly he hasn’t learned not to ask me anything of that nature yet because I proceeded to tell him the whole story (as briefly as I could) about how Rasputin was actually killed. He heard the story first from me in English, and then when we bought extra tickets for the special Rasputin tour (I had to pay for 3 tickets! One to see the palace, another to take pictures, and another to get on the Rasputin tour) which was all in Russian. We caught the last tour from 4:30 - 5 pm, and it was just us with a Russian couple. The tour started in a completely different wing of the palace, and wove through various staircases and doors. I cannot tell you how chilling the route to the basement is. 

Which makes me wonder. Rasputin sensed in the weeks leading up to his death in December 1916 that he was going to die. His name came up in the Duma often (the Russian parliament), and nasty rumors about him and Empress Alexander circulated Petersburg society. He most definitely had heard some theories about plots to kill him. As Massie wrote, 

“[Rasputin] was preoccupied with the idea of death. Once after a lonely walk along the Neva he came home and declared that he had seen the river filled with blood of the grand dukes. In his last meeting with the Tsar, he refused to give Nicholas his customary blessing, saying instead, ‘This time it is for you to bless me, not I you.’ (374). 

To make things more spooky and mysterious, “it was during these last weeks of December 1916 that Rasputin produced the mystically prophetic letter which has become part of the legend of this extraordinary man” (374). In short, Rasputin wrote a letter explaining the following: I will die before January 1st. “If I am killed by common assassins, and especially by my brothers the Russian peasants, you, Tsar of Russia, have nothing to fear, remain on your throne and govern, and you, Russian Tsar, will have nothing to fear for your children, they will reign for hundreds of years in Russia. But if I am murdered by boyars, nobles, and if they shed my blood, their hands will remain soiled with my blood, for twenty-five years they will not wash their hands from my blood. They will leave Russia. Brothers will kill brothers, and they will kill each other and hate each other and for twenty-five years there will be no nobles in the country. Tsar of the land of Russia, if you hear the sound of the bell which will tell you that Gregory has been killed, you must know this: if it was your relations who have wrought my death then no one of your family, that is to say, none of your children or relations will remain alive for more than two years...” (374). 

Well, do you know what happened? In less than a year the Romanov monarchy was toppled. Everywhere Romanovs were sought out an murdered. Communism, with its ideals of equality swept through Russia. In July 1918, Nicholas and his entire family were slaughtered in a basement in Ekaterinburg. And of course, Rasputin was killed. WHADIYA MAKE OF THAT?

Now, you might be wondering. Why did Rasputin accept an invitation to have tea in the basement of a palace with a boyar if he knew he was going to die before the New Year? Apparently knowing Rasputin and his kryptonite well, Felix Yussoupov told Rasputin that his wife, Princess Irina, would be present for the evening. Princess Irina was supposed to be gorgeous, and Rasputin just could not resist. Real quick- Rasputin was known as a holy man and a mystic. He believed in salvation through sin, which roughly translated to him finding god through drunken orgies, public nudity, and overall hooliganism throughout Petersburg (he also raped a nun...). Anyways, Rasputin was a ladies man and he loved women. Princess Irina will be there? Sold. 

I won’t ramble on for too much longer, but I MUST tell you about how he actually died! So, Felix Yussoupov and his droogs had been planning for a while now how to do it. A certain Doctor Lazovert carefully ground cyanide of potassium and sprinkled it all over the tea cakes Rasputin was to ingest. They also poisoned the wine. When Rasputin and Yussoupov finally found themselves seated at the table in the basement, the moment of truth finally came. Rasputin ate two tea cakes and drank the wine, but nothing happened. Then Rasputin asked Yussoupov to play the guitar; “through one song after another, the terrified murderer sang on while the happy ‘corpse‘ sat nodding and grinning with pleasure’” (376). Haha! Two and a half hours later and incredibly freaked out, Yussoupov took one of his co-conspirator’s Browning revolver upstairs and shot Rasputin in the back, where Rasputin fell backwards onto a white bear skin rug. The Doctor pronounced Rasputin dead. Success? You wish, Yussoupov. Basically Yussoupov was left alone in the basement with Rasputin’s supposed dead body momentarily when Rasputin’s crazy eyes suddenly opened, and “Rasputin, foaming at the mouth, leaped to his feet, grabbed his murderer by the throat and tore an epaulet off his shoulder. In terror, Yussoupov broke away and fled up the stairs. Behind him, clambering on all fours, roaring with fury, came Rasputin” (377). AHHHHHH! I’m currently at my host parent’s breakfast table (they’re away at their dacha today) and my heart rate is picking up (I haven’t read this story in a while). It’s only 11:44 am!! 

You guys, I was in that VERY ROOM! I was in the basement, and I saw the table where Rasputin ate the cakes and drank the wine. One thing that stuck out to me in particular were the exceptionally low ceilings. Another defining characteristic of Rasputin besides his electric blue eyes was his height. This guy was HUGE. I remember walking down the staircase and picturing how Rasputin must have had to duck his head as he walked down those very same steps. If I saw Rasputin clambering after me after being shot and poisoned, I think I would have died right then and there on my way up the winding staircase out of that cursed cellar room. 

On another note though — I am leaving out so many details! I know this entry has gone on for too long at this point, but there are so many cool things about this story that I don’t have the time, and you don’t have the attention span here, to read. But I hope you do some day :) (Remember! Nicholas and Alexandra by Robert K. Massie). 

Getting back to the story, the next thing the murderers know, Rasputin is running across the palace courtyard in an attempt to escape. After a bunch of missed shots, Purishkevich (another conspirator) shot and hit Rasputin in the shoulder. And then again possibly in the head. Soon after, he ran over to Rasputin and kicked him with his boot to Rasputin’s head (good ol’ boot to the ‘ead! Ok, not funny.). Once Yussoupov finally recovered from his shock and came outside into the snowy courtyard, he proceeded to beat Rasputin with a rubber club. When Rasputin finally stopped moving, they bound him, rolled him up in a blue curtain, and pushed his body through a hole in the ice into the Neva river. When the body was recovered three days later, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Rasputin had died, according to the autopsy, by drowning. His hands had also come unbound. 

WAAAAAAAAA!!!!

Incredibly cool stuff, right? But my blog post continues. 

After dinner most all of us in the program met up at the metro station Primorskaya at 8 pm. It’s the first real Friday we’ve spent here, and naturally we all wanted to go out. We went to a bar in the northern part of Vasilievsky island where a student who studied here last semester frequented often. The bar was relaxed, with plenty of tables that, when we arrived, were almost all full. The walls were brick, and MTV music videos were playing on a big flat screen. 

I had SUCH a great time. Minus uber sketchy Alexander from Ukraine who would not leave me alone. I first met him when we were in line to get drinks. I tried to avoid eye contact, but ohhh did I know that we were about to make small talk. He appeared friendly at first, talking to me in English when I told him I didn’t speak or understand Russian very well. He asked if he could buy me a drink to which I said no thank you; I am with friends. I was definitely flattered, but that flattery went away quickly. I think Alexander meant well, but he was drunk, doughy, and at one point in conversation said “Thirty years ago...” (I know what many of you are thinking, (stop laughing) and NO!). When he left, he reached out his hand and when I shook it and said goodbye, replied with, “No. See you LATER!” 

As promised, maybe twenty minutes later he came back to my table, where I was clearly surrounded by friends, and asked my for my number. I told him I didn’t have a telephone here (lies). It didn’t work. He kept hovering and would not leave me alone, despite the many attempts by my friends to tell him to fuck off. At this point I stopped laughing and trying to conduct myself in Russian. I switched to English and as nicely as I could tried to get him to shoo. When this wasn’t working, like a night in shining armor my friend Adam from the table over plopped down in the chair in front of me and asked me what was up in English. Now, Adam is a very shy guy. Super nice, but he keeps to himself, and I can’t say I know much about him. But boy was he chatty and friendly last night! He was so animated in front of me, and before I knew it, he introduced himself to Alexander as my boyfriend. He grabbed my hand across the table and started a conversation with Alexander. When the creep asked where we studied in St. Petersburg, Adam went off about the Swiss embassy (or was it the Polish one?) past the Dostoevsky (or was it Gogol?) statue, completely on the fly. He kept laughing, as did everybody at the table but me, and at one point Alexander told us that Russians don’t like to joke. Dear lord, I was waiting for him to pull out a gun or something. But he didn’t, thank god. Instead, he asked if he could kiss my hand, and when I basically said HELL NO YOU MAY NOT, he asked about my fingers. I can’t remember what happened next, but I think my friends from the other table lured him over, and engaged him in conversation. THEY still thought it was all funny. Eventually he did leave, and I breathed a bit easier. 

But yes, besides that, I was my normal, intoxicated self. I started to say things like “THIS IS SO MUCH FUN GUYS,” and “I LOVE RUSSIA!” and “YOU HAVE NO IDEA I’VE BEEN IN LOVE WITH PATRICK DEMPSEY SINCE I WAS 14! I TOUCHED HIS ARM!” I drank a blond Belgian beer, and then a large goblet or sorts of some Russian apple mead which tasted like candy. I was pleasantly content for the rest of the night, getting to know my fellow Americans, and sharing stories about myself. At one point when I went up to the line for the bathroom, I passed my friend Clarissa who was playing darts with two Russians who looked like they were apart of a 90s grunge band. She asked me if I wanted to throw some. Whhhhy not? I threw the three, sharp metal darts and they all landed on the board. Score! A few minutes later after someone cut me off for the bathroom, the jerk, one of the rocker Russians offered me to throw again. This time I hit one on the circle immediately around the bullseye, with the other two not far away. I threw my hands up and celebrated loudly. I guess I take after my dad, who plays ping-pong better when he’s had a drink or two. I do wonder though: why are darts a thing in bars? When you think about it, isn’t that a terrible idea?? Would YOU feel comfortable handing a 20 year old tipsy girl metal darts to throw at a wall? NO! But nevertheless, I didn’t kill anyone. I returned the darts, and ran into the bathroom the second it opened. 

Me and three others left the bar a little before midnight. We caught a bus to the metro station Primorskaya, where I only had one stop to go before the closest metro stop to my host family’s apartment, 10 minutes away. Thankfully everything worked out, and I was home at midnight like the good little Russian Cinderella I am. When I woke up this morning, I still reeked of cigarette smoke (from others in the bar, mom and dad), and I reached over to my nightstand for the ibuprofen bottle before I even left my bed. 

What an awesome day yesterday was! 

But I have to go now. I need to gulp down the soup Nina Vasilievna left for me and get ready to go to the Hermitage at 1:30 pm. 

Hopefully I’ll have a good entry for that later tonight or tomorrow!