Русские мужчини любят меня

Russian men love me.

Sunday, June 26^th

During the week, I’ve been very busy with school. I wake up at 7:30 for breakfast, and I’m out the door a little before 9 to catch either the маршрутка (a bus that travels a specific route, but can be waved down anywhere rather than stopping at predetermined places) or the metro. From there I walk to Smolny cathedral, where we have class in the St. Petersburg State University School of Political Science. It’s not on the main campus of the university; it’s only for American students learning Russian. There are a few other programs in the building, one of which includes my American roommate.

Have I not mentioned her? Let me explain.

I’m fairly certain my хозянка (host mother) is a serial host mother. The finnish woman who was here when I first arrived, who I thought was Inga’s niece? Another exchange student. A few days later, I was surprised to see another blonde girl walk in to have breakfast with me. She’s from University of Arizona, and she’d been on an excursion when I first arrived. Her name is Cara, and she’s only here for another week or so. I’m half expecting another student to come take her place after she leaves.

Anyways. Back to school.

I have 3 para (hour and a half lessons) a day, with a short break between the first two and a longer break for lunch between the second. Depending on the day, I’ll have either грамматика (grammar), разговор (conversation), фонетика (phonetics), кинокурс (film), культура (culture), СМИ (mass communications), or музыка культура (music). We have Wednesdays off though, so that’s nice. We finish sometime after 3 o’clock, though the day seems to fly by. Usually a group of us will go grab a beer or a coffee or even go see Rasputin’s penis at the museum of erotica. That’s exactly what it sounds like. The museum (really just a hallway) has his preserved penis in a jar. No idea why. But it’s there.

Then I go home, grab some internetz at the café around the corner, then either study or go out with Lindsay or Paige for a bit.

So this weekend we decided to go out and rage. Friday I was exhausted, so I stayed in. But Saturday, Lindsay and I went to Nevsky Prospekt at 8:30 to start our night. We grabbed a beer in a bar with our friend Renee and then met with some of the guys. We bought beers in a store, found a spot on the street, and parked ourselves there for some classy public drinking. Technically, that’s illegal. But the police don’t care as long as you’re not obnoxious or drinking liquor, so we didn’t have any problems. More students met us there, and Natalya joined us to lead us to a bar.

The bar we went to was on a rooftop, playing American classic rock and barbecuing on an open grill. We met Natalya’s friend Tim, an Englishmen, who’s Russian made us think he was a native until we heard his English accent. A few beers later we decided we were cold. This was at about 1:30 or 2:00, so the night was still young. We trekked back to the same street we started on and walked up a flight of stairs into a dance club.

More of our group was there, celebrating Clara’s 20^th birthday. After saying hi, and after a very drunk Jim asked me if we were going to go outside and make out (I just laughed), we went to the bar. Which was closed because a topless woman was dancing on it. The guys were all pretty pleased with that, while the girls and I just waited it out. I must admit, it was entertaining. But I was more interested in the beer I still didn’t have. 

When we got our beers, we headed to the dance floor. There, the first Russian men of the night confronted me. A pair of them, friends, asked me where I was from. Drunk and having a good time, we talked for a bit. Then they asked if I had a boyfriend, to which I said yes. They asked where. I said America. They oo’d at me and one pulled me onto the dance floor without another word. Packed in, I looked around to find an American to save me. Clara and Nick came to my rescue, Nick whisking me away to dance and Clara explaining that I was with them. Now, when I say Nick whisked me away to dance, I mean we actually danced. Like, he twirled me, spun me, and dipped me. It was a little weird to do all of that to techno mixes of Billie Jean.

Have I mentioned that the Russians love Michael Jackson? I have heard him, without fail, every night. In coffee shops, clubs, restaurants…everywhere.

After a couple more songs, a few of us headed outside for some air. Clara was laughing at my encounter with the Russians, and we decided the truth about my boyfriend in America wasn’t going to cut it. Joe and I decided to fake date for the night in case I was approached again.

Which, of course, happened. Five minutes later.

Still outside, another Russian came up to tell me I was beautiful and he wanted to give me his number, “in case I had a problem or wanted a good time.” Frantically, I pointed at Joe and said “мой парень! (my boyfriend!)” Joe came forward, trying to look threatening in spite of his drunkenness. It didn’t really work. The Russian simply shortened his case to “in case I had a problem.” I took his number to make him happy, and since I knew I wouldn’t be calling him. When he demanded that I immediately call him so he’d have my number, I reluctantly did. I’ve since blocked his number. Joe then stepped in, nodded, and led me back up the stairs, laughing the whole time.

I’ve no idea what it is about me that has attracted so much interest. This is not the first time I’ve been so aggressively approached, and I’ve yet to hear of anyone else in the program receiving such attention. Before the end of the night, two more Russians expressed interest in me as well, though not as forwardly. Oh well, I’ll just be sticking with the fake boyfriend approach from now on, considering it was the most effective.

At about 5:30, we left to catch the first metro of the morning back home. Lindsay and I once again whined the whole way about how sore our legs were from dancing and how much we wanted to sleep. Today has been very slow, but we had the day to ourselves so I was able to nurse my hangover. Now, it’s time for homework and the soccer game on tv.

What’s that? I didn’t mention that I have a tv in my room? Oh. Well I do.

Пискаревское меморальное кладбище

Yesterday, Wednesday, we went on a bus tour of the city again, ending at Piskarevskoye memorial cemetary. The subject matter was, for lack of a better word, grim. Wednesday, the 21^st of June, was the anniversary of the beginning of WW2 in Russia. No single country during the war suffered more losses or tragedies, a fact that is severely overlooked in American history. So, for your pleasure (and horror), I’m going to tell you a bit about the siege of Leningrad.

A memorial statue

Hitler planned to invade St. Petersburg, then called Leningrad, and have a victory party in one of the more beautiful hotels. The people of Leningrad decided that shit was not going to fly with them, and it certainly did not. Legend says that priests took icons and walked around the city three times, ensuring the Germans wouldn’t cross the city limits. That proved to be true.

For 900 days, roughly two and a half years, the city was completely cut off by German soldiers. A very small amount of residents were evacuated, but most people remained to help protect the city. If there was one thing the Soviets had, it was patriotism. Extremem patriotism. When the city made an ordinance to allow people to chop down trees in the city for firewood, not one tree was felled. Talk about dedication.

During the siege, one of the harshest winters in the last century plagued the city. No food could get into the city. The daily bread rations were, at their smallest, roughly the size of a matchbox. Thousands of people died daily. The worst day saw ten thousand deaths, from cold, bombings, and starvation. Ten. Freaking. Thousand. Can you imagine ten thousand people, half the student population of WSU, dropping dead within twenty four hours? I can’t either.

30 percent of all the buildings in the city were destroyed. Because of that, St. Petersburg isn’t as old as you might think. Luckily, special precautions were taken to protect some of the more historic buildings, such as Peter and Paul fortress (the giant golden spire), The Church of Spilled Blood (the one that looks like Candyland), and the Hermitage.

It is relatively impossible to find a family in the city who didn’t lose a parent or grandparent during that time. Half a million people died. Half a bloody million. Most are now buried in Piskarevskoye. When we reached the cemetary, a hush fell over the group. Joking and laughing moments before, our faces became somber and our hearts broke. Each communal grave, holding thousands of bodies, was a large flat mound, and there were countless. Fresh flowers littered the courtyard in honor of the anniversary. The gravestones were bedecked with flowers and bread, so the dead may have something to eat when they had nothing in life. It was a site I will never forget, and a feeling I never want to experience again. I was sick to my stomach trying to imagine such a senseless tragedy.

The communal graves, one row of them.

American history has nothing in comparison. The Great Depression, Pearl Harbor…nothing compares. The fact that the people willingly went through that hell in order to protect their beloved city makes it all the more awe-inspiring. The Russian soul is truly complex and sad, though they have much to be proud of. If you ever have the chance, this cemetary is a place I think you should see in your life. 

Мои друзья

My friends

Tuesday, June 21

We started our classes today. I placed into the lowest class…oh well. Pride’s not going to do me any good here. And if that’s where I placed, I guess I’ve lost more of the language than I thought. However, in our first class, conversation, I understood everything to the point of feeling like he was dumbing it down for us, though others in the class were fairly confused. The bright side is that our conversation teacher is so hilarious that I don’t think I can get through the hour and a half class without busting into giggles at him scoffing at the light or his crazy gesturing. He also seemed to know that I understood him well, considering he focused on the other students and only asked me if their answers were true or not…like I would somehow know.

But other than classes, nothing too eventful has happened in the past couple days. So, I’ll take the time to tell you all about some of the people I’ve met here.

First, there’s Paige. She’s from Penn State, and we were in the same hotel room during orientation. We also both live on Petrogradskaya Storon, so that’s awfully convenient. She’s a very sweet girl, especially when she got really drunk and giggly on Saturday night…

Next is Sarah. She’s from San Diego and also pretty chill. We’ve gone out together a few times, grabbing McDonalds for nostalgic purposes and riding the metro together. She also knows some good indie music, recognizing Noah and the Whale in H&M yesterday.

Then there’s Nina and Kathi. I met both before the trip via facebook. Nina’s from Jersey and Kathi’s from Tennessee. They’re both in the baby class with me, and they’re both pretty cool, but also quiet.

So, I don’t know if you can tell, but there’s a lot of quiet people I’ve met. If you know anything about me, you know I’m not going to be able to survive with quiet people alone.

So then there’s Joe, David, and Sam. Joe’s from Cali, David’s from…somewhere, and Sam’s from Ohio, though originally England. I think Joe’s the only one in a frat, but they’re all cut from the same cloth. Considering how anti-greek I tend to be, I’m surprised at how well I get along with them. Joe even told me about the channel that shows American cartoons like Archer and King of the Hill dubbed in Russian. Sam definitely looks like Seth Cohen, and his uncomfortable facial expression has been the subject of many jokes.

Then there’s Jamie, a grad student at University of Michigan, though originally from Evergreen. She’s so passionate about the language that it’s infectious, and she’s so down-to-earth considering how brilliant she is. She hears a word once and remembers it. I wish I had that kind of retention skills.

Jeff, from Dartmouth, is a little bitch. We got our student I.D.s with passport pictures inside, and he just laughed at mine. It’s a pretty heinous picture, and I definitely appreciated the frankness. He’s a fan of muttering to himself about how much things suck, and we’ve done our fair share of shit talking. I like Jeff a lot.

Finally, there’s Lindsay. She’s also from Dartmouth, and she’s a couple years older than me. She lives on my street, conveniently, and we’ve declared ourselves best friends for the summer. We’re in the same class, which we make fun of constantly, we both like to drink beer, but we both want to improve our language skills at the same time. She’s been abroad independantly a lot, living in Germany, Nepal, and Mexico all by herself. We make fun of each other, how much we suck at the language, and other people in the program constantly and loudly, giving me some sanity, considering some people in the program…

The rest of the 50 people, for the most part, are kind of douchy (that’s not everyone though. There are a lot of cool people I haven’t gotten around to really meeting yet). A lot of people are really full of themselves or have a stick so far up their ass I find it hard to believe they can walk straight. For example, after our joke of a scavenger hunt on Sunday (I’m still pissed about that. Joe and I were saying that day got our metro faces down because we were so upset), one girl cried because her team lost. Cried. The prize was a free movie. She CRIED over that. Pardon my french, but what the fuck is up with that? If you go to a foreign country for the summer and cry over losing a scavenger hunt, you really neet to get your priorities straight. There are plenty of reasons to cry. That is not one of them.

Another girl is from Berkeley, and she has the worst valley girl voice you could possibly imagine. When we first met, I thought I would look past it, because I didn’t come to Russia to judge people (that was supposed to be ironic, considering what I’m doing now. But whatever). But her constant chatter about herself and what she “knows” everyone thinks about her drives me up the wall. Yesterday, she told me that “I think everyone in the group is going to remember me as the girl that’s really nice about everything, but likes to drink a lot.” What does that even mean? I’ve seen her drink 3 beers. I remember the number because she made sure everyone noticed when she had them. Whatever, I’m pretty sure Lindsay or I could drink her under the table. I’d bet on Lindsay though…considering she could drink me three times under. Those Dartmouth kids don’t mess around.

So that’s all for now. Tonight Lindsay and I are meeting our local friend Natasha for some drinks, and tomorrow we have another bus tour. 

Getting to know St. Petersburg

Saturday, June 18^th

I’ve realized that I need to start dating these entries. Because of my lack of internet access at home, I tend to write these out in a word document then post them when I can make it to an internet café (a coffee shop that offers free wifi with a purchase, or something similar). So, sometimes when I say today I really mean yesterday.

Also, this entry comes before the one I posted about the Red Sails…but that story had to be told. This does too, but not right away. However, I did get some serious knowledge from this first day in my homestay…so I think it’s important.

Anyways. On to the good stuff.

I woke up with some serious stomach pain, and I was nauseous all through the night. I think the change in diet is really starting to get to me. Not only are all the foods different, but my meat intake has gone up by about…one trillion percent. I eat it with every meal. I know…you don’t believe me. But I think my body’s having a similar reaction to most vegetarians’ when they start eating meat…freaking out. Not that I’m a vegetarian. I just don’t like meat. But, as I don’t think that would fly in Russia, I suck it up. And as the memory of half of a million people dying of starvation during the siege of Leningrad is still alive in the population, I sure as hell don’t leave anything left on my plate.

So at breakfast I told my host mother, Inga, over my eggs in a basket that my stomach hurt. She snatched my yogurt away, gave me more bread with cheese, and two pills that would calm my stomach. There was no “how does it hurt?” or “do you want anything for it?” There was just her taking action. But the pills helped, and she gave me more for tonight and tomorrow morning. In other words, Inga’s pretty dope.

After breakfast, Inga and I trekked to the metro to meet the group for a city bus tour. As in the Russian fashion, Inga donned a lacy tank top, a wool cardigan, and 3-inch wedges. Russian women dress up to do absolutely everything…to go to work, to go to the store, to take out the trash… They always want to look their best. And they do. The women here are gorgeous, and I feel like a frumpy douche. I think that’s how they spot us Americans so easily. We smile on the street and dress like hobos.

So, back to the metro. A token costs 25 rubles, or about a dollar American. After going through the turnstile, you get on the escalator. Now…I’m not afraid of heights like the rest of my family, but my stomach shot straight up into my throat when I looked down. Because St. Petersburg is built on a swamp (great economic and political location. Terrible in all other ways), the metro had to be built really far underground. Like, almost a mile underground. So the escalator, basically a sheer cliff face, takes almost 4 minutes to ride. Doesn’t sound like much, until you consider the escalators at the mall take about 30 seconds at most. When you first get on, you can’t even see how far down the low-ceilinged tunnel goes. I would take a picture for you all, but the metro can be a dangerous place to draw attention to one’s foreigness…pick pocketing is a serious problem in the city. We’re told to try to only speak Russian in the metro and really maintain our metro faces, hence the name.

After riding the metro, we got to a gorgeous cathedral to meet the group and I hopped on the bus. Our tour took about 2 and a half hours, even though we couldn’t stop anywhere because of traffic. I paid attention for the first half…then started spacing out. After the tour, in which we saw the best of St. Petersburg both historically and aesthetically, we went to Teremok for lunch. Teremok is Russian fast food, and their specialty is blinny. Blinny are thin pancakes, sort of like crepes, but they roll them with everything from cheese to berries and cream to caviar. I could really get used to that kind of fast food, let me tell you.

After the planned events, my 13-year-old host sister Lena met me at the metro station and escorted me back (I’m getting picked up by a 13-year-old. Talk about humbling). I’ve only been taking it for a day or two, but I already feel like an old hand at the metro. The high escalators, the pissed off faces, the pushy crowds, and the complicated stations, so daunting just a day or two ago, are now part of my daily life.

Then I took a nap in preparation for the festivities of the night…but I’ve already told you all about that. The next challenge lies in the actual classes starting this week.

Алые Паруса!!!

The Red Sails!!!

This is a city-wide, city-sponsored celebration of the graduates of secondary school. Remember how when we graduated high school, we had parties, and Kamiak kids went on helicopter rides?

We have nothing on this.

Nothing at all.

We decided to go out and see this phenomena for our first night on the town. I told Inga I would be home very late, and she simply shrugged and smiled, like she knew what awaited us.

Our student manager, Jarlath, told us his band was playing a show in an Irish style pub that night, starting at 10. We decided to begin the night there, as the timing was perfect and we all wanted to see if Jarlath could actually rock out. Also, the bar is very close to the center for the Red Sails celebration, so we could leave and join in whenever we wanted.

Me, Lindsay, Paige, and Sarah had a tough time starting out. After getting lost on the way to the metro and lost on the way to the bar, we finally found our way. The bar was packed, but we somehow managed to order beers in broken Russian. We headed to the back with our fellow students to see Jarlath. He was wearing a sweatband. Eighties style. His hair was sticking straight up. I can no longer take him seriously at all.

Lindsay and I laughed, and decided to find a table in the front of the bar so we could chat instead. Kathi and Paige joined us soon after. I wanted to take a picture, and the local woman sitting next to us offered. She introduced herself as Natasha, and we started talking about our trip. She was very helpful with our Russian, teaching us how to order more beers and such, laughing at our mistakes, but never at us. We were totally smitten with her.

A few hours later, a few cigarettes later (we got to smoke inside. How could I resist?), a few beers later, and we started to head outside. The streets were packed with people the whole night. From the moment we arrived in downtown to our walk home, no cars could drive through because of the crowds. Broken bottles, clothing, and questionable materials littered the streets. Teens drunk on freedom and too much vodka shouted and laughed, singing songs and being rowdy. However, we never felt unsafe or in trouble. That could be because we stayed together…but to go out in all that mayhem alone would be terrifying.

We stayed close to the bar mostly because of the beer. Jarlath’s band was still playing, and we could tell he was indulging a bit too much, but weren’t we all? Soon fireworks started to light up the already light sky, and we cheered with the rest of the crowds. We met many people in the bar…other study abroad students visiting from Moscow, businessmen from Denmark, and several Russian women who were more than happy to give us pointers…and hit on the American men of course.

At 3 a.m. the bar began to close. They locked us out while I still had a glass, so I finished my beer and smashed it. Naturally. We began to make our way through the streets with the crowd, looking for another bar to pass the time before the metro opened. You see, most of our group lives on an island in the city, petrogradskaya storon. At night, the drawbridges are raised, and the metro is the only way home. However, the metro closes at 12. So if you miss it, you have to wait until it opens in the morning. However, Russian parties start later and last longer, so this isn’t too much of an inconvenience.Also, that day it opened earlier, at 4, so we only had 2 hours to kill. Down an alley, we heard techno blasting from a club. Rusko, to be exact. A few Russian men were dancing in a circle, and we stopped to watch. Joe and John even joined in. No one was a particularly good dancer…but it was still pretty awesome nonetheless.

We kept wandering, trying to find a coffee shop or somewhere to sit down. My feet were killing me, since I made the mistake of dressing like a Russian in heels. But we pressed on nonetheless, still somewhat awake thanks to the beliye nochi, or white nights. With that much sunlight, your body naturally adjusts to less sleep. I’m pretty sure the jetlag had something to do with it too. Natasha took us to an alley and down some stairs into a red room where a pretty sick and uncrowded club awaited us. The dj was timing the techno to the Clint Eastwood spaghetti western playing on the big screen television…don’t ask me to explain. I’ve got nothing. But it was actually kind of trippy to watch.

After Lindsay had her cup of coffee, we decided to brave the crowded metro. We said goodbye to Natasha, who we hope to see again soon, and walked towards the nearest entrance. In the train, a man wrapped in a Russian flag started chatting me up. Neither my metro face nor my prepared buzz off phrases worked, but he was harmless and our ride was short. Lindsay and I limped to the street both our apartments are on in the growing light, moaning about the fact we had to be back on Nevsky Prospect in 5 hours for a scavenger hunt. Which, for the record, was just as miserable as it sounds.

But, I wouldn’t trade that night for a more comfortable day. It was amazing, and completely mind-blowing. America’s really got to look into partying like that. 

Моя квартира красивая!

My apartment is beautiful!

Today, I again woke up at about 5:30 a.m. to find I was still unable to get enough sleep. Once again, we sat through orientation sessions for most of the day. During the section on cultural differences, I found that I’ve been raised to be more like a Russian than I thought. My family complains, though we don’t really mind what we complain about. We’re frank about a lot of things many people in America are uncomfortable with, and we definitely have a thick skin.

There were a few specific stereotypes about Russians that were explained in very understandable terms. Like how Russians don’t smile on the street. Their logic is that if you don’t know someone, why would you smile at them? They see Americans who smile at everyone they see as fake. To Russians, a smile means something special, something more than a display of politeness. To me, at least, that makes sense.

What might be the consequence of smiling at a Russian on the street? Well, this morning, as my roommate Paige and I walked along the street to a café for internet access, we were chatting and laughing. I was wearing my sunglasses, making it impossible for other passerby to see where I was looking. Pretty soon, a Russian man beelined for me, asking me my name and where I was going so early. I put my metro face on (a mixture of tired and pissed that Russians display in public) and walked past without a word, and thank god he didn’t follow me. He thought I had smiled at him, which to him meant that I was romantically interested. I was lucky that he didn’t pursue me any further, as I’ve heard Russian men are known to do.

But moving on from the culture crash course…After another day of sitting in a cold room and listening to Jarlath and Katya, our student advisors, we got our bags, hopped in various buses depending on where our homestays are located, and headed out to meet them. All I knew of my host family was that it is a family of 5: a mother, husband, daughter, son, and aunt…plus a chinchilla! How adorable is that? But at any rate, a family of that size is unusual for most of the host families. Most consist of a mother and perhaps another relative and a pet of some sort. So I was anxious to see what state the apartment was in. Would it be tiny, with many people sharing a room? I knew I was guaranteed a room, and I didn’t want to displace so many others into a single room. I also knew that I am in Russia…and Russian apartments, though cozy, are expensive and small.

On the bus, I got a bit carsick from the heat, humidity, sleep deprivation, travelling…all that good stuff. It was disappointing to drive by the Hermitage, various cathedrals, and other intricate and beautiful buildings and only care about keeping my stomach’s contents in their place. But nothing too eventful happened, and when I stepped out of the bus onto the street I immediately felt better. Though I’m still not at 100 percent. My host mother, Inga, greeted me outside. She led me into a brick building and took my bags up in the tiny elevator to the fifth floor. When I say tiny, I mean only she could physically fit in it. I had to walk up the stairs. But when she opened the door, I found myself in a breathtakingly gorgeous apartment, with wood floors, high ceilings, a jacuzzi, heated bathroom floors, a few televisions, and many other luxuries that I don’t enjoy even at my beautiful home in America. What Jarlath had said about the exterior of buildings being less than attractive while the apartments were cozy proved to be more true than I imagined. I seriously can’t believe I get to live in this absolutely jawdropping apartment for the summer!

My sweet room

The view from my room

But Inga, her son, and a woman I believe is her niece were there. She said something about her husband’s whereabouts that I didn’t fully understand (one of many things) and her daughter is at their dacha. The niece, from Finland, speaks English better than she speaks Russian, so I’ve had a little help. But, I’m here to learn Russian, so by god I’m going to try to speak it. Inga’s been very helpful, correcting my huge mistakes while letting me get by with smaller ones, all the while praising my language skills. All in all, I couldn’t be happier with my situation!

Добро пожаловат в Pоссию!

Welcome to Russia!

So. I got to the airport for my 1:50 flight to Paris to find it was delayed until 3:50, pushing my flight out pf paris back from 10 a.m. to 4:05 p.m. Not too big of a deal, I just had to call my program officials to let them know I was going to be delayed, not arriving in St. Petersburg until about 10:00 p.m. In fact, she told me another student was delayed onto the same flight with me, so that was all comforting.

A filet with quinoa, brie, bread, and a Heiny. Excellent.

After sitting in the airport for a few hours, I finally got on my Air France flight, where I was served complimentary Heineken, and some pretty decent food. After 2 Heinekens and 2 tylenol pms, I thought I was totally ready to conk out for most of this 10 hour flight. When I woke up 2 hours later, I realized that nothing was going to make me sleep well on that packed flight with tiny seats, so I watched a few movies and tried to doze.

I was told that in Paris, most people would speak English in the airport, so finding my next gate would be easy. TheEnglish speakers were evidently not in the part of the airport I was in. All I could do was point to my ticket and look sad and lost. But it worked, I found the gate, and even found 2 fellow program participants to chat with during the 5 hour layover.

Anyways. Enough about my travel. I’m sure it’s terribly interesting, but I’m going to have to move on. I landed in St. Petersburg at 10:00 p.m., and the sun looked as if it was late afternoon. You see, St. Petersburg is in the arctic circle, so for a few weeks around the summer solstice, the sun barely sets. Russians call this the white nights, and they were indeed white. It’s been a little hard to sleep and to tell the time, when 2:30 a.m. looks very much like any other time of day, but it’s also kind of super duper awesome. So, I’ll live.

The view out of our hotel room. At 2:30 a.m.

We were greeted at the airport by the Irina’s, two administrators in the program, who immediately started speaking to us in Russian. John, one of my flightmates, was on the ball with responses. I just smiled and said “da” a few times. Two years out of Russian classes have certainly taken their toll.

Then we were driven to the hotel by a Russian student volunteer in his van with one Irina. There were seat belts, but nowhere to plug them in, so we stayed unbuckled. That was probably the worst car ride in the history of my life to be unbuckled for, and it barely lasted ten minutes. Russians drive like complete maniacs! He passed two cars going 50 mph on a one-lane freeway on ramp. I thought I was going to die. Did I mention that one of those cars was a cop, who didn’t pursue us in the least? Oh, I didn’t? Well. There’s Russia for you.

We got to the hotel, the Park Inn, and after being iintroduced to the other officials, I called home, found my room, and passed out. Keep in mind I’d slept about 2 hours in the past 36. And even then I found it hard to sleep. To say I was a tad bit nervous is the understatement of the year. My roommate and I were both up at 5:30 the next day, and went out to get some bottled water and toiletries at a little shop around the corner. The seattlite in me is a tad ashamed to admit that I did bring and use an umbrella…but when in Rome! Or St. Petersburg. Whatever. You know the phrase.

At 7 we went to a buffet style breakfast, and all day we sat in orientation sessions broken up by more meals like that. All these orientation sessions did was to sufficiently give everyone in the room pretty severe anxiety, but we did learn some useful tips, like how to get rid of a “sketchy Russian dude” at a club after he approaches you because he thought your smile meant that you wanted to get down and dirty with him.

Then we went walking around the city a bit, looked at the metro, bought phones, and all that fun stuff. Today, after more orientations, we get dropped off with our host families. I’m planning on meeting a family of 5, a mother, husband, two teens, an aunt, and a chinchilla! I think I’m most excited for the chinchilla. At any rate, by tomorrow I should have more reliable, or at least frequent access to the internet, so these posts will be more frequent and less drawn out. At any rate, this weekend will be eventful to say the least!

Ну, пора турист!

This translates to, roughly, “well, it’s time to go traveller!” And indeed, that time has come. My bags have been painstakingly packed, my language skills have been rigorously revisited, and my anxiety has been carefully contained.

But despite the fact that I have been mentally preparing for this trip since my freshman year of college, I am absolutely and completely terrified. Terrified not of being thrown in a Russian prison or being kidnapped and sold into human trafficking, or anything typical like that. I’m more terrified that I’m going to have the worst language skills of the group; terrified that I’ll be delayed en route to St. Petersburg, which will screw up the whole arrangement through the program; terrified that I’m going to somehow totally offend my host family without even knowing it. Basically, totally terrified about everything that I’ve actually studied in preparation for this trip. But, I suppose that’s part of the adventure: swallowing the fear and pressing on in spite of it. So, I’ll swallow my fear and move on tomorrow.

The past few days have been a whirlwind of random errands, laundry, dogsitting, and trying to see people before I leave. I’ve been…somewhat successful, and I apologize to anyone I missed in all that chaos.



Me and my shiny new passport/visa! Taking a picture of the actual visa would be kind of a bad idea...so I've heard...




Halfway through packing, I took over the living room without asking


All the worldly possessions I'm taking, packed into these three little bags...

My first flight leaves at 1:50 p.m., and I’ll arrive ten hours later at around 9 a.m. in Paris, France. Then I have just a one hour layover before my five hour flight to St. Petersburg. When I arrive at 3 p.m., I’ll be greeted by program officials and shuttled to a hotel just outside of the city for a two-day orientation.

I'm ready to disembark! Well...I think I'm ready. I hope I'm ready. God I hope I'm ready...but I guess it doesn't matter either way. I have no idea what awaits me halfway across the world. All I know is I can't wait to discover it.