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.
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.
Whew, what a trip. Moscow is a BIG city: big buildings, big malls, big museums, big churches, big circus, big business, big streets, big metro system, big everything (okay not everything, but still). Moscow is busier than St. Petersburg: people run up the escalators on the metro (whereas Petersburgers only run down), move you out of the way if you walk too slow, come frightfully close to hitting you when crossing the street, etc. It was basically like I would imagine New York to be, although I have never been. In my last entry I said that Moscow “seemed more Russian” than St. Petersburg, and my experience there supports this. Maybe it was that I heard less English, maybe it was the Kremlin Armory’s stash of Russian artifacts, who knows. Either way, I do not think it important to quibble about which city is more this or that: they both just are. I did thoroughly enjoyed the three days I spent there and wish I could have stayed longer. I got to visit Red Square (where the Kremlin, St. Basil’s Cathedral, Lenin’s Mausoleum, GUM Department Store are located), see the Cathedral of Christ the Savior (where the Russian Orthodox Patriarch works), walk down Arbat Street (the former cultural epicenter of Moscow), drive by Tolstoy’s winter home, and do some other things. But there was still so much to do and see that the trip felt cut short, even though I stayed a day longer than the rest of my group. Contrary to popular opinion, the people I met there were friendly. I made one friend I plan to stay in contact with and met several other Russians. The last day of the trip, my new friend asked me whether I would rather live in St. Petersburg or Moscow. I said St. Petersburg without thinking. Being that she was a Muscovite, my answer disappointed her and she told me why she disagreed. She loved the activity, the opportunity, and the thrill of Moscow. For me, though, Moscow was too active, but that was really only in downtown. On the outskirts it felt much more laid-back (and much more like St. Petersburg). There is also the frequent terrorist attacks: even in the short days I was there an unknown terrorist group detonated a bomb that, thankfully, harmed nobody. The metro station closest to our hotel had a memorial to those who died in a terrorist attack several years ago. And, of course, everybody remembers the January Domodedovo bombing . . . at times I felt a fear that I might end up at the wrong place at the wrong time. This fear is illegitimate, though, as I could die a freak death anytime, whether by terrorists or icicles falling from roofs (a cause of infrequent deaths in St. Petersburg). There was a definite thrill I felt just being there: I was cooler just by association. However, I am willing to sacrifice my vanity for a more secure and easy-going atmosphere of St. Petersburg. Although I would not hate living in Moscow by any means, I must say that I like St. Petersburg better. Until next time, adios.
Greetings! I feel giddy right now so I do not know how well I will write. Why am I giddy, you ask? Spring break is just around the corner I am kicking it off with a weekend trip to Moscow. Red square, the Kremlin . . . the city is much older and seems more Russian (if there can be such a comparison) than St. Petersburg and I am excited to experience the character of this Russian city. But, that is all beside the point. What I really want to talk about is the day trip I recently took to Tikhvin, a small town three hours southeast of St. Petersburg which is home to several early Russian monasteries. The trip began with a 6 AM wake-up call from my Russian friend. Having not slept well the night before, I struggled to rouse myself, shower, cook breakfast, dress and travel forty minutes by metro to board the bus at 7:30. Much to my chagrin, the bus left promptly twenty minutes late. Luckily, my friends were as tired as me and we all fell asleep before making it out of the city (luckily because trying to speak Russian that early would have been an epic fail). After about an hour of driving, accompanied by the tour-guide’s interminable oration about God-knows-what over the loudspeaker, I gave up on sleeping and succumbed to imbibing the beauty of the Russian countryside. Snowy birches (берёзы) and pines (ёлки) guarded both sides of the road, their ranks interrupted only by the intermittent field and/or gas station. My friends brought along some snacks for the road, including ginger tea (which is about the best tea I have ever had), which helped to settle my stomach after being bounced around on the bumpy country highways. Soon enough we reached our destination, a humble city which my friend described as a “typical small Russian town.” Unfortunately, I did not see very much of it as we drove straight to the monasteries, but it did not seem too different from any American small town, except maybe for the five ten- or twelve-story apartment complexes. The monastery, the St. Anthony Dimsky Monastery, lay beyond the village center, down an even bumpier side road and was inconspicuous until the moment you walked inside.
Church at the St. Anthony Dimsky Monastery
Apparently, this small city boasted its own ancient history, with several Russian rulers all the way back to Rurik either visiting it or directly influencing town affairs, and this leant the experience a venerated air. At first, we talked to the head monk there. He had a thick black beard and looked to be thirty, rather young to be holding such a position. This may be due to the fact that the monastery ceased to exist during the Soviet era and was still convalescing, a recovery process noticeable as well in the reconstruction of the main church which had been completely destroyed. From there we made our way to a frozen lake. Cresting a snowy hillock, the lake came into view. I have seen several frozen lakes during my time here, but none of such magnificence. It devoured the entire landscape and seemed to call me out onto it. Scattered across the lake were several ice fishermen and planted a hundred yards from the shore was a cross, below which a chunk of ice had been removed, exposing the frigid water below. We walked up to the holy water and cleansed ourselves in the Orthodox tradition, washing our hands and faces in and walking around the cross three times.
The holy water
Following this we made our way in reverent silence back to the bus and headed to the next monastery, the Tikhvin Monastery of the Big Assumption. This one rested on the side of a main road and was far less tranquil: souvenir vendors set up shop just outside the entry way and cars could be heard passing by. However, it still claimed the pious feel of a monastery and also possessed an architectural presence that the St. Anthony Dimsky lacked (or had lost). Seeing the main church here was beautiful. Most of the original paint on the inside remained intact, although restoration projects were underway, and this gave it a rustic, natural dignity. Also, we got to see a monk’s cloister preserved in the original. I had to bend down to make it up the narrow staircase leading to the chamber, and the room itself could only comfortably hold four people. Imagining living in such a cramped space impressed upon me the severity of monasticism, and even more so once I thought about how cold the monk would have been (a strong draft came up from the staircase). I guess I am not cut out for an ascetic existence. The trip to the countryside and monasteries impressed upon me both the ancientness and spirituality of Russia. Check the photos page for more pictures of my trip. Until next time, adios.
Russia just concluded their pre-Lenten festival known as maslenitsa (масленица). Maslenitsa comes from, or at least I think it comes from, the Russian word masla (масло) which means “butter” or “oil.” So, loosely, the word translates as “butter week” and, in my opinion, it lives up to its name. At the beginning of the week I did not realize maslenitsa had begun as nothing really gets decorated. Advertisements for celebrations throughout the week served as the only outward indications. Despite the absence of external cheer, many were celebrating before the Great Fast (великий пост; aka Lent) began. My festivities started on Thursday (the fourth day of maslenitsa) when I attended a party thrown by my university’s Russian club. We danced, sang Russian songs, played games, had competitions, ate blini (Russian pancakes and standard fare during maslenitsa), drank tea, and learned about traditions practiced on each day of maslenitsa. Two hours whirred past and I left the party with a full belly, a bright smile and several new friends. From then I waited until Sunday when I attended a city-wide maslenitsa celebration in Pavlovsk, a small town/park an hour south of the city. All in all, the four or five hours I spent there rank among the most interesting and exciting of my life. The day started with a tour of an erstwhile imperial palace, the grounds of which now compose the Pavlovsk park. Nothing like examining grossly ornate drawing rooms before gorging oneself on pancakes. After the tour, I could not help but think how excessive and opulent imperial palaces are and wonder how one could live in such a space, especially when the wealth came by not from initiative and ability but from a fortuitous inheritance. However, everything comes full circle, and the people who served these chance dynasts can take pleasure in knowing that the grounds once off limits to them are now a public paradise. Of course, the park swarmed with Russians that day, as no one had work the next two days, and the day progressed in trues festive spirit. Capturing the essence of maslenitsa cannot be done, but I will give it my best shot using its closest analog as a foil. Imagine Mardi Gras, but then replace the streets of New Orleans with snowy lanes, the buildings of the French Quarter with snow-covered trees, the parade floats with blini and kabob vendors, the beads with small wicker dolls, horse-drawn carriages with reindeer-drawn sleighs, drunk people with ebullient sledders. That should give you should have some idea of the character of this celebration. Of course, there were direct parallels, and the music, costumes and essence mirrored those of Carnival season. The celebration crescendoed into the burning of a ten-foot, straw doll to commemorate the coming end of winter. Everyone formed a huge ring around the doll, some folks adding their own dolls to the pyre or tying pieces of ribbon to it. After the park staff doused the doll in gasoline and oil and the police had pushed everyone a safe distance from the doll, they ignited the doll. While the doll flamed, people snapped photos, sang and danced, basking in the heat and hoping spring would swiftly come. Bad news first: I have no pictures to share. The good news is my friends have agreed to loan me their cameras for future excursions so the blog will not be completely bereft of visual stimulation. Ladies, happy International Women’s Day! Until next time, adios.
Russian entertainment is similar to American entertainment. They look to television, sports, concerts, movies, etc for a breaks from reality. For me, this makes adjustment easier, as I am already accustomed to going to see concerts on weekends or flipping on a sports game and vegging out for a few hours. However, the closeness seems to accentuate the differences and draw my attention to them more than I would in a culture that was completely alien. I am not saying that this is good or bad; I am merely making an observation and want to speculate about how this fact relates to stereotypes. For example, on sunday I attended a hockey game with my group. I have only been to one other hockey game, and ten years or so have nearly erased that memory. The local team is SKA and they are quite good this season, as I learned from the passionate shouts of “Чeмпионы страны!” (Championi strani!; National champions!) on the metro ride to the stadium. Exiting the metro I joined a flood of people streaming across the street and into the already-packed hockey arena. Most everyone came equipped with the appropriate fanfare: blue and red scarfs and hats emblazoned with the SKA logo, cardboard mock-helmets that looked more like old happy-meal boxes, jerseys bearing the names of SKA’s star players. The general atmosphere was strikingly close to that of an NBA game (a sporting event I am much more familiar with). Before the game began, people milled about in the concessions area drinking beers and eating snacks. Shouts and cheers abounded as I made my way to my balcony seat. Before the game started, a choral recording of what I think was the national anthem played. People stood up silently, and those who had scarves held them stretched-out above their head. Needless to say, it was epic. The fans’ reverence and national pride during the anthem mirrored that of any American fan at the start of a sporting event. The game began shortly afterwards. Hockey in Russia is tame compared to NHL: there is no fighting and not as much checking. The intensity was there, just without the violence. Based on the predominant stereotype of Russia, I expected two squads of toothless brutes to fistfight their way through a dull and bloody match. Instead, the players displayed skill and sportsmanship even through the sudden death shoot-out. Even the fans seemed more subdued: the loudest cheers in my section came from my American cohorts. However, this might be due to the fact that there was designated cheering sections set up at the ends of the hockey rink, so maybe all the boisterous fans gathered there. They knew their chants by heart and gave the spectator side of the sport an unfamiliar air of professionalism. Again, my preconceptions about how a hockey match would be exposes how deeply debilitating stereotypes can be: they even victimize benign entertainment, a cultural realm one would think would elude stereotypes. As I continue my stay in Russia, stereotypes interest me more and more as each day teaches me how misleading they can be. I think there must be a foundational stereotypical image. The image is nebulous and contains the characteristics of a typical person from that cultural, ethnic, or national group. This image (from whence it came I do not know, though Cold War propaganda might be a good guess in the case of Russia) radiates and infects all cultural spheres as it gets applied (incorrectly and unjustly) to all aspects of that culture. Of course, I need to read in to the topic more, as I am sure stereotypes have been scrutinized over the years, and test my experiences against the literature. However, seeing how busy I am, this might have to wait until grad school. Anyway, the game ended in excitement, as SKA won after an overtime and a lengthy sudden death shootout. Of all the hockey games to go to, we chose a good one. I left the arena joining in with the “SKA! SKA! SKA!” chants and even bought a team scarf on the way out. Looks like I will be repping SKA back in the states. Until next time, adios.
jakecrumbs 