Misadventures in Russia

It's been about two weeks since I've updated, and I can safely say that I've become more acclimated to my life in Russia.

I wake up every morning to five alarms, because, well, if you know me, you know I'm the world's worst morning person. I need five alarms going off in ten minute intervals to start my day. Ridiculous, I know. Regardless, this is how I wake up. I then have a rushed breakfast, usually either of blini, omelet, or muesli, and some tea that's usually too hot to finish before I have to run out the door to catch the marshrutka.

Oh, the marshrutka. One of my favorite parts of the day. In my opinion, it's the most aggressive form of transport in the city. It requires you to be aggressive, interact with people, and speak in Russian--all fun things! It also has a strange sense of community to it. You're basically jammed on a small express bus with far too many people standing far too close to each other. Personal space is not really recognized in Russia. You have to pass people's money to the front where the driver, who's driving and recklessly so, gives you change that you have to pass back. No one pockets it, and the bus doesn't crash. Typically. Also, you have to know your stop and know when to scream it (if your in the back), or at least ask the driver kindly if you happen to be in the front. A good time is had by all. I consider it to be a good morning if the person next to me doesn't reek of body odor.

From there, I'm dropped off at Kazanskii Sobor on Nevski Prospekt, one of the great landmarks of Saint Petersburg. My school is conveniently located right behind it. I have to walk to the dorm and into the middle courtyard (which is awesome because who has three rusted bathtubs in the middle of a garden? Hell yes), then into the Russian Language for Foreigners area. I'm here from 9:40-3:00 every day.

The rest is up to chance since I like to keep myself occupied. However, that's my typical day. Rita, my host mom (she despises this title and we've decided that we're more like roomies, tee hee), cooks like a dream and knows how to have a damn good time. I've come to really like her and it almost feels like home. We sit, drink tea, bitch and moan about life, the universe, and everything. Sometimes there's alcohol involved, but when you factor that in things always get kicked up a notch in terms of conversation topics. She's a feisty one, that Rita.

I've had yet another wonderful encounter with Russians, this time at a pub across the street from Kazanskii called The Tower Pub. The food was barely edible, but there was beer. Kendall, my friend from school, was there with her friends from Moscow and we proceeded to party until 7AM. This is considered normal here considering the bridges that connect all the islands of Saint Petersburg go up at midnight for trading purposes, and all public transport closes at the same time. So if you want to go out, you stay out. And boy, do people stay out.

We met two guys from a nearby table and eventually invited them to join us. They were hilarious individuals-- both married (or I think nearly married?) and one of them with a kid. One of them, Lyosha, was from Germany but of Russian descent, and the other, Misha, was from Vladivostok, which is literally on the other side of the world in terms of Russian geography. We talked for hours about film, politics, business, and all other topics. What was shocking was the fact that at the end of the night they paid our entire tab-- even the tab we raked up before they got to our table. They were absolutely amazing. I had to argue with them because it was too big of a gesture for me to handle. Their response?

"You American women don't know how to take gestures. It's the Russian way for men to pay for women-- Don't argue with us!"

While that sounds harsh, it was said in the sweetest way possible, haha. The other guys from our group, whom they also paid for (so it wasn't just women), treated them to a beer. Now I could go on for hours about how this is an example sexism in Russia, but I find these truths to be self evident (ba-dum-ch).

I've never had a weirder hangover than from that night. Man.

Moving on. Reflections on Saint Petersburg. Damn beautiful city, really, and I'm lucky enough to view the Neva and all the beautiful buildings on it every day when I go to and from school. The golden domes glistening in the bleak, pink setting sun makes it feel otherworldly. Everything about this city can be summed up as a "terrible beauty"-- but I think the same can be said for Russia itself. There's a sense of tragedy and passion in the city. A sense that they have just realized that they can have a destiny and an individual purpose. However, it's a muted realization, I think.

I'm reminded of Radiohead lyrics from the song Nude:
"Don't get any big ideas
They're not gonna happen
You paint your smile
And fill the holes
There'll be something missing
Just when you found it
It's gone
Just when you feel it
You don't
It's gone forever"

I recently read an article in one of the arts magazines here about the dying high culture of going to the theatre, which is a huge part of Saint Petersburg life and history. The author described average Saint Petersburger as "Saint Petersburg moths"-- and the image has stuck with me. Something about it rings true, even though I may have some trouble justifying the term, just as the author might. These tall, beautiful, pale people walking around in dark colors and leather, hurrying towards the next big, brightest thing that might titillate their senses. Moths. It's not a criticism by any means, seeing as how I come from the motherland of consumerist titillation.

The city is dirty. People spit, the air pollution is so horrible that it almost justifies smoking, and there's often a pretty rank odor around the streets. Maybe it's me. Haha. No, seriously, it reeks pretty often. It's weird how much I don't care about that, though. It's nearly impossible to remain clean, so a shower a day is necessary. By the way, the water? Don't swallow it. Unless you want to have a new friend shacking up in your stomach named Giardia Lamblia. That's such a pretty name, isn't it? Giardia.

There are some things in life that I will never write about, but I almost feel like I have to write about not writing about them. I'm silly. But there are some experiences that you can never do justice, especially on a public blog. The other day was such an experience for me, and to describe it would be to cheapen it. It's just the experience was so huge that to not acknowledge its occurence would also be akin to a sin. I'm still overwhelmed.

Losing a person while your abroad is difficult. I lost my dear friend, Augustine, two days ago to a heart attack. The only reason I'll even post this is because I truly believe that you best respect the dead out of remembrance, and his loss is felt so deeply in me. Even if you didn't know him, I just want everyone to know how amazing he was. Everything I could possibly say about him and what kind of person he was is summarized by our mutual friend, Helene:


"Augustine was sweet and calm and mild mannered yet still snarky, and witty, and always clever. Undoubtedly, he was one of the smartest people I have ever met. In fact, he prided himself on knowing everything and anything and acting cocky about it was a huge part of his personality. He was more than willing to take a joke about his pompousness, too, which made him all the more likable.

The other thing that made him so likable was that he was so diverse and could related to anyone. He could talk for hours about philosophy while simultaneously making a reference to Friends or even Gossip Girl and then he would wait to see if someone caught it. He was always so excited when someone else knew the obscure movie quote or song quote he had dropped. You had to be on your game with him because talking to him could be like talking in code.

I think what made Augustine so special, however, was his attention to every detail in the lives of his friends. He always knew when to check in and what questions to ask. He would be the first to congratulate something good and to offer support when things went bad. Maybe he was just overly attentive to Facebook, but he kind of had a sixth sense about these things and he always wanted to know how his friends were doing.

He would get excited about the smallest, most mundane things, which would get those around him excited as well. It's so cliche, but he really loved life and he relished every experience. Every meal, tennis match, tv show, trivia night at the bar."

I admired and respected this man. I stand behind every sentence Helene wrote with 100% certainty. The man was a true, caring friend and helped me with so many things in my life. He had a heart of gold and was always aware of everything around him. The world is a shittier without him.

I still just want to call him, to hear his voice, and gossip until morning about our lives. I'll miss the drunken phone calls and the inappropriate digs. I'll miss the unabashed honesty. I'll miss you Auggo. You were something special in this world.

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