Russia Breaks My Brain
I don't understand this place, I just live here.
#14: I go to the other side of the planet and still end up watching Charmed.
Monday, March 1, 2004
Hi everyone, and greetings from the town that never thaws, St. Petersburg, Russia. As today is Monday, my language class started in the predictable manner of my teacher asking each of us "what did you do over the weekend?" Naturally, as the year and our language skills have progressed, the answers have become considerably more descriptive, evolving from from the lowly "I slept and walked around," to "Nothing very interesting. On Saturday I slept in, and then walked around with friends." Mondays are obviously very lively.
Although after 6 months I have accumulated a few noteworthy weekends and afternoons. Sometimes these involved going someplace with people from my class, but more often these outings involved me and Kristin going somewhere with another Russian couple. Kinda like a double date to a museum, cafe, or possibly a park where kids throw themselves headfirst down an icy hill.
Normally, you'd call such an activity "sledding," except one of the key features of sledding would presumably be the use of a "sled." One weekend when Kristin and I went just out of town with our friends Dima and Natasha, we got to see quite a few kids (and some adults) diving down some pretty nasty, ice-encrusted hills on objects ranging from sleds and inner tubes to strips of cardboard or maybe just their butts/stomachs. It was impressive. The hills were generously populated well past sunset, and the sledders seemed to keep up their energy and zeal for becoming living snowballs the entire time, even after colliding with each other at the base of the hill (which surprisingly wasn't that often.)
Not to be outdone by a bunch of quasi-suicidal 14-year-olds, we rented some innertubes and joined in. It turned out that aside from the high-speed thrill of going down the mountain, you also got to have a mini-adventure trying to get back up the hill, which was basically a giant frosted ice-cube. Sadly, I forgot my cardboard strip, and so on a number of attempts up the hill did a little ass-sledding after all.
Not all the sledding qualified as "Russkii-Extreme" though. We also rented "Finnish Sleds," which may be the most ridiculously designed transportation device ever. They consisted of narrow little seats mounted on two very long, thin rails which were supposed to act as skis or something. Then one person stands behind the chair and pushes the other person as if you're using some sort of snowbound wheelchair. Now before you get the wrong idea here and start thinking that using a wheelchair in a foot of snow on a frozen lake would be a good idea, let me set you all straight and explain that this device is both frustrating and dangerous for the rider and pusher, and may be a very good excuse to avoid any further contact with Finland as a whole. All four of us struggled with these contraptions for quite a while, either to get them moving with any sort of grace or simply to stay upright at times. I think we all gave up on steering pretty early too. But not racing across the frozen lake. Not with Dima there.
Dima seems to have a passion for games/contests and sports in general. During another weekend excursion out of town, Dima was rarely satisfied with simply walking around admiring the scenery. Instead we played enough games to wear out even the most hyper-active of four-year-olds, which was actually pretty fun at times. These games ranged from a game based around kicking things in the dirt to throwing pine cones at each other (boys vs. girls, of course.) Sadly, despite Dima's interest in sports (soccer in particular), he wasn't able to come with us to the hockey game a few weeks ago.
The game was between St. Petersburg and Moscow, which seemed to generate some passion in the fans, especially after the first period. This wasn't just due to an exciting but scoreless period- there was beer involved. During the break, everyone went to the concession stands and quickly got a beer, or for those folks in a real hurry, a shot of vodka. The reason you'd have to rush is because no food or drink is allowed in the stands, and so everyone has to bolt it down between periods. There's nobody walking in the stands selling peanuts, just some cheerleaders stationed on the steps. It seems to still work though, as by the second period the crowd was twice as loud about everything, and even executed the most successful "wave" I've ever seen- it made it around the entire arena 2 1/2 times before stopping.
Unfortunately, the home team lost, 2-0. Some of my classmates had come, and we were all a little bummed about our temporary "home" team not beating Moscow (those bastards!) The rest of the crowd (save the 10 or so Moscow fans in the stands) was also taken down a notch towards the end of the game, so the lines of police waiting outside the stadium proved to be unnecessary (although one fan was dragged from the stands by the cops for some reason) (the cops then lingered to watch the game a little.)
We've had some more "culturally" oriented weekends as well. We've toured a number of old palaces around town, including the place where Rasputin was killed (now represented with wax figures of the event.) Often we've gone on these tours with another couple, Igor and Marina, whom like to practice their English by translating parts of the tours for me. We've also gone to museums and the Pushkin Flat. This apartment was Pushkin's last residence in St. Petersburg before he was killed in a dual, and so rather than explaining his career as a poet, each room is presented with an interest in displaying how he had lived there. Seemingly banal things are housed in glass cases, I suppose because it wasn't just a jug, it was "a jug that Pushkin used." They had his library arranged mostly as he'd left it, snippets of his hair, and as a climax, his death-mask. The whole thing had this sort of morbid twist on it, but I suppose if I was a huge fan of his I might be more excited, similar to how I'd imagine an obsessed fan to salivate over Elvis' last toothbrush at Graceland.
Igor and Marina also took Kristin and me to a gaming hall (maybe it's all Russians?), where you could play darts, bowl, shoot at targets or play pool. They had both Russian billiards (much larger table, punishingly-small pockets, all white balls that either player can sink) and American pool, which we all sucked at. But it was fun, and the ambiance was amazing. The whole thing was in an old theater, complete with ornate decorations and chandeliers. Playing pool there felt like a somewhat communistic experience, having had the aristocratic pastime of attending the theater be taken over by 8-balls and bowling pins. Having been to active theaters though, I know now that this isn't entirely accurate.
Kristin and I have been to the Mariinsky Theater to see the Kirov Ballet Company (yes I'm dropping names- pretend you know who this is) a few times now, and the audience has often been as interesting as the show. The theater has a wide range of prices for seats, which means very wealthy foreigners are always there but so are a lot of locals. Granted, they're not sitting in the same places, but Russians seem to consider themselves to be authorities on ballet, and from the production level of these shows, I'm inclined to agree. All the performances have been impressive, even to a guy like me who doesn't know much more about ballet than "that looks cool" and "huh, that doesn't look as neat."
When we're not out attending such events, there's still plenty to do at home. Ok, there's TV, which is mostly imported shows and movies, and usually bad ones at that. Still, crappy shows like "Charmed" become very mentally stimulating when you're occupied by trying to translate the damn thing. I was once enthralled for quite a while watching a nature program about a crew navigating some thick, foreboding forests in the middle of Siberia for nearly a year while tracking (I promise this is true) wild housecats. Yep, the whole show was about these rugged explorers filming elusive little tabbies living in the woods. And no, it was not a translation error on my part (I checked). This wasn't a joke.
Of course nothing is quite like Russian holiday for a good time. Most recently was Maslenitsa, which is a whole lot like a frozen version of Mardi Gras (ie, no girls flashing people for beads. It's the guys who end up in their underwear.) This is apparently only loosely tied to Christian Lent issues, and is closely identified with old pagan celebrations about the end of winter, even though it happened in mid-February. (Russians are amazingly optimistic sometimes.) But there's a week of events, and at the center of them are blini, the Russian crepe-thingers. The blini are supposed to be big, round and yellowish, like the sun which we are now getting thankfully larger doses of now.
So a week from Friday, my class had a party. My teacher made a big stack of blini for everyone, as well as tea and cookies. My friend Louis brought some vodka (it's a party, isn't it?) which my teacher (and auxiliary teacher- I'll explain her soon) said wasn't normally what you drink on that day of Maslenitsa. Getting really drunk was for another day. The day when all the young men in town strip down to their undies and have a huge drunken brawl. But that normally doesn't happen in larger cities, so I didn't get to see it first hand, sadly. This means that I also missed out on the next day, which is when everyone goes around and apologizes to each other and nurses hangovers. Who needs beaded necklaces when you can do this?
Still, there was the matter of the vodka. Fortunately, it was my birthday and I was able to use it as an excuse for everyone to have to take a shot. One teacher nearly gagged on it, the other took seconds, and maybe thirds. At any rate, I now know that vodka at 1pm with a tea chaser isn't as harsh as it may sound, but it's not the tastiest thing ever. After the vodka, the class sang me a very disappointing rendition of the Birthday song. I say disappointing only because the normal Russian song for your birthday is quite elaborate and pretty, and instead I got the Russian words for "Happy Birthday" repeated over and over to the tune of our Birthday song. Not quite the same thing. The other catch to the vodka was that my teachers became very nervous about having it in the room (especially with alcohol on everyone's breath?) in case the dean of the department happened to walk in. So every time there was a knock at the door, we had to hide it and pretend that half the cups on the table and stupid looks on people's faces were in no way related to the shots everyone had just taken. There was no choice but to finish the bottle (only a half liter) just to be on the safe side.
On Sunday we came full circle on weekend pastimes. Kristin and I went with Dima and Natasha to another park for the last day of Maslenitsa, where there was more insane sledding, a bit more blini, a few more of the damn Finnish Sleds, music and amusement park rides for little kids. It was kind of like a county fair, complete with cotton-candy and bumper-cars. The lines prohibited us from doing a whole lot though, especially after standing in a few to get tea, only to have the vendor run out of hot water. I know you don't normally demand hot water at an amusement park, but hey, if you've been barreling head-first down an icy hill all afternoon on your stomach, your preferences tend to change a little.
The weekend ended beautifully though, which is to say on Monday. Thanks to a different national holiday (Defenders of the Fatherland Day, or more commonly Men's Day) I got Monday off from class, which was nice. Not that class is all that bad, but lately it's been getting a little bit wonky, thanks to some new folks who are, of course, from the United States. But more on these nut-jobs next time.
Paka,
-Angry Giant
Hi everyone, and greetings from the town that never thaws, St. Petersburg, Russia. As today is Monday, my language class started in the predictable manner of my teacher asking each of us "what did you do over the weekend?" Naturally, as the year and our language skills have progressed, the answers have become considerably more descriptive, evolving from from the lowly "I slept and walked around," to "Nothing very interesting. On Saturday I slept in, and then walked around with friends." Mondays are obviously very lively.
Although after 6 months I have accumulated a few noteworthy weekends and afternoons. Sometimes these involved going someplace with people from my class, but more often these outings involved me and Kristin going somewhere with another Russian couple. Kinda like a double date to a museum, cafe, or possibly a park where kids throw themselves headfirst down an icy hill.
Normally, you'd call such an activity "sledding," except one of the key features of sledding would presumably be the use of a "sled." One weekend when Kristin and I went just out of town with our friends Dima and Natasha, we got to see quite a few kids (and some adults) diving down some pretty nasty, ice-encrusted hills on objects ranging from sleds and inner tubes to strips of cardboard or maybe just their butts/stomachs. It was impressive. The hills were generously populated well past sunset, and the sledders seemed to keep up their energy and zeal for becoming living snowballs the entire time, even after colliding with each other at the base of the hill (which surprisingly wasn't that often.)
Not to be outdone by a bunch of quasi-suicidal 14-year-olds, we rented some innertubes and joined in. It turned out that aside from the high-speed thrill of going down the mountain, you also got to have a mini-adventure trying to get back up the hill, which was basically a giant frosted ice-cube. Sadly, I forgot my cardboard strip, and so on a number of attempts up the hill did a little ass-sledding after all.
Not all the sledding qualified as "Russkii-Extreme" though. We also rented "Finnish Sleds," which may be the most ridiculously designed transportation device ever. They consisted of narrow little seats mounted on two very long, thin rails which were supposed to act as skis or something. Then one person stands behind the chair and pushes the other person as if you're using some sort of snowbound wheelchair. Now before you get the wrong idea here and start thinking that using a wheelchair in a foot of snow on a frozen lake would be a good idea, let me set you all straight and explain that this device is both frustrating and dangerous for the rider and pusher, and may be a very good excuse to avoid any further contact with Finland as a whole. All four of us struggled with these contraptions for quite a while, either to get them moving with any sort of grace or simply to stay upright at times. I think we all gave up on steering pretty early too. But not racing across the frozen lake. Not with Dima there.
Dima seems to have a passion for games/contests and sports in general. During another weekend excursion out of town, Dima was rarely satisfied with simply walking around admiring the scenery. Instead we played enough games to wear out even the most hyper-active of four-year-olds, which was actually pretty fun at times. These games ranged from a game based around kicking things in the dirt to throwing pine cones at each other (boys vs. girls, of course.) Sadly, despite Dima's interest in sports (soccer in particular), he wasn't able to come with us to the hockey game a few weeks ago.
The game was between St. Petersburg and Moscow, which seemed to generate some passion in the fans, especially after the first period. This wasn't just due to an exciting but scoreless period- there was beer involved. During the break, everyone went to the concession stands and quickly got a beer, or for those folks in a real hurry, a shot of vodka. The reason you'd have to rush is because no food or drink is allowed in the stands, and so everyone has to bolt it down between periods. There's nobody walking in the stands selling peanuts, just some cheerleaders stationed on the steps. It seems to still work though, as by the second period the crowd was twice as loud about everything, and even executed the most successful "wave" I've ever seen- it made it around the entire arena 2 1/2 times before stopping.
Unfortunately, the home team lost, 2-0. Some of my classmates had come, and we were all a little bummed about our temporary "home" team not beating Moscow (those bastards!) The rest of the crowd (save the 10 or so Moscow fans in the stands) was also taken down a notch towards the end of the game, so the lines of police waiting outside the stadium proved to be unnecessary (although one fan was dragged from the stands by the cops for some reason) (the cops then lingered to watch the game a little.)
We've had some more "culturally" oriented weekends as well. We've toured a number of old palaces around town, including the place where Rasputin was killed (now represented with wax figures of the event.) Often we've gone on these tours with another couple, Igor and Marina, whom like to practice their English by translating parts of the tours for me. We've also gone to museums and the Pushkin Flat. This apartment was Pushkin's last residence in St. Petersburg before he was killed in a dual, and so rather than explaining his career as a poet, each room is presented with an interest in displaying how he had lived there. Seemingly banal things are housed in glass cases, I suppose because it wasn't just a jug, it was "a jug that Pushkin used." They had his library arranged mostly as he'd left it, snippets of his hair, and as a climax, his death-mask. The whole thing had this sort of morbid twist on it, but I suppose if I was a huge fan of his I might be more excited, similar to how I'd imagine an obsessed fan to salivate over Elvis' last toothbrush at Graceland.
Igor and Marina also took Kristin and me to a gaming hall (maybe it's all Russians?), where you could play darts, bowl, shoot at targets or play pool. They had both Russian billiards (much larger table, punishingly-small pockets, all white balls that either player can sink) and American pool, which we all sucked at. But it was fun, and the ambiance was amazing. The whole thing was in an old theater, complete with ornate decorations and chandeliers. Playing pool there felt like a somewhat communistic experience, having had the aristocratic pastime of attending the theater be taken over by 8-balls and bowling pins. Having been to active theaters though, I know now that this isn't entirely accurate.
Kristin and I have been to the Mariinsky Theater to see the Kirov Ballet Company (yes I'm dropping names- pretend you know who this is) a few times now, and the audience has often been as interesting as the show. The theater has a wide range of prices for seats, which means very wealthy foreigners are always there but so are a lot of locals. Granted, they're not sitting in the same places, but Russians seem to consider themselves to be authorities on ballet, and from the production level of these shows, I'm inclined to agree. All the performances have been impressive, even to a guy like me who doesn't know much more about ballet than "that looks cool" and "huh, that doesn't look as neat."
When we're not out attending such events, there's still plenty to do at home. Ok, there's TV, which is mostly imported shows and movies, and usually bad ones at that. Still, crappy shows like "Charmed" become very mentally stimulating when you're occupied by trying to translate the damn thing. I was once enthralled for quite a while watching a nature program about a crew navigating some thick, foreboding forests in the middle of Siberia for nearly a year while tracking (I promise this is true) wild housecats. Yep, the whole show was about these rugged explorers filming elusive little tabbies living in the woods. And no, it was not a translation error on my part (I checked). This wasn't a joke.
Of course nothing is quite like Russian holiday for a good time. Most recently was Maslenitsa, which is a whole lot like a frozen version of Mardi Gras (ie, no girls flashing people for beads. It's the guys who end up in their underwear.) This is apparently only loosely tied to Christian Lent issues, and is closely identified with old pagan celebrations about the end of winter, even though it happened in mid-February. (Russians are amazingly optimistic sometimes.) But there's a week of events, and at the center of them are blini, the Russian crepe-thingers. The blini are supposed to be big, round and yellowish, like the sun which we are now getting thankfully larger doses of now.
So a week from Friday, my class had a party. My teacher made a big stack of blini for everyone, as well as tea and cookies. My friend Louis brought some vodka (it's a party, isn't it?) which my teacher (and auxiliary teacher- I'll explain her soon) said wasn't normally what you drink on that day of Maslenitsa. Getting really drunk was for another day. The day when all the young men in town strip down to their undies and have a huge drunken brawl. But that normally doesn't happen in larger cities, so I didn't get to see it first hand, sadly. This means that I also missed out on the next day, which is when everyone goes around and apologizes to each other and nurses hangovers. Who needs beaded necklaces when you can do this?
Still, there was the matter of the vodka. Fortunately, it was my birthday and I was able to use it as an excuse for everyone to have to take a shot. One teacher nearly gagged on it, the other took seconds, and maybe thirds. At any rate, I now know that vodka at 1pm with a tea chaser isn't as harsh as it may sound, but it's not the tastiest thing ever. After the vodka, the class sang me a very disappointing rendition of the Birthday song. I say disappointing only because the normal Russian song for your birthday is quite elaborate and pretty, and instead I got the Russian words for "Happy Birthday" repeated over and over to the tune of our Birthday song. Not quite the same thing. The other catch to the vodka was that my teachers became very nervous about having it in the room (especially with alcohol on everyone's breath?) in case the dean of the department happened to walk in. So every time there was a knock at the door, we had to hide it and pretend that half the cups on the table and stupid looks on people's faces were in no way related to the shots everyone had just taken. There was no choice but to finish the bottle (only a half liter) just to be on the safe side.
On Sunday we came full circle on weekend pastimes. Kristin and I went with Dima and Natasha to another park for the last day of Maslenitsa, where there was more insane sledding, a bit more blini, a few more of the damn Finnish Sleds, music and amusement park rides for little kids. It was kind of like a county fair, complete with cotton-candy and bumper-cars. The lines prohibited us from doing a whole lot though, especially after standing in a few to get tea, only to have the vendor run out of hot water. I know you don't normally demand hot water at an amusement park, but hey, if you've been barreling head-first down an icy hill all afternoon on your stomach, your preferences tend to change a little.
The weekend ended beautifully though, which is to say on Monday. Thanks to a different national holiday (Defenders of the Fatherland Day, or more commonly Men's Day) I got Monday off from class, which was nice. Not that class is all that bad, but lately it's been getting a little bit wonky, thanks to some new folks who are, of course, from the United States. But more on these nut-jobs next time.
Paka,
-Angry Giant