Live in the Moment

"Time sometimes flies like a bird, sometimes crawls like a snail; but a man is happiest when he does not even notice whether it passes swiftly or slowly."

-Ivan Turgenev

Swan Lake at the Mikhailovsky Theatre

Loss for Words

Every time that I sit down to write a blog post it is becoming increasingly more difficult to find the words to express how I feel about Russia and what I am experiencing here.  It’s not that I don’t have lots to say.  I have so many ideas floating around my head but I simply don’t know how to express them in a way that accurately conveys them.  When I first got here it was really easy to write about how new and different everything felt.  Now that I have been here for two months things don’t feel strange; they feel normal.  Russia doesn’t baffle me in the same way that it did before.  I understand her more now.  Everyday occurrences seem normal.  People’s actions, attitudes, and logic seem pretty normal to me.  I am beginning to understand these things about Russian life, about what it means to be Russian (beginning being the operative word).  It’s frustrating because no amount of words can do these realizations justice.  What I am realizing can only be understood through experience, not by anything that I can write here.  There is such a gap in understanding between America and Russia, and now I see why.  Stereotypes that Americans hold about Russians (and vice versa) are, for the most part, misunderstandings.  It takes learning and understanding the language, living in a Russian home, daily trudging through snowy streets with the rest of the city, or sharing a drink with a friend to break through these misunderstandings.  I really believe that Russia can only be understood through things such as these.  I look back to before I came here when I thought I understood Russia, and I realize how I had no idea.  And I’m sure years (or even months, weeks, days) from now I’ll look back at this blog post and realize that after only a few short months in Russia I still had no idea who Russia was/is.  Understanding is a process.  Even though I feel like my words about my time in Russia seem inadequate, I’m gonna keep on trying, and maybe every once in a while I’ll be able to convey the reality of my experience.   

The Best of the Hermitage

Since I have spent a good portion of my time here wandering the halls of the amazing Hermitage, I figured it was only appropriate to share with you my two favorite pieces of art displayed there.

Rembrandt's  Return of the Prodigal Son

Children's exhibit that I walk by every time I leave.
Please note the crying, severed head.  So epic.  

Okay, so I know that these two artists have very different styles, but they are both awesome in their own way.  I never imagined the Rembrandt to be so powerful in person, but it is.  Words don't do it justice.  If you haven't read Henry Nouwen's The Return of the Prodigal Son, you should and then come to St. Pete and stand for hours in front of this painting in awe.  And then you should catch this lesser known masterpiece, which I like to call "Crying, Severed Head."  It's pretty epic.  I love the look of satisfaction on the face of the decapitator.  I walk by this children's exhibit to exit the Hermitage, and this picture makes me laugh every time.  What can I say, I have high taste!  

Весна?

So I started to write this post about spring arriving a couple weeks ago, but I realized that it was a little too premature.  Just as I started happily writing about the sunshine and warm weather, the snow started falling again and the temps plummeted once more.  What people say is spring here is like the worst of winter weather back home.  But spring really is here (by Russian standards), and the long held hope of a warm and bright future becoming a reality.  Relativity is everything, so this last week of highs in the mid thirties (and in the forties today!) has felt as good as 70-80 degree weather in the States in March.  I can feel the winter depression lifting off of the city, as people in general seem happier and warmer.  I’m really glad to witness both the physical and emotional transformation of the city.  Though I am so happy to see the arrival of spring, I really am glad to have experienced the Russian winter.  It’s true that the bitter cold wasn’t always very fun (mostly it was miserable), but winter is the real Russian experience, especially since it’s winter for half the year.  It’s the melancholy of the depressing grey skies and the unbearable temperatures that breed the deep culture and art that is so prevalent here.  What would people write about/what would they create/what would they lament if it were warm and happy all the time?  Russia is really Russia in these conditions.   And it is the harshness of winter that makes spring so much sweeter in comparison.  That's really a metaphor for the Russian experience, I think.  Going through the dark, rough times make the good moments so rich and beautiful.  

We're up to spring snowmen now!

So much is changing so quickly.  It’s lovely to walk through the streets on a bright day and realize that the sun actually feels warm again and that there really are sidewalks under all that ice.  Who knew?  The first time that I walked around Дворцовая площадь (the square in front of the Hermitage) without it covered in snow I freaked out.  Same sort of freak out occurred when I saw water actually flowing down the middle of the Neva.  Weird!  It almost feels like I am rediscovering the city all over again as I see things in completely different ways.  Probably the biggest plus of the weather change is its implications for my wardrobe.  I cannot express the joy I felt the days that I didn’t wear leggings under my jeans, wore spring boots instead of snow boots, took my fur hood off my coat, and abandoned my down coat altogether.  If you know me well, you probably know my general aversion to clothes and how much I hate bundling up.  I’ve jumped at the opportunity to abandon any clothes that I possibly can.  Though some days I’ve been a little too hasty.  Let’s just say that Sperry’s in the snow=worst decision in Russia to date.  I guess I should be glad that a wardrobe mishap is my worst decision in Russia; I figure it could be way worse (you should be proud, Momma and Daddy!).  

Such a bad idea...

Spring’s a coming and the city’s a changing.  What is Russia without ice and snow?  I do not know the answer, but I guess I’ll see soon.  

Burning at Both Ends

My candle burns at both ends;

It will not last the night;

But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends--

It gives a lovely light.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay

Don't Think Twice, It's All Right

Жизнь—как сон.  Sometimes I'm really not sure if I am dreaming or not.  At least once a day I have to ask myself, «Is this real life?».   I can't seem to wrap my mind around the fact that the strange, bizarre, wonderful, funny, melancholic, ironic events that occur daily are real.  Never in my life have I encountered so many unexpected experiences.  This is one of my favorite things about living abroad: never knowing what will happen, even seconds into the future.  But to be honest, this is just life in St. Petersburg.  Life is just strange here.  My host sister Katya keeps telling me that only сумасшедшие (a word that's real meaning gets lost in translation; basically crazy folks) live in St. Petersburg.  I think that she might be right (which explains why I love it here so much!).  Because of the unpredictability of my life at the moment, I’ve resorted to just going with the flow (my normal inclination, but even more free).  In the words of Bob Dylan, “Don’t think twice, it’s all right.”

I wish that I could recount all of the ridiculous things that happen every day, yet that would involve me typing my life away.  There is literally too much to tell, and I always struggle with the question: “What is blog-worthy?”  So instead I’ll describe to you a few events of my weekend to attempt to give you an idea of how much of a joke my life is at the current moment. 

Friday: Go to of class; spend an hour tutoring first-year Smolny students in English; talk with them about the semi-pornographic picture that I made in printmaking class and the etymology of American rock band names; watch Masyana “chicken” cartoon with the Masha’s; go to buy stamps with Meagan and see 3 cats inside the post office; spend an hour and a half on the metro, walking, and on the metro again to find TGI Friday’s for my friends who are in need of an American food fix; receive the most intense “you stupid American” faces when I ask the nearby Megafon advertisers if they by chance knew where Friday’s was located; having found the restaurant watch as my friends ravenously consume such delicacies as buffalo chicken tacos and parmesan crusted quesadillas; leave restaurant to find that swing dancers and their band have taken over the mall; watch dancers as we ride down four flights of escalators; spend twenty minutes trying to decode the sign system in the mall in order to find the bathroom; go home and sleep.

Buffalo Chicken Tacos

Swing Dancers

Saturday: Wake up to snow yet again; stop into Sennaya Market on the way to printmaking; become, yet again, intimidated by the purveyors, however, manage to buy lavash without problems; spend the next hour taste testing pastries and drinking tea until I’m sick at printmaking class; actually begin my work; rock out to sixties jam and French music while printing; somehow end up with a print that looks nothing like my original concept but something that Yuri, my teacher, loves; unsuccessfully attempt to scrub ink off my hands for fifteen minutes; eat Thai pizza and drink apple juice at my friends apt; speed walk to club Radio Baby; watch my friend Anya’s boyfriend, Danila, play guitar in a band with other Smolny students; hang out with my friend Lena and talk movies and books; leave club with Lara, Styopa, Lena, and Mitya to have an impromptu jam sesh in front of the Nevsky metro; watch as the drunks gather to dance, the militsia looks on rather than kick us out, random guy busts out his harmonica, people give us money, and multiple friends that we know continue to walk by; go hang at our other friends' apt, where lightening bolts get painted on my face; celebrate the last daylight savings time EVER in Russia, per decree Medvedeva so that cows will make more milk; go home and sleep. 

Results of Printmaking

Mitya rocking out.

Sunday: Wake up to even more snow; lay in my bed trying to catch up on correspondence; go to meet some friends at a bookstore café to study; get attacked by kids with “Free Hugs” signs outside the metro; submit to hug after hug; get asked to dance by random fairytale characters on the street; study at café next to a little boy building a princess castle with his babushka; walk home; eat fried eggs and fish sticks in bed as I study; commence in hours of non-productivity; ultimately go to sleep. 

Free Hugs on Nevsky

I’m sure that the majority of this doesn’t even make sense.  Don’t worry.  It doesn’t make sense to me either.  My life is a joke, but I’d have it no other way.  It's all right.