A Belated Entry

A piece I wrote for a class; inspired by an incident I didn't really talk about that took place while I was in Saint Petersburg

It was early fall in Saint Petersburg and Jane, Erin and I huddled into our light jackets as we threaded our way along the street. The sky mimicked the dirty grey of the sidewalk and hawkers appeared around us as we neared the Gypsy Market. They displayed watches, scarves, handbags, perfume, with their wares arrayed on tables, arms, even on the ground. No matter how loudly they cried or how close to our faces they pushed their goods we didn’t stop to look. We were in search of shoes and we refused to be distracted.

Lately the three of us had felt distinctly un-Russian society due to our lack of appropriate footwear. When you apply to study abroad in Russia they give you plenty of information about cultural differences in food but none about shoes. Russians place great importance on footwear and we found that it clearly distinguishes Russians from outsiders especially for women, for whom the higher and thinner the heels the better, even though that means risking twisted ankles walking on cobbled streets. As the weather got colder and boots appeared we felt our lack of Russian shoes more acutely. We decided to try the Gypsy Market.

The open-air ‘Gypsy Market’ stands near the center of Saint Petersburg in one of the oldest quarters of the city. Buildings centuries old with paint peeling in faded strips line its cobbled streets and waterways. The market itself is officially called ‘Sennaya Reenok’ (Sennaya Market) and it is nearly as old as the city itself, founded on a charter issued by Peter the Great. Its wares and distribution are not always legal and the city has unsuccessfully tried to get rid of the Market. It is one of the best locations to buy anything cheaply in Saint Petersburg, and since shoes are very expensive in regular retail stores the Market was an obvious choice. Although the Gypsy Market is noted for its thieves as well as its history we decided to risk it for the sake of shoes.

About a ten-minute walk from the Sennaya Ploshad (‘Sennaya Square’) metro station we ducked down a street barely wider than an alleyway, took a sharp left and we had arrived. Food stalls at the entrance to the market offered the Russian staples of tea, coffee, blini and pelmini. The scent of grease lingered in the air, surprisingly welcome in the cold. Passing through the food stands we could see ahead of us a warren of structures. Buildings with open bottom levels held brightly lit shops, stands covered by awnings nestled against each other and tables sat in the street. Few cars parked inside the Market and instead the narrow streets teamed with people. Holding our purses tightly we stepped forward to join the throng.

By unspoken consensus we had become quieter as we approached the market and now we stopped talking altogether, unwilling to expose ourselves as foreigners by speaking English. Stepping along the main thoroughfare of the market we passed tables heaped high with watches or scarves or wallets in a colorful chaos. I smiled at the haute couture imitations on display and we marveled at the variety offered. Even the faces of people at the market were much more varied than elsewhere in Saint Petersburg.

As we passed through the chaos we noticed a number of small alleys spreading off from the main lane in both directions, lined by small stalls that squatted under the shadows of surrounding buildings. Most of the stalls were set up like miniature stores, three walls abutting those of their neighbors and the fourth open to the lane. Their owners presided over each of these stalls, some silently sitting with hands in their pockets while others called out to passersby. As I listened cries of ‘Cheapest watches!’, ‘Newest style!’ and ‘Warm winter hats!’ filled the air. I glimpsed intriguingly bright patches of color in the depths of the rows.

At first the main thoroughfare was enough for us and we weren’t eager to enter the claustrophobic environment of the alleys. Yet despite the many goods on display we could see no shoes. Evidently the market had some sort of hidden order and we were not in the footwear section. I turned to Jane and quietly asked, “Shall we go right?” “Right,” she agreed, a look of slight consternation on her face. Erin nodded consent and we veered off down the next alley.

Now walls of purses surrounded us and we were completely submerged in the market. I felt apprehension as purveyors leered at us, calling out ‘dyevochka, dyevochka!’ (‘girl, girl!’) to attract our attention. We pressed on through the purses, turning towards any direction that we thought we glimpsed shoes. The warren seemed endless as we searched with increasingly frantically. Then we emerged into shoe nirvana. The stalls surrounding us suddenly displayed rows upon rows of shoes. Ahead of us stood an entire alleyway dominated by a shoe market with hundreds of pairs of very shiny, high-heeled, Russian shoes.

I felt my heart leap and we looked at each other with ill-concealed excitement. Our first few timid stops were as a group but we swiftly split up to pursue our own perfect pair. We moved swiftly and precisely through the section with our eyes flicking rapidly over pair after pair. As I searched shoes filled my eyes and around me hunch-backed babushkas merged with slim dark-skinned youths leaning insolently against the sides of their stalls. As vendors realized that I was seriously looking they would come up to me and offer assistance. I refused their help in bad Russian, insisting I was only looking. Occasionally I asked about price and shoe size, assuming the price was negotiable by at least a fourth. If they had the shoe size requested they would immediately whisk away and retrieve them, forcing the customer to sit and try them on.

Each stall displayed their wares differently, but it quickly became clear that what had seemed like endless variation was mostly revamped repetition. Jane gave up the search first. She already had shoes that were black and heeled and had been the least committed to finding new footwear. It didn’t take long for me to join her despondently after being told repeatedly that they didn’t have my size, the vendors looking with what I imagined was disgust at my overly large feet.

Only Erin refused to give up. She moved relentlessly from stall to stall as Jane and I drifted behind her. Finally Erin entered a small closet-like stall with cardboard on the floor and shoes displayed on small shelves around the walls. The owner was a vibrant middle-aged woman chatting with a neighbor. As Erin entered she lighted on a pair of black, ankle-length boots with very high but relatively thick heels. When she pointed them out to us we nodded our approval and Erin approached the owner.

“How much?” Erin asked, pointing.

“Twelve hundred rubles. What size?” The woman replied.

“Thirty six.”

“One moment, please,” the woman said and walked briskly off to retrieve them from a nearby store. Erin turned to us with excited eyes and in a low voice asked, “Do you think I can get her down to eight hundred?” The two of us shrugged. “Sure,” I said.

The woman returned bearing the shoes and gestured for Erin to sit on her crate.

“You are Finnish, aren’t you?” She asked as Erin tugged on one shoe, then the other.

“Yes, we are,” Erin answered quickly. We knew that Europeans got better prices than Americans.

“Are you here for the weekend?”

“No, we study here,” Jane replied. Erin stood up, wobbling slightly on the high heels.

“How beautiful!” Their seller enthused to Erin, who did her best to look dissatisfied. “But so expensive…” Erin began and the woman bared her gold-toothed smile in recognition of a bargaining tone. Jane and I stood stamping our feet in the cold while they bargained spiritedly. The stall owner described all the best features of the shoes while Erin pointed out defects. They shook their heads in shock at each others offers and heaved sighs of tragedy at being cheated. Finally the stall owner brought the price down to nine hundred and fifty and Erin played her last card.

“Eight hundred,” she offered.

“Too cheap!” cried the woman.“Nine hundred.”

Erin again turned to us. I raised my eyebrows in agreement and Jane nodded her head. “Fine,” she said. The seller clapped her hands and again treated us to the sight of her gold-covered teeth. The deal was done.

We walked back through the market as stalls were beginning to close up for the evening and buyers drifted towards exits. The lanes weren’t as confusing now that we had no rush and Erin walked proudly and happily in her new shoes. Much of the market remained to be explored but as we passed back out onto the streets of Saint Petersburg I was happy to leave that to another day.

At the end.

I spent four days traveling, but I’m finally here; New Zealand, on the top of a hill, in the house my parents just built. A kind of home, since my family is here, but a place I’ve never actually lived. The four days were a network of plane flights, layovers, and at the end a ferry ride and four hour car ride, and never have a been so glad to finally stop traveling.

I many ways I couldn’t be farther from Russia. Its summer, I’m in the middle of what used to be – and is still surrounded by – a cow pasture, instead of a big city. At night I listen to deafening silence instead of trams running past my window. Right now I can hear a light rain beating against the roof over my head, instead of being isolated from the noise by another level of apartments. The amount of space I have to myself is luxurious, as is the size of our kitchen/dining room and the house overall. I have eaten salad at almost every meal. I can drink water from the tap. I’ve traveled most of the way around the world to get here, and I still almost can’t believe that I left.
I miss the presence of Russian in my brain, a constant hum that either needed to be translated or was waiting to be uttered in a heavy accent. I miss the snow, and while I love being able to wear lighter clothing (‘Its been cold here, we got a front down from Alaska’ Marianne told me during my stopover in San Francisco. ‘Cold? Is this cold?’ I replied, stepping out into balmy 40 or 50 degree weather), it feels strange. The silence really is deafening, after being in a city for so long, especially only separated from the street by a thin window; I think its part of the reason I’ve had trouble sleeping. That and the light, since the light level at about four or five in the morning here is the same as it was in Russia at eight thirty, my normal getting up time. That’s another thing; the days are just so long. I never appreciated daylight so much before.

But more on Russia itself, or rather my experience there. Without a doubt, it was one of the best and most important of my life so far. Russia convinced me that I can, and should, live in other countries even with a language barrier, that I am capable of learning and using a foreign language, and that it is certainly possible to get around with just the basics. I trust myself and my abilities to survive and – even – flourish in alien environments. Russia also required me to stretch my definition of living standards. I was better off than many of the other Americans, having lived in small-town NZ as well as middle-class America, and I wasn’t outraged at the living conditions. Still, living at lower than customary standards, and realizing that nearly everyone in Russia shares those standards, was informative, to say the least. I actually enjoyed living more poorly, but I realize that I can enjoy it, because for me it is a choice; for many Russians, it’s the only way of life.
Russia also in a lot of ways confirmed my interests. I always vaguely thought that, yes, anthropology was the right field for me. But now I realize that it is actually the ideal field. I’m not interested in politics, or economics, or even sociology. I’m interested in people, how they live, how they interact, why they do what they do. Even history, for me, is a tool for understanding the background of current traits, and why they might have arisen. I have come out of Russia with a huge respect for the Russian people, for everything that they have gone through, what they still see ahead. They are survivors, and while they might be cold in public in private they are warm and generous. The real Russia is the peoples’ Russia, a huge and multi-varied one, not Putin’s Russia that caters to the elites, perhaps the top 2% of the population. If the people support him, its because he brought about economic stability and some return to order. There is more than one side to every issue.

Perhaps most importantly, I know myself better than I ever have before. If necessity is the mother of invention, it is also a honing tool, paring down all of what make you up to the most essential and important of it all. And when you know yourself, you can do anything, doing it in your own, individual and personally inspired way.

So, Duh svidanya Russia. I hope I will see you again soon.

Reflections at Thousands of Feet

(On an airplane)
Flying over the clouds, at the level of the sunrise as I fly towards Australia on my way to New Zealand. Simultaneously can’t believe that I’m out of Russia, or that it exists and I was ever there.

The approximately 30 hours that I spent in the US made me realize some of the differences with Russia. First of all, people smile when you smile at them, almost always. Also, the standard of living is just so luxurious; the large living space, availability of such a wide range of goods and at such high qualities… Generally just the richness and, even, largess of America. Of course, its not just America, perhaps generally the West.
Also, the South African (who lives in Saudi Arabia) that I sat next to on the plane, as we were flying into San Francisco remarked about the flatness of the city. The airport is quite far from the city center, and SF itself is more built up, but he was completely right. American cities, compared to Russian or European ones (and, obviously, with exceptions) are flat. The huge amount of space available really meant the massive spread of cities across the land, rather than vertically. In Russia, having more than enough land as the largest country in the world, was limited by climate and communism that favored industry and the worker over the farmer to develop up rather than out. It was strange to walk around in Berkeley and feel the space, skies unfilled with apartment buildings. The sense of space was incredible, and must contribute to the association of America with ‘freedom’, the freedom to move.
It has also been a return to customer service. On the British Airways flight from St. Petersburg to London, the group of us were incredibly impressed with the friendly flight attendants; service with a smile. But really, they were of normal flight attendant standard; it was us who had changed our expectations. I know I’ve said it before, but I’ll say it again; as far as my experience goes, the Russian people are friendly at heart, and extremely hospitable, but they are not quite so in public. In public, they are restrained and impersonal, and this is not necessarily a bad thing.

The sun is shining fully brightly into my eyes now, and the light is pure as it rides over the clouds. As it rose the light and colors were intensive, their limited light concentrated and emanating slowly over the lake of misty cloud cloud, broken by islands of the fluffier stuff. Oh, the magic of the dawn!

There is a little curl of ice on the bottom of my window that reminds me of Russia, in its crystalline winter-locked beauty.

(So, I wrote this a long time ago....)

So, Pushkin.
Luckily, and contrary to all my pessimistic assumptions, it not only snowed quite a lot the night before we went to Pushkin, but the snow stuck as well. Meaning that when we woke up in the morning the world was blanketed, and it was even snowing when we left the bus in Pushkin itself, although by the time we left the palace proper it had stopped and it was perfect walking-around weather. The palace itself was, of course, ridiculous. It was originally a modest wooden building designed for the use of Peter the Great’s wife Catherine (who, by the way, was a commoner by birth), but remodeled by their daughter Elizabeth. The wealth of the tsars was, perhaps, never more ostentatious than under Elizabeth (II?), and she was not shy with lavishing it upon the building. As one of our guides said, she basically broke the bank, versus Catherine the Great, the next owner, who ‘as a German, was very thrifty’ (her words, not mine). Essentially, the whole palace is a little too much for my tastes, from the gold décor to the famous ‘amber room’, which contains walls literally paneled in amber. The original room (and the entire palace, essentially) was destroyed by the Germans during their invasion in WWII, and the German government paid 18 million euros toward the reconstruction efforts. They really did a fantastic job restoring the palace, from essentially ruble to its modern, reconstructed glory, but the fact is that I (and I think many in our group) are a little tired of palaces. As stunning as they are, its just a little much sometimes, or at least consistently.
The grounds, however, were certainly worth the bus ride. Under snow they were transformed, although they must also be stunning in the summer and fall. Like the grounds at Pavlovsk they are quite extensive and of course we didn’t have enough time to explore them all. One thing to note particularly are their wonderful water features, stemming - I believe – from one main lake at the back of the palace. Also like at Pavlovsk (which, after all, is only a few kilometers away), the grounds are studded with buildings and monuments, like the ‘Chinese Pavilion’ and the ‘the Hermitage’ which apparently had no windows in its lower, hidden floor, allowing the tsars to take refuge there and do exactly what they liked in complete privacy. Wandering around in the snow and the – relative – wilderness was a lovely change after St. Petersburg and its unfortunate recent slush. I even fed birds. Lovely.
Really, it was a wonderful excursion. I’ve decided that snow makes everything better, and everyone, not just tourists, were enjoying it. There was also a very friendly dog who joined our group briefly. In Russia, or at least around St. Petersburg, stray animals are much less likely to be scary, and much more likely to be merely happy-go-lucky and looking for a snack. In generally, people are just so kind to animals, feeding them whenever they can and making allowances for them, like impromptu bird houses out of bottles, or the horde of cats that lives in the Hermitage. Its no wonder that animals seem less scary, when people treat them more kindly.

Lately I’ve been running around, trying to study for exams (my last is tomorrow, and then I’m free!!), while simultaneously getting everything done that I need to before I leave. Or rather, everything that I want to, which is primarily doing a great deal of walking where I haven’t been, and visiting museums. I had my last visit to the Hermitage on Monday, following a walk around one of the oldest parts of St. Petersburg and ending up as about a 6-hour walk all in all before returning home, thoroughly chilled. There really is a danger of not being able to get warm after being out in the cold for hours. Apparently, when you walk around by yourself, you get asked directions by all sorts of people. Or maybe now I look like I know where I’m going, because lately I’ve been asked many times for directions and information. This is decidedly pleasing, since I have passed the non-tourist test; I even talked for about five minutes with a man the other day before he realized I was a foreigner. And the grocery lady who I have been wooing with frequent purchases actually made conversation with me yesterday, which consisted of her asking me if it was cold, me replying that yes, of course, and her laughing at me for thinking it was cold when it was only about three below zero. Which admittedly, is not very cold. As Tanya said today, when it gets to 6 below, then its cold. I was even told today by a stranger not to bit my nails, and that it was unattractive. All in all, lately I’ve been feeling like I’ve been accepted into Russian society to at least some extent, and so it makes me all the more sad to leave. Really, as my time in St. Petersburg runs out, I’ve decided that yes, I am very much going to miss Russia. Its hard to describe exactly why, and it will probably become a lot clearer after I leave, but its really been such a wonderful place to live.

On a complete side note, the re-facing of the Hermitage has been completed, and it looks fantastic.

Before Pushkin

It is snowing outside. This is glorious, not least because for the past week or so the weather was just wet and gloomy, as all the past snow drifts gradually melted and disappeared, leaving us all wondering if the snow had just been a wonderful dream. But no! It has returned! And just in time for our trip to Pushkin, the old vacation town of the nobility, and Tsarsye Tselo, the imperial palace that contain the famous Amber Room, tomorrow. Although the palace sounds nice, the grounds are meant to be spectacular, even more so than the grounds at Pavlovsk that we visited in the fall. Unfortunately, its hard for anywhere to look good when all there is to see is mud and leafless trees, not that they don’t have their own, different aesthetic appeal. So I have been hoping desperately for snow, and it has finally arrived! With any luck, it will last the night and there will be glorious whiteness all around.

This last week has gone by in a blur, once again. Its impossible to believe that I’ll be leaving Russia in a week. I don’t want to. Some people on the trip blatantly do, to the point of my having been informed of the number of hours to go, but I could really stay much, much longer. Or just have to come back. I know I won’t realize everything I’m going to miss until its gone, but there are some obvious ones; my host mother and her amazing cooking, the canals, the snow (as elusive as its been lately), the metro, the rye bread, the bakeries, the tea…. The list goes on, probably so far as to stretch down the block and around the corner. Oh, Russia!

Still, I’m trying to use the remainder of my time wisely. I’ve visited the Hermitage twice more recently, and I think I’ll time for once more before I leave. I’ve explored more of the city, eaten at every blini chain I think, (oh, the blini! So available and cheap!) although one can never be sure, talked for hours with my host mother. We have our last organized excursion on Thursday to the Jazz Philharmonic Hall, which will hopefully be spectacular. With any luck I’ll have time to wander and see more, visit the Museum of Bread, grab the last needed presents and visit a few more sights while studying for exams, and before my time here is up. It’s the familiar time crunch at the end of every semester, but now worse since there’s so much more to go out and see.

And time grows short

We have less than two weeks left in Russia, and everything has suddenly sped up. Actually, ever since we got back from Finland everything has been going ridiculously quickly. Still, I will try to describe the past weeks, somehow distinguishing events from the blur that they have left in my mind.

With the snow came a lot of wandering around in it, naturally. The week after coming back from Finland was mainly just walking and readjustment to Saint Petersburg in its new white, and later slushy form. Also a lot of soup making, and subsequent soup enjoyment. I’ve discovered that Russian are not crazy for eating ice cream at below freezing temperatures, it is actually very enjoyable. We went to the Pushkin Apartment Museum, which was decent but not actually as interesting as real art museums, and probably not as interesting to us as to Russians, since he is their most famous and seemingly most revered poet. I’m thinking for them its more of a shrine… It did make me think about how ridiculous it was to duel over women; I mean really, Pushkin was married to the most beautiful woman of the time, took offense at letter sent to her (letters she never acted on), and subsequently lost his life in a duel. Now, how did that help her, honor intact or besmudged? And it certainly didn’t help him, since he ended up dead. And it certainly didn’t help Russian literature, either.

Anyway. I also visited the Hermitage twice, which sadly only convinced me that there is not and never will be enough time for me to see all that I would like to. Ideally, starting exploring earlier would have been a good idea, but c’est la vie. More will be packed in the remaining weeks.

I have been spending more time on the trams, and subsequently a deep appreciation for the public transportation here. Naturally, I am also dreading leaving it, although really I have at least some available bake in the States. Maybe its just the really, truly beautiful metro that I will miss. Especially it’s extreme frequency.

Last Tuesday, I wandered through the entire Ancient Art section of the Hermitage, and then Ashley and I went to a Banya! It was very, very exciting. For those not in the know, Banya’s are (public, generally) bath houses, where before the Krushev (if that’s how you spell his name in English) housing reforms most of the public went to bath weekly, due to the lack of facilities in their homes/communal apartments. Although really, the essential part of the Banya is the steam room, where you can go to sweat out all the dirt and impurities in your system before washing them all off under the shower/with buckets of water. Its actually a decently complicated process, so it was lucky that we asked one of our professors (the amazingly cool and possible ex-Communist informant Igor) about what to do before actually going. The right way to do things is something like the following. First, of course, pay- entrance for an hour and a half cost about a dollar, and a sheet to wrap yourself in cost about $1.50. Then put your belongings into a locker in the entrance/storage/relaxation/cool-down room; the woman at the front will lock your valuables away if you want. After undressing – completely, I might add, no modesty here – you first go claim a bench, filling a tub with hot water, washing the bench and placing everything you need on it. This includes putting your birch branch into the tub to soak. Then, take a trip to the shower to wash off outside dirt. It is not time to proceed to the steam room for the first time, and it is damned hot. As Igor said, listen to your body, and spend only maybe 5 minutes in the steam room the first time. Finally, exit the steam room - you will probably be bright red at this point – take a shower, and go wrap yourself in a sheet and relax in the first room. Maybe drink some tea, or beer, if you want to be really Russian. Water, if you’re us, since you WILL get dehydrated. After you have cooled down completely, its time for the steam room again. Rinse, repeat.

Igor said that its normal to spend anywhere from an hour to three hours in the Banya, depending on your personal preference. We went into the steam room three times, which might be about normal, and spent almost exactly an hour and a half there. You can tell the really hardcore people because of a couple things. One, they wear wool hats in the steam room (Igor told us to, its meant to protect your head), they get in just when people throw hot water on the coals and the most burning steam arises, and they beat themselves vigorously with birch branches. Yes, birch branches. According to the ever-wise Igor, this is to get the air circulating around the skin for a better result. It actually feels quite pleasant but sounds nasty. There was a little girl getting wacked by her mother when we went, and to hear her you’d think that it was as bad as a horse whip or something. This is not the case.

Overall, the Banya was fantastic. You don’t notice that you’re naked when you’re surrounded by that many naked people, so that certainly wasn’t a problem. And thanks to Igor, we were well-prepared. Also, the steam room is really just fantastic; they scented the water with what smelled like birch essential oil or something, and the platform is built of a dark wood, so you almost feel like you’re in a very hot, rustic cabin. And the atmosphere of the banya is so cheerful and communal, women helping each other lug water, soaping each others’ backs, sometimes beating each other with birch branches. It’s a very organic and natural place, really, and I fully plan to return again. Tomorrow, actually. Although time is running out, perhaps we will try a higher class of banya before we leave, including a cold pool to plunge into that Igor says makes you feel like you have no skin. Which must be interesting, to say the least.

Wednesday was exciting because I got a library card from the National Library in Saint Petersburg. This was a reasonably long process, since I had to bring my passport, fill out a form, and be questioned briefly re: form by the woman behind the desk. But it was free, and you need a card to ENTER the library, you can’t just look around. It’s a lovely building and perfect for studying, which I will probably do more of in the coming week as my exams loom. Actually, they’re already looming. The library itself has an impressive collection, including one of Bede’s manuscripts, the monk who wrote (arguably?) the first history of England back in the middle ages. This was very impressive to a history nerd such as myself.

On Wednesday we also went to see The Master and Margarita, a fantastic stage adaptation of a novel by the same name. I won’t go into detail about the play in order to not ruin the novel, although I highly recommend it, but the entire play was quite fantastically done. It took place at the Baltiiskii Teatr (Baltic Theater), right behind Peter and Paul Fortress. The Theater has a massive stage, and it was very much used to its own advantage, often divided and simultaneously used in several layers. The costuming was fantastic in its own right as well.

Thursday was Thanksgiving, which we had catered in an American restaurant. Somehow, without the family and a table creaking under the weight of the food upon it, it just wasn’t quite the same. Enjoyable, naturally, but just not quite the same. Although there was a absolutely decadent pumpkin/something chocolate/pecan pie.

Friday there was a disgusting amount of class, and then Ashley and I attempted to return to the banya but were thwarted by a line that went out the door, down the stairs and right by the coat check. Awful.

Saturday we had an organized excursion to the Baltika (Beer) Factory in Saint Petersburg. Baltika makes about 38% of all the beer in Russia, which is incredibly impressive given how much in drunk. It was fairly interesting, including the ‘hall of glory’ of Baltika awards, what I like to call the ‘Hall of Past Glory’ which showed the old equipment used, and the ‘Hall of Sponsor Glory’ which contains presents given to Baltika from mainly organizations they sponsor, but which includes a plaque from the political party currently in power in the government; naturally, drunk people are easier to deal with than sober ones. The whole placed also smelled very pleasantly of beer. Well, if you like beer it was pleasant.

We went out Saturday evening to a fancy Ukranian Restaurant where I had borsch unlike any I have every tasted before. Delicious, but different. We also had a group of people dressed in traditional costume sing and play instruments for us, which was wonderful.

On Sunday I spent a shameful amount of time at the second hand Market. It really is wonderful, now that I’ve discovered its secret; there is the obvious second hand stalls, but to get to the really good stuff you have to walk a good quarter mile (perhaps I exaggerate, but it is far) through all the other stalls to reach the glorious field where people lay their wares out on plastic sheets or blankets on the ground to be qawked at by passersby. The things you can find are really incredibly varied and wonderfully old treasures are to be found.

After the glory that is the market, I took the metro into the center to meet Tanya (my homestay mother) at Isaac’s Cathedral, where she works as a guide. After a brief spell of confusion, I met her at the exit, and she led me past security, into the glorious interior. Outside, St. Isaac’s looks very solid and Roman-esque, but inside it is colorful and beautiful. Perhaps a little formal for my tastes, but lovely and very imperial. I joined Tanya’s tour, understanding little but more than nothing, and then we all went up to the collonade that surrounds the dome of the cathedral. There are so many steps going up that at 101 steps to the top they start writing on every ten stairs how many more there are to go. And the view! I have never seen, and understood, Saint Petersburg like that. Here and there stick up golden spires, in some places cranes for repair rise above the buildings, in the distance at the edge of the city rise the steaming chimneys of industry. The city center is so much more cohesive and understandable from the top, without navigating canals and streets that are only grid-like, not laid in a grid. It was magical. Yes, I will use that word.

Sunday Ashley and I made borsch in the evening, which was very much a success; not only did we enjoy it, but Tanya tried some and told me that it was ‘genuine’ borsch, and that she liked the size I but my beets better than how she normally does it. This, as you can imagine, was a fantastic compliment and has probably inflated my ego to a dangerous size. She also told me the other day that I don’t seem American, or at least not before I open my mouth I assume, which I took as compliment.

Today, Monday, I spent four hours cooking and then eating Plaf (Pilaf in English?) with Tanya. It’s a wonderful feeling to be able to make yourself understood for that long in another language, although I admit that grammar mistakes and vocabularly complications are always the order of the day.

Now, a few notes about Russian life. 1) The parking has gotten better with the snow fall, although it is still hazardous and the driving is perhaps on the sketchy side 2) I still can’t believe how children who are so young take public transport by themselves here. 3) Bread is incredibly cheap, good and very, very varied. Of course, Russians love their sweets/bread products passionately so I really shouldn’t be surprised. 4) I never thought I’d get to the point where I’d think ‘one degree outside (~34 F)? Its not cold today!’, but I’m there.

I hope it starts to snow again. There are less than two weeks, and I want to see everything covered again, bright and white and wonderful.

Tallin!!

Estonia was wonderful. In fact, it convinced me that learning Russian was actually a very good idea, because now I can travel around the Baltic states and have a decent chance of making myself understood. And after visiting Estonia, I’d like to do so. Since we only spend about 8 hours in Estonia, this speaks (positive) volumes about the country. Or at least, Tallin.

Estonia is a tiny country, but Estonians are very proud of having their own state. As well they should be, given that at various past times they were ruled by, among others, the Teutonic Knights, the Swedes, and the Russians. Their only other period of dependence since the middle ages, besides the current one, was a brief spurt in the early 20th century before their absortion into the USSR. Tallin, as both their main and capital city, shows traces of every period of Estonia’s history, and thus was absolutely fascinating. Although in our case, besides our time walking to and from the ferry, we spent the day in the Tallin ‘old town’, which can itself be divided into two parts, the ‘upper’ town and –you guessed it – the ‘lower’ town. The ‘upper’ town is older, and contains among other things on one of its highest points the medieval castle (the first permanent structure in Tallin?) that has undergone changes with each successive administration that has controlled the city; its current reincarnation has a candy pink, St. Petersburg-style stucco façade built by, of course, the Russian tsarist government. I think it is currently used as the parliament. It stands across from the very traditional Russian Orthodox Church that the Russian Administration built during Tsar Nicholas’ ‘Russification’ campaign, a glaringly obvious symbol of Russian power.
The upper town also contains one of the most beautiful and moving churches I have ever visited, a huge Lutheran cathedral. Perhaps due to a strong German influence from its trade relations, Estonia is a primarily Lutheran country and the cathedral is decorated with shields commemorating local important barons, counts, etc. These wooden shields are decorated with coats of arms and were apparently carried in front of funeral processions, then hung in the church, and they offset beautifully the primarily white interior. More impressively, there was a woman singing in the church,and filling it full with her voice. When we initially entered the church I didn’t realize that the music was live, but looking into the musical balcony at the back there a woman was, practicing one assumed. Her singing was beautiful, and gave a very holy feeling to the cathedral. Overall, the impression created was of a pure vastness made more intimate by the presence of dark wood, ornate metal work (especially in the chandeliers), and filled with a glorious voice. Lovely.
Other sights in Tallin include the Maidens’ tower, where young girls who refused to marry the men their families chose for them were imprisoned until they relented. I imagine young, fiery women, and old, fat barons that were their intended husbands. Later, (or simultaneously?) this tower was apparently used to imprison prostitutes, given an ironic meaning to the name ‘Maidens’ Tower. In the lower town there is a well called ‘drowned cats well’ which the townsfolk would toss unfortunate stray cats into to appease the demon that they believed lived in it. Imagine the water quality and shudder. I should mention, the tap water in Estonia is drinkable, so probably does not currently contain dead cats. Right across from this well of doubtful quality is a house that the devil allegedly celebrated his wedding party in; the room where this happened was sealed, and remains so to this day. From the look of the old town, you would think that Estonia is back in the middle ages. They even have active guilds in the city, some no doubt tracing their history back through the centuries, since Tallin has long been a commercial center (although apparently Germans were at the fore, not Estonians themselves). Apparently, however, IT is actually a big deal in Estonia, with more and more young people entering the field. In fact, Skype, the internet calling phenomenon – if you will – originated in Estonia, and apparently many Estonians still staff its ranks. And really, outside of the old city Tallin looks quite modern, albeit in a fairly unsurprising and concrete-laden Soviet way.
Also more recently, President Bush stayed at the Radisson in Tallin during his visit to – I believe – a summit in Latvia. And by stayed at, I mean rented the entire place. Our guide, a very cheerful and amusing Australian who lives in Tallin due to his Estonian girlfriend, pointed out that when the Queen of England visited Tallin she stayed in a local historical bed and breakfast called the Three Sisters. He said that he tells Americans that this shows the power difference between the two countries, and tells people from other countries that this shows how important the two countries see themselves. He then admitted that perhaps the comparison is not quite fair, given the Queen has mainly ceremonial rather than religious power. I still thought it was funny.

I could say more about the rest of the city, but there’s only so much I can describe without it all beginning to sound the same. Overall, it contains extraordinarily old architecture and was a joy to walk around in. The streets, like in most medieval towns, are narrow, cobbled and windy, making it even more fun to explore. There is also both a marzipan shop and a marzipan museum. There are plenty of cafes and small shops with local crafts, and it was in one of these that I had my first experience with tourist versus local prices. We happened to walk into a wool and yarn shop owned by a Russian lady, who we had heard talking in Russian and to whom, when she was struggling to name prices in English, Ashley asked her to speak in Russian. She brightened, and after her other customers left came over and enthusiastically encouraged Ashley to try on multiple hats while she was shopping. Having apparently decided that a scarf with long ends functioning as a scarf was the best choice, she lowered the price from 350 kroons to only 200, apparently its actual price in wool and work hours, a.k.a. the non-tourist price. And it is a fantastic scarf-hat. As I said, Estonia proved the usefulness of Russian! It also had delicious pastries, just like Finland. All buttery goodness and flaky crust, which is not usually standard to Russia; not that they’re not good, but they are a different style.

There really are many Russians in Estonia, but at the moment its impossible to get to Estonia directly from Russia, thanks to Putin. Apparently, the Estonian government dismantled and relocated a monument to the Red Army from Tallin to some obscure park. Since this was kind of a slap in the face to the Russian influence in Estonia, Russians in the capital rioted, and Putin cut the railway lines into Estonia. I sort of imagine this as similar to a ribbon-cutting ceremony, except that Putin stands with a stony look on his face, holding in his hands massive wire cutters and then taking them to the tracks. Or maybe he just chopped through them with his bare hands, given his judo expertise. You never know.

I think that’s were I’m going to stop with Estonia. Overall, I liked to better than Finland, although that may have something to do with the lack of stucco and presence of cobbles. One can only stand so much stucco. But also, it seems more real than Finland, which is a little overly clean and well-run. Basically, slightly boring. Then again, that might only be Helsinki. No matter what, I will be returning to the Baltic States, and explore the ex-USSR. And it will be fantastic.

On the ferry back to Helsinki many people were loaded up with boxes of duty-free goods, beer, cigarettes, and gin ‘long drinks’ being particularly popular. Ah, to be able to travel so easily between countries! Or rather, to have other countries so close!

Back in Saint Petersburg, lately we have been receiving actual winter weather; loads of snow and glorious landscapes of white. Unfortunately, I have discovered the inevitable and terrible side of effect of the glorious whiteness; slush. In its many forms, including sludge, icy water and dirt. Downtown, where they clean the entire streets and sidewalks with ice, the gutters overflow and there are slushy rivers that form between the sidewalk and the street, making it a mission to cross the road without boots filling with water. I also managed to step into a massive hole in the road concealed by water, splashing above my boots and leaving unpleasantly wet pants in their wake. And I was worried that my snow boots wouldn’t come in handy!

The slush and sludge is a small price to pay, however, for the glories of winter. The crunch of snow under my feet is joyful, the silky top of the snow a lovely blanket. There is just so much to enjoy, and its still so new, that I’m surprised every time I step outside. Oh winter!