...on the previous post:
"When I was in Russia years ago we went camping in what appeared to be a secluded and untouched area. It was when we finally sat down to eat that I saw that all of Russia is covered in a fine film of condoms and beer bottles."
-my roommate, Elise
Monday, April 27, 2009
It's finally gotten nice enough here for me to do something unprecedented: run outside. While the predominant colors of grass/nature are still brown and gray, the sun was shining and it was a balmy 60º. In other words, as close to perfect as it was going to get.
I chose to run along the Gulf of Finland, figuring it would afford scenic views and a break from the pavement. I was 3/4 right: instead of pavement, I ran on dirt, broken glass, and old trash. And the view was scenic as long as I looked out, at the Gulf, instead of down. I ran through a playground in no ways suitable for children (here, too, the broken glass persisted) and on a "path" along the Gulf. As I was running, I noticed that I was getting stares
because I was a) a girl wearing a gross old tshirt (as opposed to a fashionable Nike tank top) b) I was a girl running and c) I was a girl wearing shorts (as opposed to fashionable leggings).** Notice a theme?
It made me think about sexism in Russia. After Turkey, which has one of the most sexist cultures I have ever observed, Russia seemed like a relief. But sexism and paternalism still persist. At the soup kitchen, we stop at various cafes to refill on food. I'm not allowed to help carry the new tubs of soup, or even the bread, out to the van; this job is reserved for the men. In my poli sci class of 6 students, the (male) professor adores the one boy in the class, while the 5 remaining girls all blend together as one.
I'd like to believe that, as in other male-dominated cultures, women have some hidden power. But is this really true here? Women for the most part dress like whores until the age of 50, and to what end? I guess feminism, like capitalism, has made its way to Russia, and it may even be further along than capitalism. But that doesn't mean its completely settled yet.
**only 2 or so of you will understand this, but as I was writing that last sentence, I considered how much easier it would have been to just say бегающая девушка, etc. Has Russian grammar really taken over my life so completely?
I chose to run along the Gulf of Finland, figuring it would afford scenic views and a break from the pavement. I was 3/4 right: instead of pavement, I ran on dirt, broken glass, and old trash. And the view was scenic as long as I looked out, at the Gulf, instead of down. I ran through a playground in no ways suitable for children (here, too, the broken glass persisted) and on a "path" along the Gulf. As I was running, I noticed that I was getting stares
because I was a) a girl wearing a gross old tshirt (as opposed to a fashionable Nike tank top) b) I was a girl running and c) I was a girl wearing shorts (as opposed to fashionable leggings).** Notice a theme?It made me think about sexism in Russia. After Turkey, which has one of the most sexist cultures I have ever observed, Russia seemed like a relief. But sexism and paternalism still persist. At the soup kitchen, we stop at various cafes to refill on food. I'm not allowed to help carry the new tubs of soup, or even the bread, out to the van; this job is reserved for the men. In my poli sci class of 6 students, the (male) professor adores the one boy in the class, while the 5 remaining girls all blend together as one.
(the average Russian woman)
I'd like to believe that, as in other male-dominated cultures, women have some hidden power. But is this really true here? Women for the most part dress like whores until the age of 50, and to what end? I guess feminism, like capitalism, has made its way to Russia, and it may even be further along than capitalism. But that doesn't mean its completely settled yet.**only 2 or so of you will understand this, but as I was writing that last sentence, I considered how much easier it would have been to just say бегающая девушка, etc. Has Russian grammar really taken over my life so completely?
Thursday, April 23, 2009
Another kind of Turkey
After 3 months in Russia, I have finally found a place to get turkey: Subway.
Tuesday, April 21, 2009
За Родину! (Тo the Мotherland)
The bus ride to Helsinki took about 7.5 hours. Had we not included the frequent cigarette breaks, it probably would have taken 6. And without the border crossing, 5.
The first sign of remiss was at Russian passport control. One of the girls in our group, Radhika, didn't look enough like her passport picture for the border guard. After 15 minutes of questioning, the guards finally decided that she was not in fact a Russian trying to sneak out under the guise of an American student going to Istanbul for "spring break" and let her through. We ambitiously decided to celebrate leaving behind the Motherland with a 100 ruble ($3) bottle of champagne purchased at the duty free store in no-man's-land and popped it immediately following the Finnish border crossing. This celebration turned out to be too ambitious.
After arriving in Helsinki at 5:30 am, we were too lazy and tired to actually see any of the city, so we sat in a cafe for several hours and took in as much as we could from there, most notably, a parade:
Sitting in the cafe also gave us the opportunity to enjoy civilization: clean bathrooms, polite waiters, real coffee, and sandwiches with two slices of bread rather than just one.
Next stop: Helsinki airport. It became apparent that our celebration was premature when our 1 pm flight was delayed until 5 for mechanical reasons. As the delay was lengthened and lengthened, we realized that there was only one explanation for this: we had angered Mother Russia in our celebration of leaving her. And the solution? More duty free alcohol. This time we drank за родину (to the Motherland) in an effort to reverse our luck and were able to depart a mere 12 hours behind schedule.
The first sign of remiss was at Russian passport control. One of the girls in our group, Radhika, didn't look enough like her passport picture for the border guard. After 15 minutes of questioning, the guards finally decided that she was not in fact a Russian trying to sneak out under the guise of an American student going to Istanbul for "spring break" and let her through. We ambitiously decided to celebrate leaving behind the Motherland with a 100 ruble ($3) bottle of champagne purchased at the duty free store in no-man's-land and popped it immediately following the Finnish border crossing. This celebration turned out to be too ambitious.
After arriving in Helsinki at 5:30 am, we were too lazy and tired to actually see any of the city, so we sat in a cafe for several hours and took in as much as we could from there, most notably, a parade:
Sitting in the cafe also gave us the opportunity to enjoy civilization: clean bathrooms, polite waiters, real coffee, and sandwiches with two slices of bread rather than just one.Next stop: Helsinki airport. It became apparent that our celebration was premature when our 1 pm flight was delayed until 5 for mechanical reasons. As the delay was lengthened and lengthened, we realized that there was only one explanation for this: we had angered Mother Russia in our celebration of leaving her. And the solution? More duty free alcohol. This time we drank за родину (to the Motherland) in an effort to reverse our luck and were able to depart a mere 12 hours behind schedule.
I lost my v-card, can I have yours?
In stereotypical communist fashion, our semester is 17 weeks long and doesn't include a spring break. So we decided to skip class for a week and take one anyway. The destination: Istanbul.
Flying out of Helsinki rather than St. P was much cheaper, and all we had to do was take an overnight bus from a hotel on Nevsky to the train station in Helsinki. I had been worried that it would be difficult to find the bus but had forgotten that in Russia, if anyone wants to sell something (tickets, food, used clothing), they will find out. Immediately upon leaving the metro station, we were mobbed by seven sellers, all thrusting their Helsinki signs in our face. So Obstacle 1: find the bus, was complete. This gave me some time to wander around, during which I went into a copy center to use the bathroom, and stumbled upon what I could only consider a good omen:
a V-card holder! I know just the person to give this to.
Flying out of Helsinki rather than St. P was much cheaper, and all we had to do was take an overnight bus from a hotel on Nevsky to the train station in Helsinki. I had been worried that it would be difficult to find the bus but had forgotten that in Russia, if anyone wants to sell something (tickets, food, used clothing), they will find out. Immediately upon leaving the metro station, we were mobbed by seven sellers, all thrusting their Helsinki signs in our face. So Obstacle 1: find the bus, was complete. This gave me some time to wander around, during which I went into a copy center to use the bathroom, and stumbled upon what I could only consider a good omen:
a V-card holder! I know just the person to give this to.
Monday, April 13, 2009
I need a new hobby.
We spent last weekend in Novgorod, a strangely cute town (ugly buildings, interesting layout). Upon our arrival, we were immediately carted off to begin a tour of the Kremlin, the center of the town. Our tour guide was long-winded and spoke slowly, but our boredom and disgust quickly turned to delight as we noticed the people around us: men and women dressed up in medieval clothing. After further examination, it became clear that these people were not hired by the town and were not dressed as such for money. Rather, they walked around the Kremlin, posed against statues and in various "medieval" positions, and took pictures of each other. Best. Hobby. Ever.
The above picture doesn't quite do their outfits justice, so here are some close-up images:
Note the medieval cell phone.
Note the medieval cell phone.
Monday, April 6, 2009
RIP кто-то (or is it кто-нибудь?)
Walking home from the gym several days ago, I almost literally stumbled across a rather horrifying sight: a huge puddle of blood, over which were strewn red and white carnations and two hats. Since then, I have been noting the daily changes made to this little monument.
The next day, it had rained, so the blood had streamed down the sidewalk onto the street. Although cars generally park all along this sidewalk, this spot had been left empty as a sort of testament to whatever massacre had occurred the day before.
The following day, someone had placed several rocks around the site. After that, more rocks were added and a full circle, complete with a cross in the middle, surrounded the area. The blood had almost completely disappeared, but the hats and carnations remained.
Most recently, people have begun to leave small trinkets, sort of as they do at the site of a highway accident. Instead of flowers and pictures, however, I saw the following when I passed by today: two small koala bears, three lighters, money, a cigarette, and a plastic cup full of beer. It's still unclear as to whether the beer was meant as a gift to the departed, or whether a drunk simply put it down in a convenient resting spot as he peed on a nearby car.
The next day, it had rained, so the blood had streamed down the sidewalk onto the street. Although cars generally park all along this sidewalk, this spot had been left empty as a sort of testament to whatever massacre had occurred the day before.
The following day, someone had placed several rocks around the site. After that, more rocks were added and a full circle, complete with a cross in the middle, surrounded the area. The blood had almost completely disappeared, but the hats and carnations remained.
Most recently, people have begun to leave small trinkets, sort of as they do at the site of a highway accident. Instead of flowers and pictures, however, I saw the following when I passed by today: two small koala bears, three lighters, money, a cigarette, and a plastic cup full of beer. It's still unclear as to whether the beer was meant as a gift to the departed, or whether a drunk simply put it down in a convenient resting spot as he peed on a nearby car.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
All fast food tastes better in Russia
I can't remember the last time I had fast food at home in the US, but since getting here, I have dined at both McDonald's and Pizza Hut, even before getting Indian or pretty much any other cuisine. The fast food really does seem better here, though maybe that's just because I'm starved for some kind of variety in my diet of chicken and vegetable stir fry. But while the food may be better, it's certainly not good enough to justify what I witnessed this morning:
After a long night out, my friend decided that what we really needed before going back to the dorm was McZavtrak (Mc breakfast). The subway was still closed, and we really just couldn't wait much longer, so we ended up taking a bus from Nevsky that left us right on the doorstep of McDonald's. Except even the express window wasn't open yet — McZavtrak is served at the
outside express window from 6-10 am and we had arrived at 5:55. Those remaining 5 minutes seemed interminable, but the worst part was that we weren't even the first ones there. And as we took our places in line, MORE people arrived...early...for McDonald's. When the express window finally opened, the line comprised a grand total of ten people. Ten. Waiting for McDonald's to open at 6 am on a Sunday morning. Oh Russia, how I judge thee....
Friday, April 3, 2009
Russia is not for the faint of heart
On my way home from the gym this evening, an enormous rat scuttled across my path, ran up through the courtyard in front of the dorm, and stopped to eat a piece of bread.
This also seems like a good place to mention that our kitchen has recently been overtaken by cockroaches. We bought bug spray, doused the kitchen one night, and escorted all roaches in sight out the door and down the hall. We awoke the next morning to find several carcasses on the floor, with even more littered across the hallway. Luckily, none of them are quite as big as my late pet cockroach, Steve Irwin.
This also seems like a good place to mention that our kitchen has recently been overtaken by cockroaches. We bought bug spray, doused the kitchen one night, and escorted all roaches in sight out the door and down the hall. We awoke the next morning to find several carcasses on the floor, with even more littered across the hallway. Luckily, none of them are quite as big as my late pet cockroach, Steve Irwin.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
One more side note
Nochlezhka is a great organization, but it is rather expensive to run. You can read more about it (and donate money) here (click on the British flag on the right for English).
In Soviet Russia, Homeless People Feed YOU
Among other things (more about that in a later post), I've been volunteering at Nochlezhka a homeless shelter/soup kitchen. I decided to work at Nochlezhka because, unlike the other volunteering opportunities, this involved actually seeing what was going on behind the facade of Petersburg's incredible architecture.
My first day, I managed to find the building ok. I spoke with Andrei, who force-fed me tea and cookies, and was told to wait for a little bit while he went out and did stuff. Luckily, I had come prepared (meaning, I knew that I had no idea how long whether this first meeting would last an hour or seven), so I was content to wait. Andrei returned an hour later and informed me that I would be going out on the south-bound bus.
On the way out, he further explained the set-up of Nochlezhka. The main building houses homeless people in the winter and has a kitchen in which all the food is prepared. Five nights a week, two buses go out, one north-bound, the other south. These buses each make 3 or 4 stops and give out soup, bread, and tea to anyone who wants it. The first night passed without incident and I left, ready to return the following week.
My next experience with Nochlezhka, of course, went awry. First of all, I was overly confident in my ability to find the place (took a right instead of a left outside of the metro station) and didn't realize I was headed in the wrong direction until ten minutes after I was supposed to be there. I called Andrei in a panic, he insisted I still come, and I ran.
We left soon after I arrived, only to stop fifteen minutes later and wait for half an hour for another volunteer who never showed. That's one good thing about Russia: someone will always match your failures.
The first stop started off ok. I was working with a Russian named Dima, who wanted to practice his French on me (as he said, volunteering–ca c'est dans mon coeur). (Side note: the other volunteers at Nochlezhka keep complimenting me on my desire to volunteer. While volunteering is a little unusual in Russia, these people too are volunteers, so it seems a little odd to be particularly impressed with me). Anyway, Dima and I were laughing with a homeless man who had approached us several times, each time with a different drawing: first Stalin, then Lenin, then me, when a man who had been lurking off to the side came up.
"Hello. Can I interview you?"
"Uhh...what??"
"Can I interview you? It's for a TV show."
"Um, I guess? You know I'm an American and don't really speak Russian, right?"
He nodded and the interview commenced. I later asked Dima what the hell had happened; apparently Channel 100 was doing a story on Nochlezhka and had heard that an American would be out that night. So my not-so-great Russian skills were put on display for all of St. Petersburg to see. Great.
My first day, I managed to find the building ok. I spoke with Andrei, who force-fed me tea and cookies, and was told to wait for a little bit while he went out and did stuff. Luckily, I had come prepared (meaning, I knew that I had no idea how long whether this first meeting would last an hour or seven), so I was content to wait. Andrei returned an hour later and informed me that I would be going out on the south-bound bus.
On the way out, he further explained the set-up of Nochlezhka. The main building houses homeless people in the winter and has a kitchen in which all the food is prepared. Five nights a week, two buses go out, one north-bound, the other south. These buses each make 3 or 4 stops and give out soup, bread, and tea to anyone who wants it. The first night passed without incident and I left, ready to return the following week.
My next experience with Nochlezhka, of course, went awry. First of all, I was overly confident in my ability to find the place (took a right instead of a left outside of the metro station) and didn't realize I was headed in the wrong direction until ten minutes after I was supposed to be there. I called Andrei in a panic, he insisted I still come, and I ran.
We left soon after I arrived, only to stop fifteen minutes later and wait for half an hour for another volunteer who never showed. That's one good thing about Russia: someone will always match your failures.
The first stop started off ok. I was working with a Russian named Dima, who wanted to practice his French on me (as he said, volunteering–ca c'est dans mon coeur). (Side note: the other volunteers at Nochlezhka keep complimenting me on my desire to volunteer. While volunteering is a little unusual in Russia, these people too are volunteers, so it seems a little odd to be particularly impressed with me). Anyway, Dima and I were laughing with a homeless man who had approached us several times, each time with a different drawing: first Stalin, then Lenin, then me, when a man who had been lurking off to the side came up.
"Hello. Can I interview you?"
"Uhh...what??"
"Can I interview you? It's for a TV show."
"Um, I guess? You know I'm an American and don't really speak Russian, right?"
He nodded and the interview commenced. I later asked Dima what the hell had happened; apparently Channel 100 was doing a story on Nochlezhka and had heard that an American would be out that night. So my not-so-great Russian skills were put on display for all of St. Petersburg to see. Great.
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