Home again, home again, jiggity-jig. Much has happened in the last week or so that I want to record but don’t think I will be able to cover it all. I’ll try and leave out drawn-out descriptions and a “sequence of events” approach to journaling and focus on my reaction and emotions. I landed in America 24 hours ago and have felt disoriented ever since. Saying goodbye to my friends did not seem real at all, and waking up this morning I found it strange that I began thinking about what Charlie (my roommate in Russia) was doing that day, whether I would go to the city to see my Russian acquaintances, etc. “Phantom-friend Syndrome,” if you will. Seeing my family and all the familiarities of my childhood home did cheer me up, though. However, this elation might be short lived, as I have heard/read that the initial “honeymoon” quickly transforms into a sense of being an alien in your own home country/environment. I would bet, though, that I will miss Russia much more than I will feel separated from life in America. I mean, I loved being in Russia and the life I created there, but that will be a personal struggle that I don’t think will separate me from my family and friends. It will be hard not talking about Russia, though. Already I have noticed that, in conversations, I compare Russian and American culture constantly, everything from business enterprise to coffee-culture. I don’t think it is a bad thing, but the third or fourth mention of Russia usually leads to an awkward silence. I need a place to air my thoughts in private so as to prevent stymieing discussions with my apparent obsession with Russia. Looks like I’ll be continuing my personal journal for at least the first few weeks, and hopefully longer as I think it makes me feel closer to myself. This blog will be ending soon, though. (!?!?!) What will I do without a place to publish my unimportant and at-times-irrelevant opinions? I will probably post a few more times throughout the summer, but only when something strikes me as culturally significant or I realize a new aspect of Russian culture I overlooked during my time there. Speaking of things I overlooked, that seems to be the main source of my slight grief at being back in America: I can’t go back and do things I wanted to, or say things I wanted to say. My departure was violent and final. In fact, this thought has distracted me most of the morning and continues to nag at my mind. Opposed to this is an excited anticipation of all the opportunity which summer brings: reading books for my own pleasure, cultivating all those hobbies shouldered aside by academic work, etc. However, frequent journaling has made me realize that such contrasting attitudes are commonplace for me, or maybe journaling polarizes my outlooks on life. It’s not so bad, though, as I always consider the pros and cons and end up making a moderate, reasonable response to whatever was stirring inside me. However, I must be off. It was great Russia. I learned a lot from you and hope fate allows our paths to cross once again. Until next time, da svidanya.
Hello, hope everyone’s doing well. Everything is going good here in Russia. It’s Victory Day (День победы;dyen pobedy) today, so no work, classes, etc. I have three finals next week and I am not worried. That’s a victory for me, an inveterate stress-bot and control freak. Maybe it is having only one final each day, maybe it is not being surrounded by cramming students (Russian finals are not until later), maybe it is that I am leaving here in less than a week. I don’t know and frankly don’t care. I am thoroughly enjoying feeling slightly more relaxed than during regular classes. The extra time and energy has allowed me to hang out with all the new friends I have made here and also to check the last items off of my St. Petersburg to-do list. Today I crossed out “Visit the Memorial to the Siege of Leningrad,” a fitting day to do so. After studying several hours, my friend and I ventured out of our study-hole and into sunny, 70-degrees weather. We came upon the memorial in a roundabout way, opting to walk through the nearby cemetery of WWII casualties rather than pass through the main entrance. Most of my previous walks through cemeteries where I knew no one who was buried there were tranquil, but this one gave me a somber feeling. “1921-1941” or similar heart-rending dates marked most graves. I imagined being sent to war at age twenty (which would have been last year for me) and how I would have felt, a sobering thought. My friend and I walked in reverent silence and soon began to hear classical music reverberating through the quiet. My friend, having visited the memorial before, informed me that the piece was Shostakovich’s Seventh Symphony, part of which he composed during the siege to help raise the morale of helpless citizens. Following the sounds of violins, we eventually came upon an open area with a wide concrete path stretching between a statue of Mother Russia to an eternal flame. People crowded the path, most bearing commemorative flowers, making their way either to or from the giant statue that loomed over the scene. Reaching the statue, we saw five four-foot mounds of flowers at the base and all along the short wall behind the statue people added more to a floral wall already a few feet high. People have not forgotten about this tragic episode in the city’s history. The visit pained even myself, a person with no familial connection to the victims of the Siege and having not lived through the war itself. As my friend said, no political or national ties can make one immune to this tragic moment in Petersburg’s history. We made our way out of the memorial in silence, each of us aware of the awful specter of war made so real to us by this unassuming monument. Until next time, adios.
Greetings. It’s been a while. Not too much has happened here in Russia, though. Just finishing up the semester with finals and such. I did have an interesting experience a few days ago, though, when I went to the post office to try and mail my unwieldy boots back to America. I had been to the post office once before, but only to drop off a pre-stamped post card, and so while toting my cumbersome boots down and across the street I had no idea what to expect. I walked into the post office and saw ten or twelve people scattered about the smallish room. I stepped up to where I thought the end of the line was, as I assumed the people sitting on the benches were not actively waiting. However, I was mistaken, and the seated ones quickly informed me of this. Reconciling myself to the unavoidable wait, I leaned against the counter and looked for a way to occupy myself. Intermittently, newcomers entered and would ask “Кто последный?” (kto posledniy?; Who’s last?) and, after being acknowledged, would try and find a comfortable waiting position. One middle-aged man came in and asked a girl to move her bag so he could sit down and got a mere cold glare in response. He chuckled incredulously and went to squat against a vacant spot on the wall. The only people talking were a young couple cooing to each other on the bench, which made for an awkward atmosphere in the stuffy room full of older people. There was only one woman working behind the counter, which meant that dealing with each patron’s request took about twenty minutes. I was not too upset though, as I am getting used to waiting in lines, but was a little disappointed I had forgotten my ipod. Feeling anxious about what would happen when I got my turn at the window, I distracted myself by trying to read the very technical post-office protocol book. My knees were hurting from standing, though, and I couldn’t help thinking back to when I first went to the grocery store in Russia. The anxiety, the waiting in a long line, being surrounded by Russians who knew exactly what they were doing and dreading the embarrassment that would ensue once they all knew I was a foreigner: everything about the post office reminded of that challenging experience. After about an hour, the woman behind the window addressed me. However, as I thought would happen, I did not know what she said. I responded with, “Еще раз” (yesho raz; One more time). I again did not understand her, so just asked if I could mail my boots here. She smiled and responded but I did not catch what she said. I was floundering, but luckily the man next to me told me I needed to weigh it. Just like I had to weigh the bananas! Deja vu, anyone? Anyway, the boots were too heavy and I was told I needed to go to the bigger post office in order to send them. Hmm . . . so I waited an hour just to be sent off in less than a minute? I felt embarrassed at what everyone must be thinking about this helpless foreigner and slightly ticked off that I had waited so long for nothing. However, unlike at the grocery store, I did not leave cursing myself and my boots, but rather began planning my trip to the other post office. I guess I have grown more patient while in Russia. Having this curveball thrown at me when, after three months of living here and thinking I had seen everything, taught me to not believe myself 100% acclimated. I should approach life abroad with a daily-renewed curiosity if I even want to approach total assimilation, though such complete absorption seems impossible. I think that taking time to seek out these hidden, mundane aspects and grappling with them certainly helps, as overcoming the unfamiliarity allows you to enhance your ability to adapt and improve your cultural understanding. I am kind of mad at myself for feeling so blase the last few weeks, as I think it resulted from me not actively breaking my routine. Its like my dad always says, “Coulda, woulda, shoulda.” Anyway, I gotta go. Until next time, adios.
Greetings. Happy May Day for all those who celebrate it! Fortunately, it’s a national holiday in Russia, so that means no school or work tomorrow. Unfortunately, its cold and rainy right now . . . so much for picnicking on the Bay of Finland. But it will be a good chance to catch up on some school work. Anyway, not too much is new with me. On Saturday we took a day trip to Novgorod, something I had been looking forward to since January, and I could not have asked for a more idyllic, beautiful day. Fluffy white clouds rolled across a robin-egg sky, making for a picturesque background for all of my photos (some even look photoshopped). A slight breeze balanced out the warmth of the day making for perfect walking conditions. We spent most of the day exploring the Novgorod Kremlin and its environs, an area containing some of the oldest buildings in Russia. Inside the Kremlin stands the most impressive monument I have seen in Russia: The Millennium Monument. You can check out the photos I took of it on the photos page, but they do not capture the immensity and detailed activity of this behemoth commemorating great figures in Russian history. Also of interest was the St. Sophia Cathedral, one of the oldest churches in Russia. It was built around 1000 CE! That’s 1000 years ago! Hard to fathom, but really cool. The Church felt different than most others I have been to in Russia, more austere and simple. Less beautiful but more dignified, maybe. I don’t know how to describe it, you have to go there to understand. Anyway, I could go into detail about the innumerable cultural things I saw in Novgorod, but that would soon become monotonous. Just know that I’ve never been to such a super-cultural space as the Novgorod Kremlin. After lunching at a small cafe outside the Kremlin (they started playing “Yankee Doodle,” “O, Susanna,” and a slew of Christmas classics as soon as they found out Americans were there, lol), we departed for the Museum of Wooden Architecture. Having looked at pictures of wooden churches in Russia a lot before coming here, I had high expectations for this aspect of the tour but was slightly let down. I’m not sure if it was that the structures were not authentic or what that made me feel underwhelmed. It was still really cool, especially going inside of one old house and seeing how provincial Russians used to live. It reminded a lot of pioneer cabins, though the exteriors were more decorative. I got to climb a tree there, too, which I never really appreciated until now. Such a simple pleasure. All in all, I left the city completely satisfied and wishing I could have stayed a little longer. On a completely different note, my return to America looms ahead and I cannot seem to get my mind off of it. I keep vacillating between wanting to go home and to stay here. I’m being pulled by both cultures and really have no control over my uncertainty. I guess me liking and disliking various aspects of the culture divides me, but I really don’t know. But I have to go and I think when I return I will understand better. Until then, though, I need to refocus, as I still have to survive a week of finals! Check out the pics of Novgorod I put up. Until next time, adios.
Happy late Easter! Or, as they say here, христос воскресе! (Christ is risen!) As might be expected, this entry is going to be about the Orthodox service I attended two days ago. After waking up late (despite my roommate’s best attempts to rouse me) I rushed to dress and within an hour made it to Kazan Cathedral on Nevsky Prospekt. Luckily, the service started thirty minutes after what I originally had thought. This gave me a chance to take in the atmosphere before the service actually began. The sun shone brightly outside, but the Cathedral remained dim and beautiful. There are no pews in Orthodox churches, so all the people milled about in a large open space lined on either side by large columns, at the head of which stood the iconoclast. Extending behind one row of columns was a large table spread with lots of Easter treats brought by those attending the service. I saw lots of cakes and dyed eggs, but there were other goods too. Above the open area opposite the iconoclast there was a loft from which sang a choir throughout the service. In front of the columns closest to the iconoclast stood icons, holders for votive/prayer candles and lines of people waiting to pray. People filed in steadily during the twenty minutes before the service began, and before I knew it I was surrounded by several hundred Russians. The service began with the choir singing a joyful hymn and three priests began performing an intricate ritual around the iconoclast, lighting candles and bringing in the scripture. Periodically they turned to the audience and shouted “христос воскресе,” to which the audience responded lively something I could not understand and began crossing themselves and bowing. I was impressed by how well synced the choir and the priests were: they did not motion to one another once but the songs coincided perfectly with the rites. Due to the strain on my legs and the fact that I could not understand anything the priests were saying, I decided to leave the service early. As a result of my not understanding, I cannot tell how different the scriptural aspect of the service (служба; slyzhba) was from a Catholic mass or a Protestant sermon. In other things, the choir for example, the service resembled other Christian services. All in all the experience was interesting and I hope to attend another service and stay through the whole thing. Until next time, adios.
I just got back from a weekend visit to Helsinki and Tallinn (for those who don’t know, Helsinki is the capital of Finland and Tallinn is the capital of Estonia). It felt nice getting a break from Russia, but I wasn’t really sure how the trip would relate to my Russian studies. However, I figured there must have been some connection or else the trip would have been pointlessly included into our itinerary. I found out, though, that the four-day excursion was not a secret vacation. Rather, these three countries share a lot of history and culture with one another. Upon arrival in Finland, Helsinki’s cleanliness was the first thing that struck me: the streets were not dirty, there was not empty beer bottles and cigarettes littering the ground, no smoggy smell oppressed my senses. I also might have said at first that the people were more friendly there. But, upon further reflection, this is probably not true, as I only had superficial interactions with waiters and tour guides. This predominance of assumed niceness skewed my perspective. Also, virtually everyone in Helsinki knows English, so asking for directions and getting to know people was, for me, much easier than in Russia. Being accustomed to bustling metro stations and crammed trolley cars, Helsinki (a smaller city than St. Petersburg) felt more relaxing. Contributing to this seeming calmness were also several parks located throughout the city. Just walking through trees and on grass felt great after two months of pounding pavement and looking at apartment buildings. Apparently, Russians in the past recognized the therapeutic potential of Helsinki and during their periodic reigns over Finland established Helsinki as the capital of the autonomous republic, while also making it one of their main vacation destinations. Despite the former imperial rule, there does not seem to be any lingering bitterness against the Russians in Finland: many Russians live, work, and go to school in Helsinki as well as visit their as tourists. From what I saw and heard, they get along just fine with each other. However, this is not the case with Tallinn/Estonia, a surprise to me as Tallinn felt much more Russian/Eastern-European than Helsinki. I spent the whole of my time in Tallinn in the medieval, super-touristy Old Town, which provides an interesting contrast to nearby downtown with its skyscrapers and other modern buildings. Souvenir shops and expensive cafes were the norm in Old Town, so I did not get any glimpse of the how modern Tallinn operates. Despite missing out on contemporary Tallinn, our tour-guide gave us a brief history of Russian-Estonian relations why modern Estonians dislike Russia. I heard (and keep in mind this might not be the whole picture) was that over the years Russia dominated Estonia against the people’s wish and thus there developed a hatred of Russian by Estonians. The tour-guide, who made sure to tell us that she did not agree wholeheartedly with the rest of her fellow citizens, shared an Estonian saying that goes something like, “Hatred of Russians comes from the mother’s milk.” This is all so strange, though, because so many Russians live in Tallinn and it almost felt like I was back in Petersburg while there. I do not understand the situation completely, but I have witnessed now the inveterate resentment that has caused (or at least has helped to cause) so much war and destruction. Whether or not a potential common ground exists, it pains me that an inherited hatred arising from a bygone history of conflict prevents Estonians from seeking reconciliation. After spending a day in Tallinn I returned to Russia, unexpectedly feeling a sensation of familiarity with the place. Although it was not like coming home or seeing my family, the warmth made me glad to know that I have formed a connection with Russia, albeit only a personal, internal one. I might have felt different having seen how Estonians view Russia negatively and why, but I feel like there are incongruities between what the Estonians thought Russians were like and reality. It would be interesting to here a Russian’s side of the story, though. All in all, though, it is sad that former territorial acquisitions must continue to separate a people who might otherwise get along. Anyway, check out the new pics I put up of Helsinki and Tallinn’s Old Town. Until next time, adios.
Cab culture seems to have (at least at one time) fascinated Americans. For instance, there was that one show that used to come on HBO late at night, the name of which escapes me. There is that show “Cash Cab,” a quaint twist on the quiz show which places unsuspecting New Yorkers in the hot seat, on Discovery Channel, too. However, my point is that the idea of a cab ride has a certain charm for us, if only for interacting with a (usually) interesting personality. Okay, I may be exaggerating when I say “Americans,” as many might never have ridden in a cab. In Louisville (my home town) I almost never take a cab . . . *thinking* . . . actually, I have never taken a cab in Louisville. But in Russia I do it all the time. The cab rides here are different in some ways and the same in others. For one, there are not many stereotypical American “cabs”: black or yellow sedans with a little bubble on top that reads “taxi.” No, taxis (такси) in Russia do not have a special car and the drivers (таксисти) are usually just people looking to make some extra cash. Hailing them is the same: you just walk down the road with your hand held out, someone stops, you agree on a price, and off you go on another adventure. Every taxi ride offers a unique experience, as the drivers are themselves always unique, and your experience could be anywhere from life-threatening to, how to put it, pleasant. I’ll (briefly) share a few of my trips to give you some idea of what I mean. Last weekend, coming from a salsa club, me and a friend of mine got a ride home with a Russian man driving a brand new Mercedes (much different than the typical Russian “cab”: a four-door sedan that looks like it is from the Soviet-era). We told him we were from America and he instantly began criticizing our “greedy” ways and “filthy, green money,” shortly before informing us that he was slightly drunk and a cop to boot. We were both scared for our lives, especially after he stopped in the middle of the road to show us pictures of the car he had totaled just a year ago. He warmed up to us, though, after we complimented his english (even focusing on the road some) and eventually got us home safe. Such insanity is far from the norm, however, and I guess this is why we were advised not to ride in such “gypsy cabs.” Many drivers in Petersburg are immigrants from Central Asian countries like Uzbekistan, Turkmenistan, etc. (I guess this is an easy job for immigrants to get as no one can really discriminate against you if you are self-employed) One of my rides with such a foreigner was pleasant: we talked about his family back in Uzbekistan, his car, how he liked Petersburg, etc. Another was not, as the driver grew up near Afghanistan and hated Americans for their warmongering in that region and let us know about it (maybe I should just not mention that I am from America?). When he dropped us off, he tried to charge us two-hundred rubles more than we had agreed upon. Whether he thought we were stupid or just not paying attention I don’t know, but his efforts at deception failed without too much confrontation. Other drivers are just normal Russians looking for extra money. The crazy cop aside, these are usually the safest and most informative to talk with, as they have grown up in Petersburg (or at least Russia) and have a lot to teach those wishing to know about Russian culture. All in all, this transport strikes me as neither a good nor a bad thing. It does make for an interesting part of the culture, though. As different as the system seems, it is virtually the same as in the US. The only difference is that American cabs work for a cab company which somehow endows them with an aura of safeness, even though you are still at the disposal of a random person. When I am back in America, I think I will miss the excitement of hopping into a random car and riding off on another mini-adventure. Although it is less safe in some ways, it sure beats road rage and all the other negative appurtenances of driving your own car. Anyway, I am off to Finland and Estonia this weekend so I don’t know if I will post again until I am back in Petersburg. Hope you don’t miss me too much while I am gone. Until next time, adios.
The weather is finally getting warm! I can go outside without a heavy jacket, can see across the street (thanks to the giant mounds of snow lining the streets melting) and I do not think I have ever been so excited to see the sidewalk. It rained earlier and, although the cloud cover made for a drab day, I welcomed the change from snow. Spring’s coming has never had such a noticeable effect on my bearing. I’m not skipping down the street, shaking peoples’ hands and whistling, but I can feel an improvement in my mood. Talking with a Finnish friend of mine, who hails from Helsinki (the capital of Finland and a city with a climate virtually identical to St. Petersburg), I learned that this feeling is not unique to me. People all across this region cherish the fleeting summer and make the most of the mere two and a half months of sun and heat. Unfortunately, I will leave as soon as summer begins. But the 40-degrees-Fahrenheit weather that has set in feels like 70 after months of freezing temperatures and I am content with having experienced some warmth. However, the blossoming of spring has its downsides. The air, not being cold, does not breathe as fresh and I notice the smog and fumes more now. Also, people littered a lot during the winter and the melted snow has exposed this once-hidden trash. Regardless, my spirits are lifted since last post. I went out on a personal excursion to Liteyniy Propekt (Литейный проспект) on Tuesday (aka yesterday) and had a splendid time just walking around. Carrying my camera and a travel guide to St. Petersburg, I must have stuck out as a tourist, but I didn’t care. Seeing the Neva half-melted (another sign of spring) was the best part, especially knowing that I had once walked on its frozen waters. Even Russians were stopping to take pictures of the chunks of floating ice, which made me feel better about my touristiness. The Liteyniy district, located not far from the city, boasts a cultural history unparalleled except maybe by the main district, Nevsky Prospekt. Most of the cultural wealth, however, reflects the tragedies that have befallen Russians over the years. On the banks of the Neva are sculptor Mikhail Shimiakin’s famous sphinxes, installed as a memorial to victims of political repression. A la Shimiakin’s bold, abstract style, half of the faces are eaten away, contrasting hollowed out eye sockets with the serene Egyptian face. I had seen pictures of this before, but seeing it face to face produced much more of an impact. Taking pictures of it felt wrong. Off of Liteyniy is the Bolshoi Dom, which is the former headquarters of the Russian secret police in St. Petersburg. The building’s facade fittingly reaches above the nearby buildings. This imposing facade plus a multitude of police cars on the street almost daunted me from taking a photo, although I ended taking one anyway. In typical Petersburg fashion, near these tragic monuments were some of the most beautiful buildings, alleyways, churches, parks and museums I have seen yet. I was snapping photos left and right but, alas, my camera died after ten shots or so. It’s too bad, but I hope to return another day with fully charged batteries. Seeing this area of the city rekindled my drive to go out and experience the city in the month I have left. Although I will not be able to see everything, I am sure going to try. Check out the pictures I put up! Until next time, adios.
Здраствуйте всем! It has been a while since we last talked. I would have written another entry earlier this week, but nothing new and exciting happened. In general, I feel like everything about life here is becoming routine like back home. I don’t know whether this is a good or bad thing, but it is happening. I guess it is good, inasmuch as I am starting to understand (or at least get accustomed to) Russian life. But, all the same, I dislike the indifferent attitude I am having toward everything: such insouciance is not conducive to intellectual development and lingual improvement. Normally, I try to make my blog entries focused on one aspect of Russian culture or one event. However, I really have nothing that has challenged my thoughts enough to merit treatment in a blog entry. As such, I feel like all I can give today is a brief overview on some mismatched and unrelated things that have been on my mind. I find myself missing home more and more. I attribute this newfound nostalgia to registering for classes and applying for summer jobs. Planning for the future has made me anxious to get there. However, this feeling is not debilitating me by any means. I still get my homework done on time, continue practicing the language, etc. But there is definitely an underlying sense that I am entering cultural limbo, and will be suspended between Russia and America for the next month. It is too bad, too, as the weather is really starting to improve and I should be visiting more cultural sites. Of course, nothing is stopping me from doing this, so I guess I will plan on it. Getting out will probably be a good antidote for my restiveness. We’ll see. Also, there is so much left to see and learn and I only have a month left! Why waste any more time? Anyway, I apologize for the shortness of this entry, but I really have nothing more to talk about. I promise to rack my brain in search of topics and hopefully next week will prove more mentally stimulating. Until next time, adios.
When I was packing to come to Russia, I remember wondering what clothes I should bring in order to fit in. I knew very little about how Russians dressed, and so packed mainly generic, semi-professional wear plus several overly-warm articles. One of the first things that struck me about Russia was how nice everyone dresses here. Whereas in the States it is normal to show up to class or run to the store wearing pajamas, here designer jeans and fur coats are the norm. The other day, I did laundry in pajama pants and a ratty green sweater I like to wear on lazy days. I never imagined I would feel underdressed in a laundry room, but I definitely was in this laundry room. The girls there wore heels and well-matched outfits, the guys wore nice jeans with black sweaters or jackets to complement their leather boots. I wish I could include some photos, as these would show you what I am talking about, but I am not going to walk around and snap pictures of pedestrians (out of concern for my personal health and human decency). For me, I enjoy the attention people give to their clothes here. Pinpointing the exact reason for this is difficult, though, as it could be anything from the sense of exoticism I feel when surrounded by such classy dressers to an increased sense of comfort or even trust due to their well-kept appearance. Or maybe it is because I do not know the prevailing stylistic trends and so they signify nothing to me, as they unconsciously do in America, and I am more open to people because of it. Not having preconceptions based on appearance is liberating, though at times I feel like I am stumbling in the dark trying to find people whom I might get along with. Most likely the cause is a combination of these and a multitude of other factors. In the last few weeks I have often questioned the reasons for these fashion differences. Myself not being a fashionista, I set out to query my better-dressed American friends to help me in my quest for understanding. What we came up with seems simplistic but I think I will share anyway. I hypothesized that the colder climate necessitates/allows for more accessorizing. For example, I wear a scarf here whereas in the States I usually do not, but it is more out of a need for neck-protection than any of my modish proclivities. With all the hats, gloves, jackets, etc. which can help keep you warm, the very opportunity for fashion is greater over here. Someone else posited that the Soviet times, with its extolling of the state over the individual, forced personal fashion into abeyance and the “excess” of fashion existing in Russia today is a sort of cultural backlash. I wanted to discredit this, as people too often scapegoat the Soviet times unthinkingly, but knowing nothing about the history of Russian fashion I was unable to assess its accuracy. Another of my peers, whose parents emigrated to America from Russia told me, after giving me a quizzical look, that Russians have always dressed nice and countered with a raised eyebrow and a skeptical “Why do you want to know?” Her incredulousness and my embarrassment ended my mission, probably with good consequence, as my inquiries were swiftly becoming importunate. Despite our best speculating about the reasons for Russia’s elegance, no concrete conclusion was reached. Similar to my earlier explanation, it is probably a combination of multiple factors (and probably not worth the time needed to figure it out). I would like to ask one of my Russian friends for their take, but I fear that might be too strange a question. It seems that even my eagerness to learn does not outstrip my agreeable nature. Anyway, I gotta run. Stay classy America and, until next time, adios.
jakecrumbs 