Wandering and Wondering

A week of my time here has come and gone, though it feels like I have been here much, much longer.  In such a short time I already have begun to establish a routine for what is now my everyday life here.  We are in the midst of our two-week Russian intensive that is meant to kick our minds into full Russian mode before we begin our classes with the rest of the Smolny campus on February 9.  While these classes are helping me adjust to academic Russian, it is really simple interactions from daily life that are forcing me to assimilate to speaking, understanding, and thinking Russian as my normal way of communication.  Whether it is conversation over dinner with my host family, buying something at the store, asking directions on the street, or attempting (miserably) to make a joke with a new friend, it is impossible for me to avoid the language when I have been thrown in headfirst.  I know that there is no other way for me to learn, other than this full immersion.  When you study a language so much of your identity goes into it, more so I think than in any other discipline.  To really learn it, you must put your whole self, your whole life into it, and that is what I am attempting to do here.

It is amazing how my standards for what is really cold, what is really slippery, and what is really bad weather have changed so quickly.  What I used to consider cold is now simply normal.  Anything above freezing feels like springtime is here.  What I used to find slippery is now solid, stable ground.  While all the white is truly beautiful, the weather really can be pretty terrible here.  And Petersburgers love to talk about just how terrible it is.  Какой кошмар!  Просто ужас!  (What a nightmare!  It’s simply horrible!)  They exclaim these words, swearing that this winter is worse than any other they have experienced.  Getting around in these conditions is a daily challenge, not just for me but also everyone here.  No matter if you choose to take the bus, the metro, the tram, the trolleybus, a marshrutka, or a taxi, you always have to walk at some point during your journey. There are really no good options.  You can walk on the sidewalks that are always covered in layers of thick ice that you will surely fall on at some point in time and where you run the risk of being hit by something falling of a roof.  The icicles here are gigantic (I’ve seen some 6 or 7 feet long) and fall without warning from the roofs.  Icicle death is a real possibility here (and I’ve seen lots of near misses!).  Believe it or not, 20-30 people die a year from getting hit by icicles and 400-500 people are injured.  In a city of 5 million, I think my odds of survival are pretty good, but I actually find living in a place where death by icicle is a remote possibility somewhat exhilarating.  Another risk of walking on the sidewalk is having snow shoveled on your head.  The city hires crews of people (many homeless and without work) to go from roof to roof shoveling snow.  These sites are poorly marked with whatever the workers can find (usually broken furniture, old caution tape that has been reused at every site since October, and other inconspicuous and seemingly everyday objects).  If you choose to avoid the risks of the sidewalks, you can walk in the street, which is usually cleared better and is easier to walk on, but by walking in the street you risk getting hit by a car.  The idea of “pedestrian has the right-of-way” is nonexistent.  Russians follow the logic that cars are bigger than people, therefore you should get out of their way so that they don’t have to prove that very logical fact to you. As I have walked and struggled through many a mile on the rough city terrain, I’ve decided that walking here is a metaphor for the Russian mentality.  Even though no option is optimal, everyone does the best that they can.  Everyone is doing it together, and everyone helps each other out.  If someone slips and falls, everyone around swarms to help him up and make sure that he is okay.  If a babushka is struggling to make her way, someone always stops to give her a hand.  Such acts of camaraderie seem counterintuitive when no one breaks a smile on the street, wearing their best I-hate-the-world face, but Russians really do take care of their own.  Struggles are collective, and there seems to be an understanding between people that comes from simply being Russian.  No matter how long I live here, I realize that there is a circle of bonds that is impossible for any outsider to infiltrate.  Such a concept has become lost in the States.  As a whole, we are not deeply connected by a single shared identity, and while there is much to be said for our openness and inclusiveness, the deep bond between Russians is refreshing to witness. 

Poorly marked snow shoveling zone.  

Icicles of death.

This time before the start of real classes has given me the chance to explore the city and get to know the other kids in my program.  Everyday after Russian classes are finished, my friends and I consult our handy guidebook to find a new museum to visit.  This week we went to the Hermitage, the Russian Museum, the Pushkin Museum, the Artillery Museum, and St. Isaac’s Cathedral.  Most of these historical sites are within walking distance of school, and with our Russian student IDs we can get in for free or for an insignificant sum.  There is so much culture and history in this city that it is just ridiculous.  I love that even if I visited a different museum every day that I am here, I still won’t be able to see it all.  And in the Hermitage or the Russian Museum, I could spend weeks wandering their halls and still want to see more.  There's too much to put in words, so hopefully my pictures can do the talking for me.  I’m currently in culture-overload; all of these places are so wonderful yet so ordinary here, it blows my mind.  So I’ll keep wading through, wandering and wondering.  

Snow falling on St. Isaac's at night.

A sunshiny day at the Hermitage.

Pondering icons at the Russian Museum.  

Our spoils from a walk on the frozen Neva.

Dangerous?

Inside St. Isaac's.

View from the top of St. Isaac's.