Lost!

Yup, it was really only a matter of time before I got royally lost in this city. I was on my way back from a job interview for an English teaching position in the southern part of the city (I am not going to accept the job; it requires that I travel too far and I know I sound like an unmotivated slug but this whole thing has caused me TOO much stress already, believe me) when I decided to get off at Sadovaya, which I thought is a shared metro stop with Gostiny dvor, which is on Nevsky Prospekt. Today has been the third day in a row that the sun has been out, and I thought it would be a good idea to get off at Nevsky prospekt and to walk around the Winter Palace and Palace square by myself. So I got off at Sadovaya, but I underestimated how far you can walk from one metro station exit to the other underground, and I exited the metro to a part of the city that I have never seen before. No matter, I thought. Sadovaya is connected to Gostiny Dvor; Nevsky Prospekt has got to be right around the corner... 

So I thought. 

Well, if I wasn’t already 95% sure that I had a horrible sense of direction, today most definitely bumped it up to 100%. Before I knew it, I had zero idea of where I was. My immediate thoughts were to look up past the tall buildings to try and see if I could find any recognizable monument, like the column in the middle of Palace square, so I could orient myself. I should have known that this was going to happen. Just last weekend I told my mom  that it was practically impossible to get lost in Petersburg. Oh yeah! There are so many monuments and canals throughout the city that all you have to do is look up or follow a canal and you’ll know where you are instantly! For the most part, I want to say that’s still true, but I’m no Pochahontas. In retrospect, I’m astounded that I never found Nevsky Prospekt. I literally have a map of the city on my bed to my left right now, and where I got out of the metro should have been wicked close to the city center, but somehow I managed to go in the most unhelpful direction you could have possibly chosen. 

I didn’t fret at first though. It was so nice out, and I walked along the Griboyedova canal for quite some time completely content. I plugged my iPod in, and I felt confident and secure as I walked through these streets by myself, but after a while when I still didn’t see any monument I recognized, I started to wonder where I was. I had only been walking for ten minutes at that point though, so I decided to keep walking. I was bound to end up somewhere familiar, right? Right. 

WRONG. 

I basically walked in a HUGE circle on the left side of Nevsky Prospekt. It took me an hour of walking before I remembered that I had a map in my backpack that I could have pulled out (I should have), but by that time I saw a blue onion dome with white stars on it in the distance, and I thought I knew exactly where I was. I originally thought it was the Mosque, but I had my doubts because the Mosque I was thinking of is on the other side of the Neva by the Peter and Paul Fortress, and I didn’t think I was anywhere near that. I must be wrong, I thought; how many blue onion domes with small white stars can there be in this city? It turns out that I was walking to the Holy Cathedral Cathedral, which is even farther south of the city. Thankfully, on my way there, I turned a street and just like that, St. Isaac Cathedral’s golden onion dome came into view... in the other direction. It had been hiding behind all these buildings all this time, and when I saw it I swore aloud. How I managed to miss it I had no idea, but thank god I found it or else I would have found myself walking in the direction of Sochi. 

By the time I saw the golden onion dome, my legs were cranky. I dragged my boots the whole way home, and I metaphorically hit the back of my head when I walked past so many places that, oh, if only I took that left instead of a right, I would have known exactly where I was. I’m bummed I never got to walk around Palace square, but hey, at least I got a better view of the city! I did walk past St. Nicholas Cathedral, which is a beautiful robin’s egg blue. I didn’t go to the gym today, but I think I certainly made up for it. 

On another, completely different note, my host mom made a comment about how terrible the situation is in Kiev right now at dinner, and I jumped all over it. I told her that I was really happy she made that comment; I wasn’t sure if I could ask her about politics, I told her. She seemed okay with it though, so I asked her what she thought about Kiev, and if she knew what the general public thought. She said she thought it was all awful, and that she thinks everybody else does too, but that she couldn’t speak for everyone officially. And then I asked her what she thought about Ukraine “going to Europe.” “How can Ukraine go to Europe when it’s located right where it is? Hm? You tell me.” By this point I had a huge grin on my face. Yesss YEEESSS muhaha YES tell me everything!! And then, oh ho ho, I had the guts to flat out ask her if she loved her president. “I LOVE our president,” she said. JUICY, but not surprising, was my reaction. She went on to say how, before Putin, Russia was in shambles. Something something about Gorbachev (“the west loves Gorbachev though” - me; “of course the west loves Gorbachev!” said she). Everything is stable under Putin, she continued. We are not fighting with the United States anymore. We can have conversation and eat dinner as we are now, and there is peace. Everything is good when there is no war. You can’t be sad, she said, when the sun is out and the birds are singing. There is no war right now, and for that we have to be grateful. Well said, Nina Vasilievna, but “a lot of people do not understand that” I said. I mean, I’m definitely guilty as charged. I honestly don’t appreciate a peaceful world like someone who has lived through something like the Cold War does, but I appreciated what she had to say nonetheless. 

I need to appreciate the sun and singing birds more. 

I Hear Noises

I find myself missing the woods. I’m not homesick, nor do I want to come home, but I noticed the other day that I was craving something, and I think it’s trees. Petersburg does a pretty decent job at having parks spread out and planted trees everywhere, but it’s not the same. I definitely love being in this city, but I wish I could go for a walk in the woods, or run around baxter boulevard, or drive along route 77 (to Meghan's house, of course). Okay, that makes it sound like I miss home, but I will just say that I miss nature. There. That’s that. I miss seeing thick pine trees and the ocean, despite the fact that I live on the water here. I loved Maine when I lived there all the time, but my god, what an awesome place. I know I’m going to be so comforted to drive my car around the familiar streets when I visit home this summer. Man, I hope that I always make it back to Vacationland in the future. 

Okay, this is going to be an entry full of more random anecdotes. I should really be catching up on Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle, of which I am currently 200 pages behind on (it's a 450 page Nabokov novel - super dense), or doing something to benefit my Russian like reading children’s stories (I found a book of bedtime stories/fairytales for kids in the bookshelf in my room [unfortunately still above my language level]) but WHATEVAH. 

I would honestly rather be watching my new favorite tv obsession: House of Cards. Oh. My. God. Have you seen it?! If you haven’t, I would highly recommend it (I know I do that a lot, but you have to give this one a chance; the episodes are all on Netflix Watch Instantly). In short, the show is basically about how Congressman Francis Underwood (Kevin Spacey) manipulates his way through the White House with his equally merciless and power hungry wife (Robin Wright) right by his side. The characters definitely make this show. Kevin Spacey’s character often turns to the camera to rant about whatever he wants to share (usually he lets us in on his cruel opinions of others or arguments to support his latest scheme), and his soliloquies are actually hilarious sometimes. Other times they are not, but you’re hooked nonetheless. In more crude terms, Francis Underwood is a slimy son of a bitch, but he’s BRILLIANT and you have to admit that you like him. His wife Claire is pretty cut throat too, but I admire so many of her attributes (is that worrisome? Perhaps...). Anyways, I just found out that my favorite power couple has an agreement to do whatever they want with whoever they want as long as it is advantageous to whatever mastermind plan they are up to next. Oh so sexy. However, if you are afraid that watching this show might make you hate American politics even more, then you’re absolutely right. Don’t watch it.

On another, funnier note, the other day the cat Emelya was crying during dinner, and my host mom apparently knew exactly what the cat wanted. Nina Vasilievna proceeded to usher the cat into the bathroom, talking to the cat as if it were a baby (I am so guilty of it as well). A few minutes later, Nina Vasilievna tells me that Emelya wanted his face washed. Did I know that? Why, no, Nina Vasilievna. I did not know that Emelya’s cry was about his gunky saucer eyes not being clean. Nina Vasilievna told me to go look, and when I walked into the doorway of the bathroom I was greeted with the sight of Emelya, sitting on the toilet seat, cheerfully meowing with a wet, clean face. I started laughing, and began to laugh even harder when my host mom reminded me to always put the toilet lid down because Emelya would fall in the toilet. Oh, the things people do for their pets. 

Equally as random, but a few weeks ago a bunch of us were walking around Smolny on the way back from a bar when, all of a sudden, we see two giant green army tanks roll through the street. There were people on the top of the tanks, but it wasn’t making any alarm sounds or anything. It seemed like a perfectly routine drill. My friends and I were all like, “yup, only in Russia will you see tanks casually strolling through the streets.” Only in Russia. 

Okay, more thoughts. The winter olympics are over, and I unfortunately did not achieve my goal of watching more of the games than I normally do. I don’t use the TV in my apartment, and I haven’t been checking the scores online. I’m disappointed, but can I blame myself? So many people from home have asked me what it’s like to be in Russia during the olympics, and I have sadly replied that, in all honesty, I feel like you could walk down the streets of Petersburg and have NO idea that this country was hosting the olympics. How can that be true? I know I’m a foreigner and I can’t understand much of what is said on the radio or on TV, but should I need to understand everything that’s being said? I have seen nobody dress up in Russia’s colors. I have encountered no hooligans shouting in the streets for their teams. There are no funny signs or billboards to cheer their athletes on (with the exception of a few, but you could walk past them without knowing). There’s a chance I’m just being my usual, oblivious self, but I refuse to believe that entirely. It seems like people are more excited about the olympics back home than they are here. Why so apathetic, Russia?

Speaking of apathy, I seriously need to rant about Kiev. My friend Leland asked me the other day what people in Russia are saying about the political situation in Ukraine right now, and I got so frustrated when, after wracking my brain trying to remember anything I’ve heard on the radio or amongst friends about the situation, I said that I haven’t heard anything. And then I got kind of mad, because I know for a fact that if I were at Conn right now every single one of my classes would be talking about Kiev. I’M the one in Russia right now. I’M the one who should have all the juicy information! I’M the one who should be able to make comments that people haven’t heard in the states, but I can’t! I’ve been reading articles as much as I can about the unfolding events next door, but - okay, maybe this is my problem - they’re all from American or British sources. I hear them talk about Kiev on the radio, but again, just like with the olympics, I can’t understand all the details. I should probably start reading the Russian newspapers here (either in Russian or in English) because I honest to God have no idea what the average Russia, or even IF the average Russian, thinks about current events. I want to ask my host parents what they think, but we were advised to avoid discussing politics entirely. I want to ask Russians my age, but I have no Russian friends! There are Russians in my classes, but can you imagine what kind of “what the hell?” look I’d get in return if I just leaned over in my seat and asked my neighbor, “hey! You’re a Russian my age. What do you think about what’s going on in Kiev right now?” They’d probably think I was gearing up to dissect them like a frog. I mean, common. Isn’t that why I’m here? To ask people directly what they think about Putin? What they think about the "West"? About gay rights? About the Olympics? About Zac Efron? Aside from that last one, it’s not really appropriate for me to do so. There’s a part of me that is furious, but accepting towards this fact. Yeah, it sucks, but I don’t wanna get locked up abroad for my big mouth. But then there’s another part of me that says, well fuck that! I’m going to ask people whatever I want. I’m only here for a while. Why not?! 

We’ll see how that goes for me.

The Method

Ugh, I think I’m getting a cold. I haven’t been going to bed until late these past couple days, and I’ve been pretty active. So much for all that vitamin C I’ve been taking. I don’t have any particular event to report today - I just feel like there have been a few little things I want to get down. 

I forgot to mention something about the Nicholas II section of the Romanov exhibit the other day. The very last board of the room was dedicated to the 1917 Revolution, and there was a lot of information about the Bolsheviks. What caught my attention was the huge picture of Lenin on the board, but that moreover, it was cast in reds and other dark, menacing colors. It was undeniably depicting Lenin as the villain, and that really surprised me. It’s weird, after the collapse of the Soviet Union there was a lot of nostalgia for communism. It still exists among the older generation, and I’d say that a ton people here still revere Lenin. On the other hand, however, since the collapse of the Soviet Union we’ve learned a lot about the last Romanovs. We’ve since acquired the technology and the political liberty to fully investigate what happened to them, and there has been a resurge of interest in them (in my opinion). As a result, I thought it was very interesting to see Lenin cast as the bad guy in the Romanov exhibit when obviously everybody thought Nicholas II was the bad guy when he was in power (for good reason). Although I didn’t understand a lot of the writing in the exhibit, from what I did get and from simply being there I would definitely say that the exhibit was extremely sympathetic to Nicholas II and his family, while almost making Lenin look bad. What a little switcharoo that is!

Does that topic interest you at all? What happened to the Romanovs after they died and perhaps looking at how the Russian public feels about them today? I’m toying with that idea for an honors thesis/dissertation that could quite possibly involve the next decade of my life, but if the answer is no and that doesn’t interest you, I swear my idea is more articulate than the three lines I just typed (annnnnd I would disregard your dismissive opinion anyway... Just kidding, I consider myself extremely responsive to other people’s advice). 

On a similar note though, in my Cold War class last night my professor said something about Lenin and Nicholas II that I had never thought of before (I’m ashamed to say). When trying to answer the question, “why did Lenin order the execution of the Romanovs when they posed no threat after Nicholas abdicated?” my answer was always that which we discussed in my Russian history class in high school: that it was to prove a point that there would be no chances of any revival of the monarchy in Russia; we are done with the Romanov dynasty once and for all. While that’s definitely still true, my professor brought up the fact that Lenin gave the order to kill the Romanovs because his own brother was hanged for his revolutionary activities. How did I not put two and two together and come to that conclusion myself? Revenge as the motive - such a simple point, but it was just one of those ohh! DUH, moments. 

Completely changing subjects, I LOVE the food here. My host mom is such a good cook, and I told her the other day that I love everything that she makes. This came after I had just gorged myself for dinner. That night I had a noodle soup and a plate filled with a few potatoes, a piece of chicken, cucumbers, tomatoes, olives, some type of caramelized cabbage and buckwheat. Very simple, but so incredibly tasty! I can already tell that I’m going to have some serious cravings when I get home. I think that’s one of the best parts about traveling - the food. It’s hard for me to describe what typical Russian cuisine is like, but I like to say that it has a lot of root vegetables. There is a ton of soup, and I’ve reached the point where when there is soup in front of me my first reaction is something like, “yo, where’s my slice of bread and raw garlic clove to chomp on?!” I’ve gotten snobbishly accustomed to the raw garlic and bread thing... 

There is a lot of bread, which is fine but I definitely want to start avoiding it if I can. Russians love dill (its on EVERYTHING), salads that lack lettuce or spinach (it’s mostly chopped cucumber, pickle, tomato, some meat and mayo), cabbage (in all shapes and sizes), beets (what a pretty color), mushrooms (I want to go on a mushroom hunt), sour cream (so much better than the sour cream in the states), and this type of oatmeal called kasha. I don’t know- it’s not ALL incredibly foreign, in fact, most of it is quite simple, but they do it really well here and I don’t hesitate to try whatever is put in front of me (my 6 year old self would be astounded by how less-picky I’ve become). Additionally, my host parents are really into their dacha, and they grow a lot of their food there which I so appreciate. I don’t know if it came from their dacha, but the honey I ate the other day, which had some sort of small nuts in it, was the best honey I have ever eaten in my entire life. It is a pale yellow, and deliciously thick. I just spread it over a slice of bread for dessert. Hell, I would spread that honey over a tree branch and eat it. 

Bouncing around to another subject, I think I’m REALLY going to enjoy my Nabokov class. I did have to email my professor this afternoon though asking him what in the world he means by “you have a presentation on Russian America on wednesday” in the latest message posted to the class website. Valerii Germanovich is smart and sometimes funny (his mannerisms are slightly Rowan Atkinsonesque, especially the way he moves his eyebrows), but that man is really frickin’ vague. You’re telling me I have a presentation on Russian America and that’s it? That’s all you’re giving me? Screw that. In any sense, I’m not that peeved, and the material is going to keep me in the class if all else fails. 

Ohhh my god Nabokov is an evil genius. For the past two classes we’ve simply gone over the first 4 pages of his longest novel, Ada or Ardor: A Family Chronicle, and with incredible patience, we basically analyzed the crap out of each word. Sounds tedious? You’d think so, but I actually found it so amazingly cool. When I first started the book, I read through the first few pages noticing funny things, but never actually taking the time to pinpoint why that name or word sounded funny. First of all, I’m an idiot for not having picked up on 80% of what was hidden in the text. Second of all, Nabokov thinks I’m an idiot too. But actually! My professor told us that a lot of what Nabokov wrote was a joke with himself because he was so confident none of his readers would pick up on all of his puns, references, and innuendos. Well, he got that right. I am Nabokov’s perfect guinea pig to read his books. I read without an English major’s mind, and as a result, I didn’t pick up on why “the tender and wayward age of fifteen” sounded odd. “It sounds strange in English,” my professor told us. “Nabokov’s adding the word 'wayward' makes the sentence sound foreign. You would not say that in Russian either. It’s added and artificial sounding; Nabokov is making the text sound strange to both the American and Russian reader.”

Psssh, OBVIOUSLY.

Is that not enlightening enough for ya? How about the fact that Estoty (a combination of “estate” and “Estonia"), Canady (a combination of “Canada” and “candy"), and Lagoda, Mayne (REPRESENT) are all mentioned on the first page? Furthermore, the first sentence features a quote from the novel “Anna Arkadievitch Karenina [which was] transfigured into English by R. G. Stonelower, Mount Tabor, Ltd.” Sounds pretty legit, right? WRONG. Everything about that sentence I just quoted is infused with some little joke Nabokov came up with. I won’t bore you with all the details, but some of my notes from the past two days of class include: “we are supposed to pay attention to the art of creation;” “Nabokov knows things about naively realistic things;” “Mount Tabor → Greek story about unnecessary labor → everything is in vain;” “Nabokov to the readers: PAY ATTENTION!!” “author is setting some rules → but we may not be acquainted with these rules → switch the reader’s reflection on ↑,” and so on and so forth. In sum, this class, or maybe just Nabokov, is going to blow my mind (and make me feel incredibly stupid all the time). I may love politics and history, but I also have a huge crush on English. I thoroughly enjoy talking to English majors at Conn, and I wish I had more time to take English classes. I get so into analysis (neeeerd), and I think poets and authors are the smartest people when hidden/double meanings are revealed to me in class. IT’S MAGICAL. 

Okay, it’s 5:39 but I’m getting tired. Tootles!

Clocks

I cannot believe I’m 21. While at first I was pretty bummed that I was going to spend my 21st birthday in Russia where the drinking age is practically nonexistent, I am so excited that this is how it all worked out. 

The day itself went by super fast. When I woke up yesterday morning I remembered dreaming the night before that my host parents were fluent in English and that they have just been hiding it this whole time... How bizarre (would one call that an anxiety dream?). My host parents were expecting a new couch to be delivered to their apartment yesterday, so Nina Vasilievna stayed home from work. When she heard me scurrying about in the kitchen while I prepared breakfast, she came in, wished me a happy birthday, gave me a box of chocolates, and then, bless this woman’s heart, she gave me a hug! She’s so kind. 

I was supposed to meet Adam at the gym after breakfast, but he changed his mind, so I went by myself. I left the apartment and immediately turned left on the 8th line of Vasilievsky Island. I live really close to the metro station, so my area is always pretty busy. I walked through and around puddles, weaving through all kinds of people, passing by the gastronom, the honey store, the fur store, the Tolstoi Fraer bar, the electronic store, the bakery, and a bunch of other apparently-less-noticeable stores before I took a left onto Credny prospekt. There, I am forced to find the gaps in crowds and walk through even more hurried people as I walk past the metro station on my right. I always see a lot of babushkas when I walk this way, and I’m still intrigued by the mere sight of them. First of all, they look straight out of a National Geographic article. You see so many pictures of these women without teeth, hunched over, sometimes with head coverings, shuffling around places, and it’s a little surreal to see them around everywhere. Oh! You actually do exist! You’re not just out of fairy tales... (it’s kind of like when I first arrived in Ireland and heard everybody speak with accents; you ACTUALLY all talk like that!). But seriously, something drastic must happen to the women here once they hit a certain age. Younger Russian women aren’t particularly short; in fact, they all seem to be fairly tall. But then something happens, and then the next thing you know you have a babushka that looks like they lived during Tsarist times (am I being offensive?). I TOWER over these women,  but part of me sincerely believes that they could take me down with their canes. I would NOT want to mess with these fragile, but-most-likely-extremely-fierce women. Shrinking happens to a certain extent in the older men here, but it’s definitely not as salient.   

My body was still waking up by the time I got to the gym, so I didn’t do much, but I was happy that I made it nonetheless. The gym has become less and less sketchy every time I go, and I look forward to saying hello to the owner of the gym if he’s there. I mustered up the courage to ask him what his name was the other day, and he told me his name was Pavel. As expected, he was there when I walked through the door, and he gave me an informal privyet. 

So, Pavel is a bit scary. He could totally crush me with his arms in seconds, but he’s not big to the extent that you worry he might pop some vein at any given second. He is probably in his early 30s, and you can tell right off the bat that he still feels and acts very young. He has tattoos on both of his arms (they’re not sleeves though), he has strawberry blond hair that almost looks shaved on his head its so short, a slight beard, and very light eyes. I understand that by that description alone he probably comes off as someone I would want to avoid, but you have to trust me when I say that you know within seconds of meeting him that he has a huge heart and just seems like a genuinely nice guy. He always smiles and says hi. He also knows a select few phrases in English, and sometimes when he sees me come into the gym he says hey and “whaaaaatsss up!” On the one hand I want to describe him as a big teddy bear, but on the other hand I want to call him a pirate. Have you ever seen The Curious Case of Benjamin Button? There’s a chapter of that movie, towards the beginning, where we follow Benjamin Button to his first job on a boat. If so (or not), Benjamin Button’s crazy ass boss, the captain of the boat, reminds me of Pavel, but again, I think my host mom reminds me of an owl. Anyways, I just really get a good vibe from this guy (would I call him... jolly?), and I feel like if there wasn’t such a language barrier, we could be buds. In any case, when I left and he handed me back my gym card I said “thank you, Pavel,” and he replied, “you’re welcome/to your health, Olivia.” Then, when I started to put my boots back on at the entrance (we have to take our shoes off before we enter the "gym"), he asked me if I liked Petersburg. 

Me: Yes! What a beautiful city. I’m obsessed with Russian history so... yeah. Are you from St. Petersburg? 

Pavel: No, Siberia actually, but .?.?.? came here to work.?.?.? Are you from New York? 

Me: No. I’m from around Boston, in Maine. A lot of woods there. 

Pavel: Are you studying here? 

Me: Da!

And then a bunch of other little comments that involved me taking good 5 second chunks (AT LEAST, and that feels like hours when someone is waiting for you to respond to a question) before I could form coherent thoughts and express them. I apologized for my lack of Russian comprehension, and he said that I spoke well. I laughed, and basically said hell no, and actually said that I understand nothing. I asked him if he was watching the Olympics, and I got a reply that suggested no. "There’s no snow in Sochi!" he exclaimed. Yeah Pavel, crazy stuff, but thanks a bunch, I’m going to go now. До свидания! Bye! He said back. 

D’aww. 

When I got back to the apartment I hopped in the shower and managed to break their shower. It’s fixed right now thank goodness, but nobody brought it up to me so I think I’m in the clear. Basically, my host parents’ shower has a dispensable shower head with a long cord that is attached to the long faucet head at the top of the bath which also functions as the bathroom sink. Anyways, the shower head cord got hooked underneath the long, metal sink faucet. The sink faucet is screwed on very loosely because I guess my host parents like to swivel it around. I tried to get the cord out from underneath the faucet, but instead of taking the literal three seconds to remove the shower head from it’s holder above my head and swing the cord around the faucet with ease, I decide to leave the shower head where it was, and lift the sink faucet up, just a little bit, so I could manage to get the cord, which had minimal slack, around the sink faucet (I can just hear my dad shaking his head). Of course I can see this all happening, but my best guess is that this makes no sense to you? I apologize. Sometimes when I talk, and probably when I write too, my thoughts move so much faster than my mouth that I think I’ve already said some of my thoughts and continue with my point without actually having said everything I want to. As a result, people get gaps in my story, and they say things like, “wait, is your brother’s name Forest? Is that why you were throwing rocks at him at his xc race and yelling ‘run Forest run!’? You forgot the most important part of the story” Back to the shower problem, you can probably guess that I broke the sink faucet. Pretty much correct. I heard a snap of sorts (oooooohhhh NOO!), and the next minute I was holding the sink faucet in my hands, completely separated from it’s place. I screwed it back in as best as I could, and by the time I finished, water came out MOSTLY from where it was supposed to. I called it good, and left the shower hoping that my host parents would think it was just an old sink set up to which something like this would happen, or that this has happened before and that they didn’t think it was me. And that is the story about the time I managed to detach the sink facet from the shower. 

Moving on, after lunch I met up with Jackie outside my apartment, and we took a bus all the way to the end of Bolshoi prospekt. We were looking for the Lenexpo, which currently has a Romanov exhibit open to the public, for completely free, going on until March 2nd. The bus ride was short, and after getting turned around with directions for a few minutes, we found the expo and the correct pavilion. We were at the very east of Vasilievsky island, and I felt like it might as well have been the end of the earth. There was only grey and white fog beyond the water towards the Finnish Gulf, and if you looked back towards Vasilievsky Island you saw power plants and smoke stacks drawing lines in the gloomy sky. 

This exhibit consists of one giant room sectioned off into 22 or so half rooms that were all open and that which clearly led into one another. This Romanov exhibit was originally shown in Moscow last year, in honor of the 400th year anniversary of the first Romanov coming to power in Russia, and it opened in St. Petersburg on Sunday. When you first walk into the exhibit, you start with Mikhail Romanov and you go through/past each Tsar in chronological order until you reach Nicholas II. The exhibit features light-box like structures around most pictures and boards that have iPad screens that you could enlarge and scroll down to read more information about the board you are looking at. There were pictures, banners with quotes, maps outlining which territories of the Russian empire were acquired or lost during the reign of whichever Tsar you were at in the exhibit, short, 2-3 minute films, and hologram-like moving pictures that oftentimes took up most wall spaces. As you can imagine, the technology was pretty awesome. We started the exhibit at 2:30, and the time just flew. Jackie soon surged ahead of me, for I spent unnecessary amounts of time trying to read banners and boards that were filled with vocabulary that meant almost nothing to me. That was a bit frustrating. I loved the exhibit and I am so happy that I got to spend part of my birthday there (how PERFECT), but I think I would have appreciated it a whole lot more if I knew what the hell I was reading. Ohh well. 

I strolled through the rooms, passing through Tsar Alexei, Peter the Great, Catherine the Great, all the Alexanders, all the Ivans, etc... (all the Romanovs after Peter the Great until Catherine the Great all blend together to me) noting all their accomplishments and trying to keep up with where I was in the Romanov family tree (a daunting task). My energy was starting to drain around Nicholas I, but that’s when, in my opinion, the Romanovs become most interesting to me, so I found that reserve tank (as my high school soccer coach would put it) and pushed on. I had just finished up with Alexander III when Jackie found me, all done. We agreed that she would go home to get some homework done before we met up for dinner; I was going to take my sweet time with the last Tsar, and I would prefer to do that by myself. There was no offense there; I would have rather gone by myself to see the last part of the exhibit than go with Patrick Dempsey. 

Okay, that might be a lie, but you get my point. 

When I got to Nicholas II’s section, I felt some kind of pride. There were so many people of all ages looking at his dairy, at pictures of his kids, or watching the short video about his reign. I read a quote from Alexei that hung on a banner which said something like, “When I become Tsar, I want everybody to happy. I want to get rid of all the bad things and make everybody happy.” I smiled and laughed. I waited for some girls my age to get done looking at scanned pictures of Nicholas’s diary on one of the iPad screens, and when I got my chance I tried to read his handwriting, which, for the record, is quite girly but fancy looking. Some of his journal entries were super short, only consisting of a few lines of his journal. It was really hard for me to read his handwriting, especially in Russian, but I could recognize the word for weather and the names of his family members. 

I read different blurbs (“read” is a stretch) on different boards of the accomplishments (well, more like a lack there of) and tragedies that occurred under Bloody Nicholas while squeezing past Russians to get up close to look at all the best known pictures of the royal family (and Raspy, of course) that I have seen about a thousand times on Google Images. After that I walked past a poster depicting Nicholas and his family’s canonization in the Russian Orthodox Church. Facing directly opposite that, however, oh my god was a hologram-thingamabob of the Ipatiev house. The Romanovs, along with 4 (?) others were murdered in the basement of the Ipatiev house in Ekaterinburg, and the hologram transitioned pictures of Nicholas and Alexandra’s children in and out, one after the other, all on top of the background which was the only picture of the basement of the Ipatiev house AFTER the murder. The picture obviously doesn’t have the best quality since it was taken in 1918, but you can still see the striped wall paper and the giant gash in it from all the bullet holes and other such... scuffling...

When I finished looking at that picture I followed through the rest of Nicholas’ section. On my right there was a big board with a picture of Nicholas in a train cart window. To the right of that was a short movie playing. The first half was about how Russia developed economically and socially during the final years leading up to the Revolution (this is what I gathered more from the images, less than from what they were actually saying), but the second half of the film, on the contrary, was the opposite. The second half was about the murder of the Romanovs, and I could understand about 70% about what the narrator was saying. They had a reader narrate parts of Yakov Yurovsky’s memoirs (he was the head of the execution squad), which were quoted frequently in Massie’s book. I’ve read the story about their death in that basement so many times that I could recognize specific details and pick up what they were saying. Maybe it’s kind of cheating because I was anticipating what they were about to say, but whatever! I’m going to give myself that. 

I finally wrapped up with the exhibit and took a bus back home. I crammed some homework in during the hour I had to spend before I needed to get to the metro to meet Beryl and Jackie so we could walk to a restaurant for dinner. When I finally got to the metro station, I was greeted with the sight of a large mob surrounding the entrance to the metro, and this mob was quite terrifying. I was literally squished in between Russians like sardines, and at some points I kept getting pushed in the crowd from one direction to the other that I thought I might fall over until I realized that I had no room to fall anywhere. There were other times when I thought my feet were literally going to be picked up off the crowd. There was way too much contact with random strangers in that 10 minute shuffle into the metro, and it tapped into my claustrophobia enough to make me remember never to try and get into the metro around 6 again. 

When I finally got into the metro, we went all the way to Sportivnaya, which is slightly annoying to get to with all the little transfers here and there. From there we walked a few minutes to a restaurant Beryl picked called “Na zdhoroveye,” or, “be healthy.” Beryl said she picked this place because it seemed like a traditional Russian restaurant without the tourists, and besides the fact that the three of us were there, she was so right. You walk into the place and you’re immediately met with all sorts of colors and patterns on the walls, tables and chairs. There are Russian matryoshku everywhere, and there was also a glass wall with different colored grains behind it. There were souvenirs, wooden spoons, a bearskin hanging from a wall, a wood stove, a guy playing the accordion, painted pictures, icons, etc... Basically, you felt like you walked into a Russian fairytale. 

We’ve all wanted to try caviar, so we split an order to start. We definitely ate it the wrong way, but whatever! We first opened up a blini, spread out some sour cream, then chopped onion, then some egg, and then the orange halibut caviar. We also ordered horseradish vodka shots to go with it (no, that was not our first choice; we wanted some other homemade, fruitier vodka but they were all out, so Beryl just pointed to the horseradish shots above). Somehow, that was the first Russian vodka I’ve had since coming here, and it didn’t make me want to gag, so I think that’s saying something! I “chased” the shot with a bite of my caviar blini wrap, and all the onion, sour cream, and saltiness of the caviar (to which I can’t really assign a distinct taste) helped the taste dull much faster than any lemonade concoction from Harris dining hall. Would I do it again? Yes, I would. I’ll bring Meghan when she comes to visit at the end of March. 

I had chicken Kiev for my main course (oh my god KIEV RIGHT NOW!), and by the time the waiter remembered us we had to get the check to go. Our next stop was a bar by Vasilievsky metro station, where we first met up with Fabi, Adam, Alicia, Jacob and Jenna who were all waiting for us when we got to the metro station 10 minutes late. We walked less than five minutes to SPB bar where we stayed until midnight. We took a round of shots, and my friends gave me a hilariously wonderful toast. I told them that I always thought I would spend my 21st birthday with my friends whom I’d known for a really long time, but that I was so happy to be spending it with you guys, which was 100% true. These guys are such fun company, and I laughed my way through two more beers. We were those loud foreigners in the corner, but it didn’t matter. We were just getting silly and having a good time, and by the time we all needed to head back, it took me a few more seconds to register why the words "February 18th" looked and sounded weird to me; as if “February 18th” was a word you said over and over again until it sounded strange on your tongue. 

I came back home, and instead of going straight to sleep, finished some homework with the sloppiest handwriting I’ve ever seen. I didn’t last very long after that though, so I set my alarm for 7:30 so I could wake up and finish it. With that said, I’ve been falling asleep all day today and I need to hit the hay. Please excuse all my errors in this post - I don’t have the time to edit right now but I will the next time I write!

Goodnight :)

Ice Ice Baby

Gah it’s already Sunday! This weekend certainly went by quickly. On Friday night our program coordinator Elena arranged a dinner at a nearby Georgian restaurant for the Americans in the program and some Russian Smolny students. I sat at one end of the very long table, and I just happened to be surrounded by my other American friends, so I didn’t really have any one-on-one conversations with any of the Russian students. Irina, a sophomore at Smolny, sat the closest to us and she sat and listened, asking the occasional question, while we spoke at what probably felt like lightning speed English to her about random topics like Harry Potter, Siberia, and at one point we found out that our friend Clarissa from Williams College smuggled her pet chihuahua over the mexican border when it was a puppy... 

We had a bean, onion, egg, potato salad thing with lettuce as the first course, some cheesy bread pizza something which was the most delicious thing I had all weekend next, and then our main course was a meat, potato, pepper stew dish that came out sizzling so loudly it reminded me of when you get fajitas at a mexican restaurant. Except I like fajitas better. 

I thought it was very nice that they arranged a dinner between us and some Russian students, but I’m about to rant about something that’ll probably disappoint a lot of people (apologies in advance). In all honesty, I would love to make Russian friends. Isn’t that one, if not the most important, goal of studying abroad? To meet the locals so they can show you what [insert country] is really like? If you ask anyone for advice before studying abroad, I’m positive that one of the first things said will be to not get stuck in the American bubble and to make friends with the locals instead. They are your biggest resources, and befriending them will help you get the most out of your four or five months abroad. I completely agree with that. In fact, before the end of the first week of September this past fall I remember writing my study abroad application and answering questions about what my goals are for studying abroad. Meeting and befriending Russians was undoubtedly one of my goals, and it still is, but a lot has happened since I wrote that application, and my goals for studying abroad have changed drastically. All the goals I wrote on that initial application still hold true, but I have bigger, more selfish aims that have since taken priority. It became clear too early on in my fall semester that I needed to study abroad so that I could get away from Conn and be with new people in a new environment. I needed study abroad so I could escape the toxicity that had seeped into every part of my college and campus, which are two things that I have grown to love inside and out with all my heart over the past two and a half years. I needed study abroad to come faster than it did so I could heal, so I could breathe easier, so I could be reminded of all the things that make me happy. In other words, this semester abroad was going to be dedicated to ME and mostly me only, and I’m willing to do whatever it takes so that I get better. Consequentially, all my energy that I was planning to channel into integrating with the Smolny kids has been reallocated to finding whatever it is that distracts me, makes me comfortable, and makes me happy. That is my top goal, and while I understand I’m not trying my hardest to break through the American bubble, I don’t feel as bad as I should and I won’t apologize for that. At this point, I just want friends. I just want to have a good time, and while I don’t anticipate having this be the case for the next for months, if my only good friends happen to be those in my program then so be it. I’ve been having a great time with them so far, and I have been feeling more and more like myself since literally the day I arrived here. I’m not saying that I’m going to avoid Russians. Absolutely not. I want to make conversation and get to know them, but I’m not going to lose sleep over how many locals I’ve met. I also believe that befriending a Russian would be really frickin’ hard. Guys, I don’t speak Russian. If I can barely get through a conversation at breakfast with my host dad, how am I supposed to talk about the things that normal friends talk about with each other? I sound like the grinch of all study abroad right now, but these are my honest thoughts. I need more confidence and maybe more of a screw-it-all attitude? I don’t know, I have only been here for less than a month. Things are bound to change...

That was a long rant, but anyways, getting back to the dinner, it started late at 8:30, and by the time we got done it was practically 10:30. It was Friday night though, so when we got done a bunch of us went to a bar right by Smolny. I don’t know what type of bar it was, but it was SO COOL whatever it was. There were maps, license plates, retro photographs and posters, shark jaws, and other tourist trinkets covering the wooden walls, most of which were American. There were plenty of anchors and boat steering wheels too (what are those called?), so I guess there was a strong nautical theme. I don’t know, nor do I think the owners of the bar knew what they were going for, but I didn’t care! It reminded me of the store in Bar Harbor called Geddy’s. Moreover, when I was in line to get beer, out of the corner of my eye I spotted a picture of a man with a very unforgettable beard. I left my place in line, went up to the wall, and examined a picture of Rasputin. This guy follows me around EVERYWHERE (but that’s okay with me for now). 

I got what everybody else did, and we all sat in a booth, watched skiing, and chatted until midnight before people started leaving to catch the last metros of the night. Some of us stayed later though, for there was supposed to be a night bus to take many of my friends back to the top of Vasilievsky island. I, being the lucky duck that I am, merely had to walk home with friends as they made their way back to the metro. I am super grateful of my location for a lot of reasons, many of them stemming from the idea that on late nights I don’t really have to worry about catching transportation home unless I am with friends exceptionally far away, but also because I think I can avoid trying to figure out the bus or marshrutka system for the entire time that I’m here. If I really needed to take a bus I could definitely decipher the signs and I’ve done it before, but I do not want to hop on a marshrutka anytime too soon. Basically they are vans that have a specific route, but they don’t stop unless you shout at them to. Given my still shaky knowledge of the city and my unfortunate tendency to not assert myself at times, I would probably end up in on the other side of the city if I took one by myself at this point. I’m exaggerating, but only a little. Everything here is scary to me to a certain extent, and at some point you just have to say eyyy what the fuck, but if I can avoid it I am more than happy to do that. I also really like to walk everywhere. Everything is so pretty and I’m still at the point where my head swivels back and forth at a constant rate whenever I walk around the streets because I am still fascinated by all the signs and writing in shop windows. Part of me wonders if they placed me, the least experienced student with Russian, at probably the most convenient location because they thought it would be easier for me to not deal with transportation. Probably not, but I’m thankful nonetheless. 

I stayed up watching TV (I have a problem) when I got back from the bar, and I slept in until 11 the next morning, which was GLORIOUS. My host parents left for their dacha early in the morning, and I had the whole apartment to myself. While I am most definitely an extrovert and I need my daily dose of human and friend interaction, I value my sacred solitude. I have no problem with being left alone for a day or two. I would prefer to get out (which I did) and see people, but I actually love the idea of coming back to an empty apartment at times. It’s not like I take advantage of being alone or anything; I simply brought my laptop out to the kitchen table, put on the radio, made myself tea, ate breakfast, got a little bit of homework done, and thoroughly enjoyed being alone. It wasn’t long before I left my things and headed out to the gym. I told my friend Adam that I would meet him there around 1 and I got there on time. When I got back, I hopped in the shower and then heated up the large pot of pelmeni soup my host mom left me. I felt like I ate twice as many calories as I had just burned at the gym, but I didn’t mind. I am always extra proud of myself when I make it to the gym in the morning or before lunch at least. I had to slurp down my soup quickly though if I wanted to leave in time to make it to the Decemberist cafe at 4 pm where everybody was meeting to watch the USA vs. Russia hockey game. 

I left half an hour before 4, and I set off with my iPod plugged in. I walked through the streets, crossing the right ones without a second thought like I had lived there all my life, and I found myself experiencing this feeling that I had for the first time when I got to college. I guess the easiest way to describe it would be simply the sense of independence, but I feel like its much more epic and powerful than that. It involves the confidence that comes with being the boss of my own schedule I think. I remember feeling it when I was a freshman at Conn, after the first two initial months of feeling uncomfortable and homesick, when I would walk to the gym by myself on a saturday, completely on my own time, along the overpass with views of the Thames river. I felt it all the time when I was at Berkeley this past summer, and I felt it yesterday so clearly that I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have reached a state of comfort here and that I am becoming happier. Perhaps I am still in the honeymoon phase of being in Petersburg, perhaps I’m still living in this vacation-like mindset that doesn’t involve me working hard or being back at Conn (is that just the honeymoon phase rephrased?), but I cannot deny how much coming here has refreshed my very core. 

Okay, enough with this philosophical nonsense!

I arrived at the Decembrist cafe a little bit early, but Sean was there waiting before me, and we went downstairs to the basement at our reserved tables in front of the flatscreen. We watched speed skating (how mesmerizing!) as people trickled in one by one. I sipped on mulled wine as we watched the hockey game, and when I wasn’t conversing with friends over Facebook thanks to the wifi, I was shrieking and cheering on our team. We all ate dinner there, and I ordered a burger that had an egg on it, mushrooms, blue cheese, and BBQ sauce. Oh, how deliciously messy that was. The game went on, much faster than I remember hockey games being, and before we knew it, we were in overtime. And then, as most of you who watched the game know, we went into a shootout. I don’t think that I’ve ever watched a real-life shootout live before (the Mighty Ducks doesn’t count), so this made things SO MUCH more fun and intense. We were the only ones down in the basement, while all the Russians were watching the game upstairs. Whenever we scored, we all hollered from the basement, and then we noticed that whenever the Russians scored on us, we could hear everybody clapping upstairs. WE MUST CLAP AND SHOUT LOUDER. Look at that smirk on Putin’s face!! In the end, we won, and it was awesome. I felt a little bad for my lack of compassion with the Russian team, but not really. Sucks to suck, мои русские друзбя! 

After the game, it was still pretty early, so some of us went to another bar on Vasilievsky (I’m becoming an alcoholic). This place was huge with lots of comfy couches. We spent the next few hours drinking beer and chatting about the most debate-worthy topics. We asked each other what we thought about Syria, Realism, China, atomic bombs, the Geneva Conventions, torture, abortion, our favorite president, conspiracy theories, whether or not there are morals in war, Edward Snowden, the Watergate Scandal, and the list went on and on. You could almost hear my brain purring as we jumped from one conversation to another. Everybody had read different books, taken different classes, learned different facts that were all thrown into the conversation. Ahh, happiness. 

So that was my weekend in a long nutshell. And now I’m in my room, and I don’t plan on leaving the apartment today. I have to catch up on homework, and my body is tired. Hopefully I’ll have some good material to write about in the next few days; my birthday is on Tuesday, and I have no classes that day. So what do I plan to do? Well, as fate would have it, there is a special Romanov exhibit on Vasilievsky starting on the 16th and going until March 2nd. Can I think of a better way to spend my day? NOPE. 

Sophomore Slump or Comeback of the Year

I’ve noticed a significant gap in my energy levels in just two days. Real classes started on Tuesday at Smolny, and I was there from 11 am to 8 pm yesterday. I had phonetics and my reading and writing class, and then I went to the Nabokov class to see how I like it. The class contained maybe 20 students, way more girls than guys. There were only me and three other Americans in it though, so that’s a plus. The class itself was okay. The professor, a middle-aged bald man with blue eyes who reminded me slightly of Rowan Atkinson, gave us a writing prompt to start, but he didn’t explain himself at all so we all looked at each other confused wondering, “what the hell are we supposed to do with ‘Н’ stands for Nabokov”? After 10 minutes the professor finally told us that he wanted us to try and answer the question of whether or not Russia had the right to boast about Nabokov in the olympic opening ceremony. Well why didn’t you just say that, dude? Besides the initial miscommunication, I was interested for most of the rest of the class. It became immediately clear that our professor is very knowledgable about Nabokov, which I liked, and this particular professor quoted Nabokov and shared random anecdotal stories about him and his works which is a teaching strategy that will hook me every single time. My professor's british accent when he speaks english is also a little more defined than others I've encountered. For some reason, there are a lot of Russians here that, when they speak english, tend to do so with a slight British accent; I think it’s more common in those of the older generation, but I get such a kick out of it. As a result, I thoroughly enjoyed listening to my professor talk. Unfortunately, the class is really only going to focus on Nabokov’s book “Ada,” but I’ve never read it before and I decided that I'm going to keep the class. I’ve always wanted to read more of Nabokov’s books, and I think that I will get a really good idea of not only what he’s written, but who he was as a person from this class. Overall, one of the mains goal for us, our professor explained,  is to determine the grounds on which a writer belongs to a certain country or nation (the official title of the course is something like “Russian American Nabokov.”) 

My second academic class that day, the Cold War, began 20 minutes later at 4:40 and didn’t get out until 7:30, which was actually half an hour earlier than expected. I went into this class skeptical. My academic advisor had warned me that some students complained about the professor’s lack of organization and all the technical difficulties that come with Skype (the class is team taught via skype with a retired history professor from Ramapo college in NJ), and another friend who was here last semester with Bard-Smolny said that she would not take a class with the same professor again. You’d think I would have felt the same, but I would almost completely disagree with those two opinions after only having had one class with this professor. Skype did not work, and there were some lost minutes trying to connect with Tom Heed in Florida, but I honestly couldn’t care less. 

Moreover, I thought the professor for the class, who looks like a combination of Lenin and John Malkovich, is a riot. He, like my Nabokov professor, knows a ton about the subject. He only teaches part time at Smolny; he has a full time position at Saint Petersburg State University. He also has been writing a book about American higher education and American colleges, so when he made us go around the table and introduce ourselves he had commentary for almost all the Americans and their home institutions. “Ahh you go to Georgetown you say? Very, very good university!” “Oh Columbia! One of the best universities in the world. I heard last year that they added over 100 new buildings!” “Connecticut College, but not the University of Connecticut, correct? Much more prestigious.” (Holllaaaaaa). But yes, the class is split about 50/50 American and Russians, which, for a class on the Cold War, is symbolically hilarious and perfect. Throughout this class we spent 75% of the time going over the syllabus, but my professor shared stories (he has met THREE American presidents) and fun facts about the material, much like my Nabokov professor. I’m not sure if its because most Russians are forced to memorize poems throughout their childhood, but the way my two professors told stories and quoted famous figures made the material so much better. In just that one class, I managed to learn that Pepsi and Nixon supported each other during the latter’s election, why Truman was an unpopular president, how Khrushchev thought Kennedy was naive and too young to be teaching him about diplomacy, what the escalation theory in international relations is, how both George Washington and Ike emphasized the distinction between making decisions as a former military person and as a politician... etc... I also learned that my professor hated all of Ronald Reagan’s movies (except one), that there aren’t very many good sources on the Cold War in Russia because it’s still a touchy subject for Russians, that Bill Clinton and Ronald Reagan are apparently America’s most beloved presidents, and that my professor could possibly be like, REALLY famous in the world Russian studies. He has taught at so many places and he mentioned being at the “Kennan Institute” in DC often. Uhh, hello, can you please get me a job there?! (But actually). 

Needless to say I’m definitely going to keep this class. My professor’s english is far from perfect, and sometimes you have to bend your mind a bit to understand what he’s saying (he sadly doesn’t have a british accent when he speaks), but he says funny things and I would even go as far as to say that he is animated and energetic. I’m also quite interested to see how this class will be taught using lectures from a retired professor in the states... Wednesdays are going to be hell, but I don’t really have any motivation to sit through a class I only somewhat like in order to change that. I originally was going to sit in on the Soviet Architecture class today, but I decided against it and I’m lazy (what’s happened to me?). I’m convinced that a Soviet Architecture sounds really cool in theory, but I just pictured how much I would want to shoot myself if the class involved memorizing vocabulary about columns and/or types of roofs or angles. Now that I think of it, what did I expect the class to be about? Kommunikalka? Geez. 

We’ll see how much I agree or disagree with my gut instinct on these classes in a few weeks... But in other news, today Jenna and I went to Stockmans, which is a mall with a grocery store that has foreign foods in it. It made me happy to see that Newman’s Own salsa has made it all the way over here to Russia. I bought weird circular pretzels to go with my, ah-hem, $10 peanut butter (so worth it), yogurt, strawberries, pineapple, green tea, pringles (whaaaaat), and some granola bars. Yumm... 

Heads Roll Off

Today Jackie and I went to Peter the Great’s Chamber of Curiosities, and dear lord I am still shaken up from it. The chamber is located inside the Museum of Anthropology and Ethnography, so not ALL of its possessions are freaky. We walked through exhibits featuring various artifacts from Japanese culture, African culture, South American, Indonesian, South Asian, East Asian, some Middle Eastern, and even a section on Eskimo life. In glass cases there were wax figures complete with traditional clothes, instruments, weapons, tea sets, jewelry, etc... There were also lots of miniature models of houses and buildings. I’m glad we came to this type of museum. I don’t know anything really about anthropology (sadness), so it was cool and educational in that sense. It’s also something very different in comparison to the Hermitage or the Russian Museum, for instance. 

But that’s not to say I’ll ever go back there again. Definitely not. What is housed in the Chamber of Curiosities may enthrall some, but mostly I think it will gross everybody else out. The Chamber came into being when Peter the Great wanted to basically get rid of the Russian people’s superstitious beliefs about monsters (so I read) by proving to them that scary things exist in nature and biology, and therefore, theres nothing really to be afraid of (was that what his goal was? Huh). Anyways, during his reign he drafted a bill encouraging Russians throughout his empire to collect rare, bizarre oddities, and the majority of these rare, bizarre oddities just happened to take the shape of deformed fetuses. In the chamber, there are jars upon jars of fetuses with either two heads, fused legs, squashed limbs, no limbs, harelip, no lips, oversized heads, parts of their siamese twin attached, all the above, etc... And that’s only the beginning. You’re drawn to these small, white masses in jars that are filled with yellowish, green liquid at first, but after a while, you don’t want to look at them anymore. They are so disturbing, and Jackie and I understood very shortly after we entered the Chamber why our friend Meg told us not to go there on a full stomach. I didn’t get nauseous, but my stomach definitely started to knot. I feel bad saying this because these fetuses were human at some point and whatnot, but some of them were absolutely disgusting. I realize that sounds harsh, but it's honestly how I felt. At times I noticed my hands were clasped tightly together or that my hand would unconsciously rise to cover my mouth. I also did those random whole body shivers every once in a while (JUST GOTTA SHAKE IT OFF). 

In addition to these fetuses, there were also skeletons of a newborn, a  7 year old child, and a giant who just happened to be Peter the Great’s footman (of course Peter the Great would hire a legit giant to be his footman!). Additionally, we saw various body parts in jars, including heads, a forearm and right hand with skin and bone still intact, the skeleton of a double headed calf, a chicken with four legs in a jar, turtles in a jar, snakes in a jar, (more animals in jars), Peter the Great’s footman’s heart, a baby’s heart and lungs, part of a guy’s cranium, a complete set of teeth (extracted by Peter the Great himself), an amputation tool set, shells, starfish, a stuffed opossum, and some random butterflies. That’s all that comes to mind for now, but don’t worry, we were not allowed to take pictures. 

I am still learning about all of Peter the Great’s accomplishments. That guy did a ton, if not the most that anybody has ever done for Russia, and he was undoubtedly brilliant and daring. Nevertheless, if I learned anything about Peter today that I wasn’t already 100% sure of before, it is that Peter the Great was one sick son of a bitch. 

Thankfully we had more anthropological exhibits to see after the Chamber, and by the time we left the museum our appetites had returned and we were ready for lunch. We took a bus back to the area around the Vasileostrovskaya metro station where we found the Soviet Cafe for lunch. The interior of the Soviet Cafe is designed to look exactly how a house or apartment would look like under the Soviet Union. My guess is during the 50s, to be more specific. The wall paper is somewhat floral and white, there are old fashioned box TVs everywhere, and there are old photographs and newspaper headlines hanging in frames on the walls. It was wicked cool! We picked our food from the special lunch menu, and I ended up getting a something with ham salad, shi soup (lots of cabbage), and spaghetti carbonara. It was all delicious, and I left the cafe, and the 50s, feeling full. 

Today is my host dad’s birthday, so after we left the cafe we went in search of a small gift for him. I don’t know Alexander Grigorevich well at all, and I just found out about his birthday yesterday, so my expectations for finding him a super awesome gift were not that high. After a while of going in and out of stores that looked like they could possible have something gift-worthy (there was one random store that had some loreal men’s product with Patrick Dempsey’s face on it teehee), Jackie and I ended up shopping for ourselves. We found a really cool bookstore which I will remember to come back to. There were touristy flasks, magnets, chocolates, and calendars, but I didn’t end up getting anything for myself (too much pressure!). In the end, I bought Alexander a birthday card and some chocolate, and he thanked me multiple times for it. I also found out yesterday that Nina Vasilievna’s birthday is in May, so I have much more time to think of what to get her... 

When we got done shopping, I went to the gym and then came back home. I knew that Nina Vasilievna and Alexander Grigorevich were having their son, Nikita, and his girlfriend over for the birthday dinner, so I was a little nervous. I love meeting new people, but meeting new people in a foreign language is NOT my forte. Getting to know people at all when I can't express myself in a foreign language really sucks. I almost told my host parents the other day at dinner how sometimes I wish they understood English; not because it would make communicating easier, but because they would know what my personality is like. I'm sure they have somewhat of an idea already, but I can't say Liv things with them (perhaps this is a good thing). They don't really know who I am, and sometimes I get mad because they only know me as some ignorant young girl who can only express herself in broken, incorrect Russian. 

Anyways, I had no choice but to meet Nikita and his girlfriend. I waited until I was called for dinner before leaving my room, and when I entered the kitchen/dining room I did so in my normal tshirt, sweatpants combo (in Russia, you are expected to change into a more relaxed, pj-style outfit once you get home from work/school; "street clothes" are considered dirty). Needless to say, I should have put on a nice shirt (it's a BIRTHDAY DINNER, Liv, what was going through your head?). Nina Vasilievna was wearing a nice button down and slacks, and Alexander was also wearing a button down, but he still wore his track suit pants thankfully. Nikita had on a t-shirt and jeans (phew), but his girlfriend had a cocktail dress on. I felt underdressed, like I always do at these sort of things, and I asked myself why I was in my champion navy sweatpants and purple vneck tshirt all throughout dinner. Why, Liv why! 

Nevertheless, the feast set out for us tonight was colorful and fit for celebration. There was a cucumber salad with yellow peppers and tomatoes (and lots of dill), plov (kind of like rice pilaf with onions and chicken), chicken cutlets and potatoes (with more dill), some fish with onions (I tried a bit and immediately refused any more), and of course, homemade Georgian wine. I had seconds and thirds of each dish, and I lost track of how many cheers and shots of Georgian wine we had (excuse all my typos and sloppy sentences ;). The food was all really yummy, as usual, and I am currently in my bed spread out like a fat elephant seal on a sunny day. 

Luckily, Nina Vasilievna and Alexander Grigorevich were so busy catching up with their son that I was not addressed or asked very many questions at all, and that was more than fine with me. I was simply happy to be sitting there, listening to all these Russian voices ramble on at full speed ahead. Of course I didn't understand much, just tidbits of conversation here and there. Something about money and apartments, then something about the metro, then something about some Natasha. Blah, blah, blah. Regardlessly, it didn't take long for the Georgian wine to affect me, and before I knew it, I was laughing at things I didn't understand. 

Throughout dinner, everybody rotated giving cheers to Alexander. Thank god I picked up on that, because when they asked me if I had anything to say I was somewhat ready for it. Feeling a little more confident, a little more "eyyy why the hell not!" I lead our last cheer. I firstly apologized for being in a t-shirt. After that, I said that I was sorry I couldn't say more sincere words, and that I was still learning Russian. I am very happy to be here, I continued, and I think that you (Nina and Alexander) are very good Russian parents. Thank you very, very much (except take that and make it sound awful)! Even so, they seemed pleased, and I was proud I managed to say something coherent. 

When we finished with the real food we moved onto the banana chocolate cake, and Nina Vasilievna made us all tea (I LOVE that they drink so much tea here!). When Nikita and his girlfriend left, I said that it was nice to meet you and goodbye. While they were all saying goodbye in the foyer, I loaded dishes in the sink and sneakily finished the rest of Nikita's girlfriends uneaten cake (no shame). Nikita's girlfriend may be able to communicake (haah! that was a typo but I'm going to keep it :) with his parents, but I ate and drank SO much more than she did that I must have stood my own ground against this young Russian woman on some level. Did that last sentence make any sense whatsoever? No, Liv, it did not.