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.