Towers

 Picking up where I left off...

On Friday we went to the Kremlin after breakfast. Oh yes. Similar to seeing St. Basil’s the day before, walking along, past and through that red fortress was unreal. I think it would have been more mind-blowing if I actually knew a lot about Moscow’s history, but, I mean, it’s the symbol of Soviet and present day Russia, and it was epic. Inside the Kremlin are a handful of churches, the Tsar canon (I don’t know background), the Tsar bell (I don’t know background), and some official looking buildings (where’s Putin at?). Everything is so medieval. The walls of the churches are filled with images that you’d see on icons, and the lighting is just dark enough to set that old, charming mood. In one church there are tombs of great princes and grand princesses from the 15th and 16th centuries. I wish I had more to say about the Kremlin, but it was all so overwhelming with images that I couldn’t quite understand, and therefore appreciate fully. Still all cool though! 

As we all made our way in clumps to the London Grill, a bunch of us found ourselves in Red Square facing St. Basils. Naturally, we all proceeded to take pictures upon pictures of ourselves in from of the cathedral. I absolutely and shameless overindulged. 

After lunch, a few of us stopped into Krispy Kreme for donuts, which was right next door, and then we broke off into smaller groups to do our own thing. Hunter, Jacob, Adam, Sean, Will and I took the metro with the intent of finding the Bulgakov apartment museum. Mikhail Bulgakov wrote “Master and Margarita,” which is a Soviet satire that involves the Devil’s visit to Moscow. It’s a really popular book, and we read it last fall for my Russian Novel course. Unfortunately, we only had about a week to read it, and I had to blow through it without really taking the time I would have liked to in order to fully understand it. I enjoyed it though, because it’s flat out CRAZY (in terms of the plot and the characters), so I was definitely in favor of seeing the Bulgakov museum. The museum was really just a few rooms (it was originally an apartment, after all), with manuscripts, posters, knick-knacks, and a cafe inside. We didn’t spend much time in there; we simply did a few swoops to see it all, and on our way out we took a few pictures of the statues of a few of the characters from the book which were standing outside the entrance. 

Sticking with the Master and Margarita theme, after we left the museum we walked a few blocks to Patriarch Pond, a little park with a manmade duck pond in the middle of a busy neighborhood, and the setting for the opening chapter of the novel. We all lined ourselves in a row on a hill of grass next to the pond and lied (lay?) on our backs, basking in the sun, for a good 45 minutes. We watched the ducks and swans circle their little duck/swan huts in the middle of the lake and people-watched. When we started to get up and move, we left the pond in search of another park to play frisbee, but we didn’t get too far before deciding to go back to the hostel. The sun had drained us, and we had been walking all day. I was personally overjoyed with the decision, and when we got back to the hostel I curled up under the covers and dozed in and out of the unconscious before it was time to go to dinner. 

After dinner a bunch of us walked to a pub called “Scotland Yard.” I had a scrumptious tequila sunrise that didn’t do anything to me, and then we left for the hostel a few hours later. When we got back we played cards; we played a game called “durak” which translates to “idiot” or “fool” in english. I’m sure there’s a similar version in the states that I was unaware of? Anyways, I had never played before, so of course I was the durak for like the first three rounds before I could pick up on how to play. 

The next day we went to the Tretyakov Gallery, which I enjoyed a ton more than I thought I would. I guess I had anticipated that by being so overwhelmed by all the art at the Hermitage and the Russian Museum in Petersburg that I was going to lack any energy to appreciate the art here, but I was so surprised at all the famous Russian artists and paintings I had seen in the past that were held in the Tretyakov Gallery. For example, I saw probably the most famous portrait of Dostoevsky, the Tree Bogatrys, and that stunning painting of Ivan the Terrible holding his son, whom he had just murdered. There were so many moments when I turned one of the corners of a hall and found myself in front of some painting I had seen a bagillion times in my textbook or on the internet. Oh! There’s Chekhov! I just saw you on Pintrest yesterday! Oh! There’s Valentin Serov’s “Girl with Peaches”! I wrote an essay on you about a month ago! But of course, like the freak that I am, there was one painting I had been hunting for throughout my time in the gallery. I was searching for a Serov painting of my dear Tsar, and I just about cockadoodledooed when I finally caught a glimpse of it. Hollaaaaaaa.

After lunch, a bunch of us took the metro countless stops away to a souvenir market, where I bought a few things. There were a handful of lines of stands full of Soviet pins, army knives, shot glasses, nesting dolls, scarves, painted eggs, wooden spoons, paintings, etc... I literally could have spent hours there, but we were in a big group and we naturally came together after a while to head out. I would have come out with a lot more things had the vendors not come after me like vultures. I know I’m a very naive, vulnerable (wow... is there a reason why the word “vulnerable” and “vultures” look the same? I swear to you that I am not high) tourist, but I swear, if you come up to me and start talking to me and put the SLIGHTEST pressure on me I’m outta there. I can’t handle people selling me things. I feel terribly bad when I refuse, not to mention the fact that virtually anyone could sell me anything. No, that’s a lie what am I talking about. I’m terribly stingy. 

Having a little time to kill before dinner, we took the metro around the brown circle line to VDNKn, where the all union exhibition center is located. What does that mean exactly? Well, there are lots of statues of your typical Soviet man and woman, as well as famous individuals positioned around this park which revolves around a giant statue to Soviet space successes. It was pretty cool actually, minus the fact that Soviet communism and propaganda of any sort makes me want to gag. Bleh. 

Before we knew it, it was time to go. Time to go to dinner, time to go back home to Petersburg. After dinner we got ice cream at BK and then made our way to the train station, where we boarded our night train. It was weird to arrive back in Petersburg the next morning, for it felt refreshing like I was returning home. I enjoyed my time in Moscow, but it felt so nice to come back to the city in Russia I know best. 

Ohh I don’t want to go back home! It’s official. I’ve become so used to this little place I’ve carved for myself here. I’m surrounded by amazing friends, my classes aren’t challenging, my host mom takes care of me, the ruble makes everything so much cheaper, I’m cozy inside my little history wonderland, and I’m far away from the problems I bolted away from when I boarded my flight to St. Petersburg at the end of January. Do I really want to stay here, or do I just want to prolong my return to reality? Probably both, but I don’t know. I hate change, and I feel like throwing a temper tantrum because it’s already May 6th. I can’t leave! What am I going to do without the people I see everyday? What’s going to happen to this sense of independence I’m gained? What am I going to do without being constantly distracted by the freshness and grandeur of everything all the time? 

More importantly, how the hell am I going to be able to return to Conn. I remember this one incident that took place in the fall of my sophomore year that has been replaying itself in my mind more often lately. I was at a party in Freeman, and I went to the bathroom to pee. When I got into the bathroom, there were two girls there in their party-going outfits with drinks in their hands. One of the girls was almost shouting, almost crying, almost laughing to the other one, ranting about how going abroad and coming back to college life has been so challenging. I just remember how stunned I was at how utterly dramatic it all seemed to me. Obviously all members of this interaction including myself were intoxicated, so I was being normal, drunk Liv, and probably over-exaggerating everything (it was probably a very heartfelt, normal conversation). In any case, I got back to the room I was in and laughed outrageously about what I had just interrupted in the bathroom. In retrospect, HOW DARE I judge them? Perhaps it was indeed funny and they were being silly, but I am totally going to sloppily and drunkenly cry to my friends about what happened to me while I was in Russia this upcoming year. Dear god I’m going to be a mess! I think one of the hardest parts will be reintegrating myself into a place that’s a) not a city of 5 million and b) that’s really only filled with 18-23 year olds. I’m constantly surrounded by people of all ages here, or at least I interact with them more than I would at Conn. I’m going to miss all the culture. All the random strangers I see in the metro. All the museums. All the buildings. All the stray dogs on Galernaya ulitsa. All the bridges. All the carefree nights. All the cyrillic. I’m going to miss my host mom, and I’m going to miss speaking Russian. I can’t bare the idea of forgetting all that I’ve learned. 

God damn, I can’t bare the idea of a lot of things. On the bright side, I do have a month and two days left to soak it all up before I fly home. This Thursday Sean, Adam and I are taking a bus to Tallinn, Estonia, where we’ll be for a full day before we take a ferry from Tallinn to Helsinki, where we’ll be until Sunday. I’m excited to get some traveling in, but I’m bummed I’m missing Victory Day in SPB. It seems like there will be a lot of cool parades and whatnot... OH WELL.