So... Life for the last month.

But not for anything would we exchange this splendid
granite city of fame and calamity,
the wide rivers of glistening ice,
the sunless, gloomy gardens,
and, barely audible, the Muse’s voice.
-Akhmatova

Sorry I haven’t written in so long. Life gets busy and, in the end, more mundane—the more you let it follow on. It is always nice writing though, and thinking in English for a little while. It’s funny writing these posts in English, after spending so much of my day speaking another language. English somehow becomes an intimate language, a language of friends, family, one’s own thoughts. Russian is my “formal” language now, I suppose. The language for strangers, for requests, for daily survival, in all its cumbersome cases and strange verb transformations. When typing it’s easy to let thoughts fly, even more so than in speech. I guess because you almost forget you’re writing for someone else, (and I also don’t hear what I’m writing in my head as I write it). It all gets very confusing living in another language, is I think what I’m saying. Writing in English is like climbing inside your own bed though, as if the thoughts stayed inside your mind all along. But yeah… Hopefully things won’t be awkward when I see you all again. Haha.

Life has been moving. I can’t believe I’ve already been here more than a month. Time is flying and of course I worry that my Russian isn’t improving fast enough. The days go by so quickly and I have far less time than I initially thought I would. I’m exhausted by the time I get home and I’m half sick all the time from the weather (my sinuses are cranky with weather and pressure changes).

Since last I posted I’ve gotten to know the year-long students better, which has been really nice. I also very recently met a guy from the CIEE program and a girl who’s doing a program through the Smolniy Institute on Vasilevsky Ostrov (it sounds like a really good program, so if any of you are interested or want to know more about it, just ask). I’ve also spent more time with the semester students, of course, and gotten to know my Russian “tutor,” Nadya, better. A couple Saturdays ago we hung out at her apartment, which is not far from the Fontanka. It was interesting to see her place because I don’t think it has changed at all since Soviet times. It’s still a communal apartment. When you walk in there’s a longish hall with a number of doors down it that go to different rooms. There are three “apartments” (rooms) in all, and there’s a shared kitchen and bathroom. Nadya and her mother lived in one rather small room together up until just a year or two ago (her mother recently married a Fin and now lives there). It was kind of surprising to see it all as a reality after having just read about that kind of living, or heard about it. As well as I get along with my mother, I can’t imagine spending my entire life in basically the same room with her. Nadya’s apartment was absolutely frigid, there was no light in the hall, and everything was peeling—revealing several layers of wallpaper and plaster. It was a very strange place. We mostly sat in the enormous kitchen amongst the several working and non-working refrigerators, drinking tea, eating cookies and chatting about random things. She has the most amazing cat too, which is albino, and completely deaf. He’s about 3 or 4 years old, but acts like a kitten still. He’s really strange, probably from being deaf, in the ways he dashes up and down the halls, rolls around on the floor, chases shadows, and such. I’m a cat person, I guess. Last weekend we went to see “Paris, ya tebya lublu” (I am really bad at rendering Russian into Latin letters), which was pleasant to watch and easy to follow (since nearly half of it was in English and I can understand a bit of French, and of course I had some Russian subtitles). It made me miss Paris though. Nadya and I have also spent a fair amount of time going to museums (the Akhmatova museum and the Russian museum) as well as finding little cafes in the area.

The other Sunday I took a couple people to Liteniy prospect to show them where Brodsky lived, as well as to stop by another important cultural site, the Erotica Museum. Kitschy, ridiculous, and pretty gross (the Erotica Museum that is). As most of you know, it houses Rasputin’s (supposed) pickled manhood, random pornographic and semi-pornographic “art” work and items, as well as functioning as a VD and prostate exam clinic. We also stopped by the Floral Exhibition Hall, which is off to one side of Tavricheskii Sad. It was incredibly pleasant, even if smaller than we expected. It was so warm and everything smelt amazing. It was truly bizarre seeing people in fur coats wandering around a tropical paradise. I definitely want to return (only 10 ruble entry fee) and bring a book, or fall asleep. We also stopped by the tasty bread place, from which Vladimir would buy us that fruit bread this summer. The pastries there are so delicious and relatively cheap. In the afternoon, this girl Betsy and I went to the Alexander Nevsky Monastery, since the weather was nice (the sun was out), even if chilly. I hadn’t had the chance to go this summer, but I’m really glad I ended up going in the winter since it’s quite peaceful and haunting all covered in snow. I must say I love Russian cemeteries. It’s fascinating to wander up and down the aisles of graves. All the “headstones” are so unique. We saw Dostoevsky’s grave, as well as a number of Russian composers, including Tchaikovsky and Borodin.

Since I last wrote there have been some holidays here, including Fatherland Defender’s Day (basically a day to celebrate all men of all ages for…being… men) as well as Maslonitsa, which is a rather long holiday filled with bliniy eating and burning effigies in parks. I’m a big fan of this holiday. A weekend ago Betsy and I went to Yelagin (the smaller island above Krestovsky Ostrov) where there was a big Maslonitsa celebration going on. It’s a really lovely park as well—full of old buildings, falling apart palaces, and other interesting things. They had lots of little food stands, souvenir stands, carnival rides, ice skating, sleds and skiis you could rent, along with other various things for general merrymaking (read: lots of alcohol). I have never seen so many Russians smiling, and I doubt I will again till the next Maslonitsa. It’s a pagan holiday to welcome in spring, which is pretty funny because it snowed the hardest it has since I’ve been here when Betsy and I first arrived. It was heavy, thick snow that just pounded down at an angle, like the kind we get in New England sometimes. I think it was because we were closer to the ocean. We took the metro to Chornaya Rechka, which is an interesting stop. On the way to the park there’s a random Buddhist temple. It’s a strange area. The islands are interesting to walk around on, but I recommend going sometime when it’s warmer. I don’t think my feet have ever been so frozen (it wasn’t just the toes that were numb, but the whole ball of my foot). Walking around the park, we saw some people buying small effigies to burn, and there were all these crazy Russians dressed up in flamboyant costumes, some like clowns and some in semi-traditional Russian dress, all spreading Maslonitsa cheer. There were bonfires ready to be burnt scattered over the island and a few life-size effigies as well. Unfortunately Betsy and I were completely frozen after walking around for 2 and a half hours and couldn’t wait the couple hours more to see their burning.

I suppose Pushkin related dates also constitute a kind of Holiday. I forgot how beloved Pushkin is for Russians. Americans most of the time think of Dostoevsky or Tolstoy when they imagine Russian literature, but here, it’s all about Pushkin. The anniversary of his death was earlier this month, and Betsy went to his apartment that day at the exact time he died. There was a vigil held in front of the monument there, with people praying, reciting his poems, laying down flowers, and then holding a minute of silence at the moment he died. A couple days later we went to see the monument where the duel took place, which is only about 10 minutes from my house. Back in Pushkin’s time my region was nothing but forest, now its full of smokestacks, block housing, and enormous superstores that sell everything you could think of. It wasn’t too hard to find the place. On our way there we found a teeny square church plopped down amongst the block housing and this rather scary industrial looking center guarded by an even scarier looking Russian in front of some chain-linked fence. Very out of place. Anyway, the monument is in a tiny park facing some electronics superstore. To fit the scene, as I was about to take a picture, an enormous dog trots by and decides to relieve itself on the monument. My region can’t be poetic, not even for Pushkin, the “sun of Russian poetry.”

Things do become quite prosaic after a while, especially in my region, and especially in the winter, when you’re half blinded by your hat, hood, and scarf, and your eyes are watering from the cold. Even Kazansky Sobor, with good old Kutuzov keeping watch on one side, becomes quotidian after walking by it everyday to class. On Wednesday I went to mass at Kazansky Sobor and saw his little tomb in there. I don’t like Kazansky Sobor as much as some of the other small churches in the city. I like going on church huntings, which I’ll have to do more when the weather improves. There’s nothing more pleasant than walking into a dark church off the street, everything smells so wonderful and clean and fragrant, especially when coming straight off Nevsky. I can really appreciate why they stand during services more. It’s altogether different, brings a different kind of awareness, a physical awareness by having to stand there and use your muscles and spine and all those tiny muscles to keep your balance. After a while you start not to notice the small discomforts.

Even though things can be quite gray here, you just have to look around more, or walk in a district you’re not as accustomed to for Petersburg to suddenly come alive again. I miss living in the old parts of the city, for sure. It was nice walking around Chernichevskaya area and the streets beyond Ploshad Vosstiniya—the old fading Petersburg buildings are quite beautiful in February. It is hard living here in the winter. I don’t understand how Russians keep warm either, especially the women, since they still seem to wear rather little clothing, despite the plunging temperatures. It’s tiring living here, trudging through the snow everyday in the dark, and coming home in the dark; I just want to sleep and drink tea, and eat pastries. I think someone should do an anthropological study on Russians too. I don’t know who decided to do this, but in all the subway stations, when you’re going down the escalator there are various posters, and there are these completely random posters with some plain primary color background and a puppy or kitten just staring out at you. There’s no writing, no key to the purpose, no sense to it. It’s so strange. We were speculating that it was decided by the city council that in order to make Russians happier in the frigid, sun-less winter, that they would put up posters of happy things (what’s more happy that bright colors and puppies and kittens?) in the metro stations. It’s really quite funny, especially because many of the puppies or kittens have these completely vacant eyes. I love Russia.

In other news, I’ve been a little frustrated with this program, and sometimes with the people. Trying to plan things by yourself isn’t easy, especially when other people are involved. The program does not have group trips, except for one (to the black sea). A few of us tried to go to Moscow the long weekend in February, and it was a complete fiasco. We got screamed at by a woman working at the train ticket kassa, who tried to charge us 4500 rubles to go to Moscow and back. Not only were we not going to pay that much, but we didn’t even have the money to pay if we’d wanted to. She told us never to come back again. That was fun. It doesn’t bother me that much being yelled at, especially in Russian (just makes me feel like I’m back in ballet class), but Mari and Betsy were completely jarred. It took major coaxing to get them to go back a second time to buy tickets, but by that time there were absolutely NO tickets to get to Moscow that weekend. We ended up buying them for the weekend of women’s day, but we’re going third class (no cute cupa). It will be nice seeing Moscow again, even if it’s not my favorite city. I might try to pop down to Vladimir, but we’ll see.

After Moscow fell apart, we tried to go to Novgorod instead, but all the hotels were booked or really expensive. It’s very frustrating trying to call places and talk to people as a foreigner. You spend all this time and energy planning something, calling places, talking to people, and then end up being ripped off, having to refuse, and have some Russian get really mad at you. I guess it’s good practice speaking Russian. So you can imagine that the week before last was a little tiring. I actually felt homesick for the first time. Of course I always miss home and my family in a way, but last week I would’ve really liked to lie down in my own bed for a few hours, look out at the ocean, and have my mom make some pie or something. There are days here when you just get tired of being pushed and elbowed on the subway, slipping on ice, wading through dirty, dry snow that has the consistency of sand, going from frigid Baltic wind to hot crowded subway, having it be dark when you leave in the morning and dark when you get home, no contrast to the city, everything at an Ansel Adams 18% gray with a muted sun streaking the pollution a sickly pink and purple. Sometimes you feel like people aren’t “learning” you how you imagine yourself to be (even in English, let alone in Russian), and sometime I feel like my host mother gets frustrated with me when she has to explain things to me repeatedly. It’s hard for me to remember new words when I just hear them. I have to SEE the words in order to remember them. That’s why I like and have an easier time with dead languages, I guess. But, enough whining.

So I’ve gotten to know some more Russians through my host mother, including her man-friend Lev. As soon as I met him he went off on a tangent about his name, how it was a jewish name, and he started naming various famous Russians with that first name, roaring with laughter when he came to Tolstoy (not a Jew). When I told him about the Moscow ticket buying fiasco he explained to me that Stalin killed all the smart people, so only dumb people are left in Russia now—hence our kassa worker. He has some kind of serious blood disease, but he is a hilarious guy. He was a military man his whole life. My host mother went all out for when he came by, which was pretty cute. There was a whole fruit bowl, chocolates, cakes, she had dressed up in a see-through black blouse with a florid bra beneath (this was a popular style in the summer too). I knew it was only for him because she changed after he left. Haha. She was completely flirting with him (her husband died some 17 or so years ago), kept joking with him to get out, that he was only staying so that he could be around a young American girl. He told the story of how he and Alla met at work 15 years ago (he speaks really fast, so it’s hard for me to understand him half the time), but between his words, his expressions and gestures (indicating: “what nice breasts!”), I got it. Apparently he helps her out a lot with random things since she’s husbandless. After he left my host mother, Alla, was basically like, “I could have him if I wanted, but I don’t want any trouble, since he’s a married man with kids and grandkids.” I love my host mom.

I also have spent more time with Alla’s good friend Galina, the one who photographs film actors and directors and does still photography. She comes over a couple times a week usually, and the other night we went over to her place. She has an enormous Marilyn Monroe and Audrey Hepburn collection. We watched Some Like It Hot, in Russian, which was pretty fun. Her apartment is covered with photographs of American and Russian movie stars, some of them signed. She showed me a bunch of her photos. Unfortunately I didn’t recognize a lot of the Russian actors and directors, but she seems to be quite well connected. She’s good friends with the main actor in the movie “Diamond Arm” (I’m blanking on his name). She’s a fascinating woman. She lives alone, but does everything herself. Alla told me more about her life. During the blockade, Galina’s mother got stuck outside of Leningrad in some small town, and couldn’t get back in. So Galina lived with her grandmother during the war. She was 7 years old, but they lied and said that she was 10 so that she could work. Her job was to go from house to house to see whose family members had died in order to have their bodies removed, so as not to spread disease. Later, after the blockade, they went to find her mother. When they found her she could no longer talk and couldn’t move, her body was bloated as if she was pregnant, but it was just from starvation. I guess it makes sense why Galina would be attracted to the false realities of film and to old Hollywood glamour after growing up in such a reality as Leningrad.

My host mom probably talks about the blockade at least a few times a week, since her mother was 20 years old at the start of the war. She was married a few months before the war started. Her husband left as a soldier, but came back with another woman, apparently rather similar to herself. Due to Valentine’s Day, there has been much talk about relationships between Alla and myself (about her former husbands, her parents, about random people like Pasternak). She’s very curious about my boyfriend and what our relationship is like, and what relationships are like in the states in general. I was explaining to her how my boyfriend (Patrick) and my political beliefs are different (he’s more conservative) and how it sometimes causes problems. She then told me all about her last husband, who was a big communist with very strong political views. They agreed to stop talking about politics altogether because all they’d do was argue. She explained that their different political views were no doubt linked to their family backgrounds. His was poor and Christian, his father being a big ideologue. Hers had money, a nice estate and horses in Petersburg. Her grandfather had 5 children, but after the revolution all his property was taken and they were forced to move into a tiny communal apartment. Later he got a letter from the militsia, and was soon after hung. She told me that during the Soviet era she never read the newspapers or journals since she thought they were just full of lies and, and, as far as she was concerned, she didn’t want to know what was going on in the country. But as the Soviet Union was breaking up, she began reading the news all the time, getting excited, whereas her husband got very depressed and stopped paying attention to what was going on in Russia. I wonder what her husband would think right now if he knew that she had been to the states a number of times and has American students living with her. In any case, the moral of her story was that it’s best to agree with your boyfriend/spouse not to talk about politics and then you’ll have a wonderful relationship. I’ll have to keep that in mind. Thankfully the political situation in the states is not so extreme.

I’ve had some really interesting conversations with her about life in Russia, Putin, politics, the “Russian soul.” I can’t quite gauge how she feels about Putin. It seems that some of her opinions are rather unusual and mixed from all her interactions with Americans. She tried to explain to me the contradictory Russian soul, the Russian mentality, how inscrutable and strange Russian people are (I agree), how only in Russia would people work for no money, how one can hate one’s life and realize that things are wretched yet still support one’s state and one’s leader. My host mother was assuring me that everyone loved Stalin despite the gulag and the terror, because he spoke well. She thinks that it’s awful that so many people love Putin, despite the war in Chechnya, despite all the corruption--all the pensioners, war vets, poor who can barely survive, and yet still support Putin. It’s not his fault, they say, he speaks so well, he’s so smart, he promises so much, he speaks to us. At the same time, my host mom thinks that if Putin had more power, was free to do what he wanted, perhaps things would be better. She clearly has very mixed feelings about Putin.

Russians are interesting people. According to Alla, Russians never think anything is good, if you answer “things are good” when someone asks how you are, they’ll ask you “why?” I love Russian pessimism, at least it’s honest. As my host mom says, things are better and worse here. She was telling me how when she was younger she wrote down in one of her notebooks all the things she wanted to do once she was a pensioner, like learn languages, what books she wanted to read, places she wanted to travel, but now in Russia, pensioners have to work still. There’s no real infrastructure here for those in need. She told me about her niece’s husband who was a soldier in Afghanistan and had both his feet blown off. The government did nothing for him and he was just moved from bad hospital to bad hospital. It’s really awful seeing the beggars here everyday, it seems even worse than summer. Seeing the beggars here leaves me with little to no sympathy for the beggars on Thayer St. There’s this one guy at my metro stop nearly everyday who is missing both arms and legs from just below the knees down, which he keeps wrapped in seran wrap. It’s pretty awful. This time I’ve noticed more homeless come on the subway asking for money, which didn’t happen so much in the summer. They tend to be street kids more often though. There are also lots of stray animals still. The dogs tend to stick near the subways more, sometimes sneaking in and sleeping near the doorways, or camped out in front where warmth flows out from the doors.

I’m adapting more to life in Russia, which is both good and a little scary. Things don’t feel so foreign. It’s simply a different mindset: Russia mode. I don’t think twice about viciously pushing people to get on or off the metro, without apology. I’m definitely ruder. My standards have shifted too. It started with the bathrooms. It’s a great bathroom if it’s free and has toilet paper. Now it has moved to food and fashion. I actually like sour cream in all my soups and on my ravioli and meat. I can’t imagine salad without mayonnaise, I’ve started eating weird sausages, lots of dill, buckwheat kasha with heavy cream and sugar. Probably the most noticeable shift is my sense of fashion. Russian women often dress much more unabashedly flashy and loud than Americans. I find myself being like, “oh those boots are so cool. I wonder where I could get a pair.” Or, “ooh what a fabulous fur coat, it’d be great if I could find it in red,” over items that I wouldn’t be caught dead in in the states. But here, it’s cool. You better watch out, when I come home I’ll be decked out in heels that have straps and ribbons up to my knees (with the obligatory peds), jeans with random knick knacks sewn on, random English and Cyrillic writing and medallions, and some kind of see-through shirt. Just wait. It'll be ochen seksapilniy.

I’ve been eating way too much since I’ve been here too. It’s hard for me to pass by a bakery without stopping in to get some pastries, not to mention the fact that bliniy and I have an abusive love-hate relationship. Lunch is a rather pathetic sight. The cafй at the university is pretty bad and not that cheap, so sometimes I’ll just buy an enormous loaf of bread and eat it for lunch along with the two girls in my class.

I’ve been to a couple ballets since I’ve been here. I saw Eiffman’s Russian Hamlet with my host mother, and also Don Quixote at the Mussorgskovo Teatr, which I’d never been to before. My host mother thinks that the dancers at the Mussorkskovo are better than at the Mariinsky, but I’m not sure. The theater was small and nice. The dancers were ok. The men were not that impressive (bad legs and feet and pretty wretched turn out). Kitri was not that thin, but was a solid dancer and pulled off her fouettes. It was nice to see Don Q again. I forgot how many variations I’d learned from it. It’s definitely not as weird to watch ballets this time around as it was this summer (the first time I’d gone to see a ballet since I’d quit).

I can’t say I liked Eiffman’s Russian Hamlet. It was at the Aleksandrinskii theater right across from the Catherine monument off Nevsky. It’s the oldest theater in the city and is usually only for drama. But Eiffman came for two days and performed Red Giselle and Russian Hamlet there. Over the summer I saw Anna Karenina, and wasn’t a huge fan, but I might actually like it better than Russian Hamlet. The ballet was based on Catherine II, her lover, her son Pavel and his wife. It was pretty disparaging to Catherine and pretty sympathetic to her son, who is largely considered to be an idiot. I don’t think the audience was too pleased to see Catherine portrayed in such a way, seeing as the ballet wasn’t received with very enthusiastic applause. You’d think Eiffman would be more respectful to the woman who did so much for the arts in Russia, including ballet. It was also kind of ironic that it was at the theater right next to her little square. Thankfully she’s facing Nevsky.

I had somewhat similar qualms with Eiffman this time as last. Mainly I feel like his choreography lacks musicality, which is especially unfortunate because he seems to select a lot of classical music “hits,” like Tchaikovsky’s Serenade for Strings (choreographed to by Balanchine), or, for example, this time around, Beethoven’s Symphony #7 and his Moonlight Sonata. It takes someone ambitious (or perhaps arrogant) to choreograph to such well-known and “big” works, so it was especially unfortunate that he seemed to ignore the movement of the music—as if simply choosing something lovely to go along with his choreography would be good enough. For example, Symphony 7 grows and swells so magnificently, and Eiffman just plowed right through it with his choreography as if the music were irrelevant. You could really see it when imagining Balanchine’s Serenade in comparison to Eiffman’s Anna Karenina to Tchaikovsky’s music. There was of course a rather similar section in this ballet as in Anna Karenina when Eiffman throws in this electronic/industrial music (sounds like a train, or something of the sort) intermixed with sexual moaning. There were parts that were downright kitschy, like this one scene where Catherine is dressed up like a dominatrix, whip included. I guess Eiffman’s work is more like ballet melodrama than ballet. He overdoes emotion, steps, his partnering, so that there’s no sense of passion or tenderness in the end. Pacing and subtlety were lacking. He doesn’t give rest in the proper places, so everything is at the same frenetic, libidinal, or tragic pitch. He seems more interested in the architecture of bodies to build strange shapes and towers than in the phrasing of movement. His transitions between steps are not that great and he’s perhaps a bit too prop oriented. In this ballet he really enjoyed playing with shadows and scarves/sheets for rather overstated metaphors. As Svetlana said this summer, he’s into cheap tricks. I’m not against ballet sex, and I don’t think I’m a prude, but Eiffman seems a little too obsessed with the erotic possibilities of overly supple bodies. Some of his work is definitely interesting, but it lacks a sense of wholeness. His work is almost better suited for short clips or photography, since some of his physical creations and poses are quite innovative. Enough ballet.

The other Sunday my friend Mari and I explored my region a bit more. She loves my grocery store, so that was half the motivation to come out here. We decided to walk down Bogatirskii to this fairly large cemetery that’s maybe 15 minutes away. It was odd to see my region in the true daylight, since I usually only see it on my way to school to or from school when it’s dark. The block housing is even more bleak in the daylight. I’m hoping that spring improves its appearance, but its decaying concrete austerity interrupted by striped smokestacks is actually starting to grow on me in a kind of weird way.

The further we walked the more it reminded of the strips just outside of Boston. It was something like reverse culture shock. I kept thinking to myself, Wait, am I still in Russia? Lots of big ugly buildings, some old, some in the process of being built. I looked down one hall of apartment buildings that looked like a swarm of jagged-legged insects were crawling over the tops of them—there were THAT many cranes. No doubt the apartment buildings here are too big for outside of Boston, but just imagine the outskirts of any big city, like Chicago, and you’re pretty close. Besides apartment buildings, what gives this region its special flavor are the new car dealerships, electronics superstores, gas stations, and gigantic super markets. It feels just like America, except in Cyrillic. The street is really busy too, and there’s no sidewalk, so you basically feel like you’re walking along the side of a busy highway. It was slow going because of the ice and snow, but we got there eventually. The cemetery was pretty neat. Just outside the gates there were women selling plastic flowers and stuffed animals for you to adorn the graves. All the graves we saw were pretty recent. Many from the Soviet era. I guess it’s less common in the states to have a picture of yourself on your grave, so it’s pretty eerie and (sometimes, according to Mari) tacky to have these strange pictures engraved onto or attached to the monument. I’m glad we went though. There were some really big “group” monuments to various soldiers, which were interesting. After the cemetery Mari and I found one of the big supermarkets (it’s called “Okay”) and inside of it was a Chainaya Loshka (this pretty popular bliniy chain around here) and then wandered back down to this other less intimidating grocery store, Perekrestok, and bought bread, pastries, and cookies. Not a bad way to spend a Sunday I suppose.

The weather has been crazy here. It warmed up for a little while, but then got chillingly, cold. Russians are also crazy. If you look at the canals, you can see footprints all over the snow and ice (along with their motivating factor—lots of vodka and beer bottles). The ice doesn’t look all that thick, especially along the edges where it’s soft and discolored (I’ve fallen through the ice at home, so maybe I’m just paranoid). Last week I noticed that someone had written in enormous Cyrillic letters in the Griboedeva “I love Tania.” Maniacs. (Although a home in Maine locals have been known to have tractor races on half-frozen lakes.) And now, just in the past couple of days, it’s gotten very warm. In the 30’s warm. One morning I just woke up and smelt spring, despite all the pollution and the fact that it wasn’t even that warm out. I’m excited it’s warming up, but everything is wet. Huge slushy puddles everywhere, which you cannot guess the depth of. Slick ice. Falling icicles and sheets of ice (parts of the street are blocked off by tape because it’s so dangerous). All the buildings drip filthy water, forcing you to wear your hat still for protection rather than warmth. Everything seems even more gray now too. The weather has unfortunately also been warm enough to tempt the rats out of hiding. On the way home the other night I saw these large rats frolicking around in the snow in front of the apartment building. I can’t believe how quickly the sun has changed its course as well. It still seems pretty dark in the morning, but it stays late out till around 6:15, which I think might even be later than home. White nights are almost here! (sort of). Despite the warmer weather I am unable to believe it might already be spring. I asked my host sister today whether this weather was pretty typical in Petersburg. Her response was that the only typical thing about Petersburg weather is that it’s untypical. Petersburg is too quixotic for it to hold onto spring so soon. We were speculating about how much the weather here not only affects people’s health (I’m starting to think the rapid changes in temperature and humidity are pretty hard on your system) but also people’s mentality—Petersburg psychology. This place is so full of paradoxes and contradictions, not just with its bizarre weather—it’s so full of changes, which perhaps provide fodder for such an interesting culture, frightening politics and, of course, great literature. Only in Petersburg does it feel colder when the temperature says its warmer, does it snow when the sun is out, and do pieces of rainbow appear in the smog when there’s no rain. I won’t bat an eye should it snow in May.

Sorry again this post has been so long in coming. I’ve been sick a few times. I’ve had some kind of head/sinus cold twice, where my ears were completely clogged as if I were on an airplane for about a week. Just this past weekend I caught some kind of a flu. I still feel like I’ve been run over by a marshrutkii (it hurts to even wash my hair, it’s pretty pathetic). I haven’t left the apartment for a couple of days, except to go with my host sister, Olya, who’s also sick, to the grocery store across the street. My host mother left on Thursday to go to Egypt for the week, so it’s just Olya and I, which I think is better since Olya doesn’t force me to eat. Olya has all sorts of Russian and American medications she’s been asking me about. I gave her some Nyquil I brought with me, which she was a big fan of. So we’ve both been pretty out of it the last couple of days. We’ve been watching Russian tv, trying to cook, sleeping, and studying. She’s in the middle of studying for her GRE exam and her TOEFL, so I’ve been helping her go over vocab, while she’s been explaining to me random Russian idioms we’ve been learning (my new favorite is: katatsya kak seer v maslye), along with verbs of motion. Last night we made mulled wine (a good source of vitamin C) and watched Sex and the City (in English), which forced me to explain somewhat awkwardly some new vocab to her that no doubt will not be appearing on either her GRE or TOEFL exam. But we had fun.

So, hopefully I’ll be posting again sooner than later. If you’re reading this you should email me, it will seriously make my week (although not as much as if you sent me some chocolate chip cookies).


PS There are more pictures on my flickr account, linked to the right.