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.
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.
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.
Times are a-changin’ here in Russia . . . well at least the weather is. The snow is beginning to melt, the wind is picking up, and although hats and scarves are still necessary I can feel Spring approaching. Despite this optimistic turn in the weather, some Russians’ outlook on life remains bleak. Over the past month and a half, I often thought it strange how conversation with Russians my age quickly shifted to contemporary social issues: the demographic crisis, housing and transportation problems, rampant alcoholism, etc. In America, we tend to brush these complications under the rug, preferring to pretend to happiness rather than bare our displeasure, so hearing these subjects brought up struck me as taboo. Yesterday I talked with a young Russian lady who, shortly after our meeting, enumerated her country’s problems and declaimed against the Russian government for giving her and other people such an awful life. She used more colorful words than I am willing to repeat here, but her frank criticism of Russia stunned me and challenged my roseate outlook on this country, causing me to think that life might not be as good here as I once thought. I have heard about Russia’s problems before, in classes mainly, but her emotional tirade brought home their reality and repercussions. For the first time I really felt an insurmountable barrier between me and a Russian. But, I could not understand her because I have never felt like her in my life, like my situation was beyond my control, like there was nothing to believe in, like my country was worthless. However, I do not agree with her that Russia is worthless and believe she may have had some emotional or mental disorder which made her so vindictive. Even so, this is not the first time I have heard similar opinions expressed, and I feel like until now I have been deceiving myself about the quality of life here due to my inveterate optimism. It is safe to say that a majority of the Russian students I have met do not wish to live here when they grow older. They all have their own reasons for wanting to leave, but governmental policies and the standard of living seem to be the main cause. It is not like the entire younger generation wants to ditch Russia and go find happiness in Scandinavia, though. No, there are those who love Russia and want to stay here, as they understand the mindset, know the language, have family here, etc. But still, Russia has problems and Russians are not afraid to hide their emotions for the sake of keeping up appearances and reputations. Rather, they seem to seek release in sharing their problems with other people, be it grandma or a complete stranger. Coming from a world of fake smiles and self-sufficiency, this behavior seems incredibly foreign. I left the young lady left on inauspicious terms and without exchanging numbers, but I will remember our brief meeting for a long time to come. Until next time, adios.
Well, I’ve reached the halfway point of my study abroad. As such, I should pause to take an assessment of the past month and a half and make plans to improve future time spent here. When I think back to the goals I set before coming to Russia, it seems like I have made decent headway. For one, I speak Russian much better. Just yesterday I had an hour-long conversation with a Russian friend with only a few slip-ups. However, this does not mean I am placing a check-mark next to the “Learn the language” box and moving on. Far from that, actually, as the more I learn about the language the more I learn how vast and elusive it is. Learning Russian will be a life-long pursuit and will definitely continue to challenge me for the rest of the semester. As far as reading in Russian goes, I have spent less time developing this skill than speaking. As to why, I do not know. Maybe speaking with people is more fun? Of course, I read much better than I did before I came, but I do not feel like I have done everything I could to improve. I have formulated a few plans to help hone my reading comprehension, the main one being reading newspaper articles. I picked up Kommersant (Коммерсант: a Russian daily newspaper) while in Moscow to catch up on the news of the earthquake in Japan and realized that newspaper articles present a wealth of vocabulary in an accessible fashion. Reading one article a day seems doable now, but with midterms coming up and my already busy schedule that might be too much. We will have to wait and see. Expanding my familiarity with Russian literature was another reason I came, as my career aspirations revolve around this academic sphere. I have read a lot already and feel like I get more out of Russian literature reading it while living in Russia. The literature class I am taking keeps me pretty dedicated and gives me the highlights of classic Russian literature: Pushkin, Lermontov, Gogol, Dostoevsky, Tolstoy, Chekov. But I should strive to read modern Russian and Soviet literature. I have already read Bulgakov’s Master and Margarita, so maybe I will try and read some Solzhenitsyn. For now, the availability of books in the AIFS library will limit my selection, as I do not particularly want to spend money on books when they are freely available to me. This will be good, though, as the library is well-stocked in Russian literature and makes exploring the broad field of Russian literature less daunting and desultory. Cultural immersion is my last criterion and I am not sure how effective my approach to this has been, not because I doubt my methods but that I do not feel like culture has a center that you can get closer to. It is very spread out. In several earlier posts, I hinted at the idea that my original view of culture as a “fact,” i.e. something concrete and knowable rather than an amorphous and abstract entity, may have been false and my experiences continue to corroborate this. As it stands now, the frequency of my visits to museums is growing and I feel like they are becoming more meaningful. This heightened appreciation may be due to a growing familiarity with the culture or the fact that I now have enough cultural knowledge to compare various aspects to one another, make connections, etc. The pieces of the puzzle may be coming together. Interacting with locals is the other aspect of my cultural immersion and, although I never did the home-stay, I feel like this is going incredibly well. Besides my open-mindedness, I deserve no credit for this “success,” as my Russian friends’ hospitality and generosity enables me to learn about their mindsets, beliefs, traditions, habits, feelings, etc. At the same time, though, it does not feel like a “study” and I am not forming countless functional relationships merely to see how these people behave. It goes far beyond that, actually, and so far I am astounded at the deep connections that can be made despite language barriers. Meeting people is the most wonderful and rewarding aspect of study abroad, in my opinion. Words and languages are dead and boring until used to express oneself, and just learning the words and lingual system would be far less meaningful without meeting the people who wield them. Anyway, midterms are next week so I probably should go study. Look for new pictures soon of my trip to Kotlin Island (Остров Котлин) and Kronshtadt (Кронштадт) (I seem to have misplaced my camera cord!). 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.
jakecrumbs 