Ridiculously massive post

Okay. I’m in Russia. I’m still alive. I’m sitting on my bed in my new home for the next four months, but I’ll talk more about that later. Because as you know, a lot has happened since my last communication with anyone in the United States. So brace yourselves, people. This is going to be a ridiculously long post.

I didn’t sleep much the night before we left. Of course, some of it was nerves. But some of it was the reheated and odd-tasting broccoli risotto that Mom made for dinner that night. Wednesday morning, I woke up after too little sleep and got ready. It was ridiculous, every little thing I did I was thinking to myself, “This is the last time you’ll do ____ in the United States until MAY.” Stupid things like putting on deodorant or flossing. How important is my last American floss til May, really?

We got to the airport nice and early. Turns out the weight limit is 50 lbs, not 70 lbs, so we had to shift some stuff from one bag to another, but it worked out okay. Said goodbye to Mom and Dad and went through security. Of course, this was sad, and I was trying not to cry. I held it together pretty well, though. At least until I went to the airport restaurant and had to ask for a table for one, and then they put me in the middle of a lot of groups. So I sat there alone and ate my crappy and overpriced salad and tried not to cry. Tragic, I know. Near-breakdown count; 1.

The flight out of Dayton to Dulles was fine. I mean, it’s a flight out of Dayton, so it was a tiny plane. There was a large family on the plane on the way to Brazil. The youngest son (around 18 months) was very unhappy toward the end of the flight. One of the aunts had to talk the ENTIRE TIME to her 7 or 8 year-old nephew about all the things on the plane. Whatever. Maybe I’m just a horrible and bitter person to find such things irritating.

Dulles is Dulles. I had to change terminals, which just meant taking a bus for like 30 seconds and then walking a long way. I had a long layover, so time was not an issue. I sat at the gate for a long time, reading the Premiere magazine I bought in Dayton. Eventually, I got up and tried to call home to let them know I had gotten in okay and that my flight was on time. Unfortunately, the first time I tried to call, there was something wrong with the phone, so I could hear Dad but he couldn’t hear me. For some reason, Dad saying, “Hello? Hello?” really got to me. Near-breakdown count: 2.

So then it was British Airways from one capital to another—London. The flight was incredibly empty. Each row in coach contained 10 seats. There were three people in my row: One on one side, and me and another woman in my little three-seat section. Since I had the window, the other woman wisely moved to the middle so she could have a section all to herself. This meant that later on I actually got some sleep because I could lie down. The food smelled better than it was, I ate it too fast, and it drove me absolutely insane that airplane pillows and blankets seemed designed to create as much static electricity as possible.

The hurricane-force winds that rattled London provided us with a super swift tailwind and we got in 45 minutes early. We only had to wait for a gate to be open for maybe 15 minutes, so we totally lucked out. Heathrow is Heathrow, which is unlike Dulles…which is Dulles. Heathrow is a gigantic mass of people, a total slice of humanity. I tried to make my way through this charming slice of humanity as quickly as possible, so I could get through security again and to Terminal 1 to sit down and maybe have a bite to eat.

Terminal 1 is like a mall, with a few hallways leading to gates. As tempting as it was to start shopping for duty free shoes or electronics, I was just thirsty and in desperate need of caffeine. Despite the fact that I could lay down on the flight from the US, I still only got about 2-3 hours of sleep (Not bad for a 6 hour flight). So I bought myself a Coke and a bag of chips that turned out to be very disappointing. I found myself a seat and sat facing the entrance. You see, I knew at least 6 other people on this program were going to be on my flight to St. Petersburg that left at 9:45. Since I had gotten in early and already had a long layover, I figured there was little chance I’d see anyone for a while. But lo and behold, before I had finished my Coke, who do I see but Katie! (Katie and I have had a ton of Russian classes together at IU, she was on the same program in the fall and decided to continue on into spring.) We sat down and talked for a while, and soon Jessica, who was also on the all-year program and recognized Katie, joined us. Not long after that, Hannah approached us on a whim and asked if we were going to St. Petersburg. And again, not long after that, Claire approached us and said, “Hi, I’m already Facebook friends with all of you.” (It’s true.)

So the five of us sat and talked for a while, quizzing Katie and Jessica about what to expect and the like. Our flight ended up being delayed til 10:40, so we had extra time. Eventually, we headed down to the gate, where the other CIEE students were pretty easily spotted. This flight was also nearly empty, so Katie and Hannah sat in my row and other groups sat together around the plane. I was ridiculously tired, but it was nice to talk to people.

Because of those same hurricane-force winds, we arrived in St. Petersburg only 30 minutes after our originally scheduled arrival time of 4:15. Passport control was a breeze and my luggage came through okay (Although a strap on my red bag that Mom had hastily repaired Wednesday morning broke all of the way off). Katie’s, unfortunately, didn’t. And still hasn’t, to my knowledge. Went through customs and met with Jarlath, an assistant coordinator, and Mila, one of our coordinators. They immediately photocopied our passports and migration cards because of some new law that just took effect. We had to wait around for them to finish that and for Katie and Mila to fill out her missing luggage forms, and then we all got onboard a bus.

No one should ever get his or her first impression of a city at night while jetlagged. But alas, this is not the first time it’s happened to me. I stayed awake, looking out the window for as long as I could, but eventually I napped. About two hours after leaving the airport, we arrived in the town of Repino, at the Zarya “resort.” I use “resort” loosely because it’s really more of a sanatorium. Old people go there to get out of the city for a bit and, I don’t know, walk around from the looks of it.

I roomed there with Ruby from Minnesota, ate a terrifying and lukewarm first meal there (We had gotten in so late the staff had gone home, so they just left some for us and a crock-pot. Yum.). Got a chance to call Mom. Of course, there was a long line behind me, but classic Mom style she was very chatty. My original plan was to just say, “Hey, I’m here, I’m fine, I’ll talk to you when I can, love you, bye.” But of course, Mom’s like, “Oh, I heard about the terrible winds in London…” So I tried to keep it short. Of course, the longer I talked to Mom, the more I realized I missed her. Near-breakdown count: 3.

I tried to get a decent night’s sleep. I felt I was entitled to one. I hadn’t had anything close to a full night’s sleep since Monday night, I was running on fumes, I hadn’t eaten enough to have any kind of energy…I should be out like a light. But of course, my body still thinks I’m in Indiana. So while I eventually did get to sleep at about 11, I then woke up at 2 and 5 for a long time.

Next morning (Friday), kasha for breakfast and hot water. Yum. We did orientation sessions all day Friday, alternating between learning really important things (How to tell the marshrutka driver to stop, how to hail a gypsy cab) and having the crap scared out of us (“These are all the horrible things that have happened to students before when they didn’t listen to us…so listen to us.”). I now know things such as: Never get in a gypsy cab when there’s more than one person in it, never give a kopek to a gypsy, don’t stay out too late in the spring (the drawbridges will go up and if you live on an island, like me, there’s no way for you to get back home because the Metro closes at 12), etc. etc.

Friday night a bunch of us played cards and the Russian Language Program students had to take an oral exam on tape with Nathan, the other coordinator. I was…very tired. Hopefully I did okay. I got the situation card where I had to call the front desk of my hotel and tell them my shower was leaking, that I needed more towels, and that I wanted a wake-up call at 6:30. Of course, I didn’t know the word for leaking, forgot the word for towels (I ended up saying “big napkins”), and said 7:30 instead of 6:30. Yeah, we’ll see how that turns out.

After that, there was allegedly a “diskoteka,” but Mattison, Ruby, and I wandered over to the building it was supposed to be in and found the room where it was going to be held…but the girl at the stereo system was on her phone not playing any music, the lights were all on, and the old man who had showed us where to go kept saying, “Dance! Dance!” We instead went down to the kafe, got drinks and sat down. This gave us a great vantage point as other people from the program wandered in looking for the diskoteka. Eventually everyone joined us in the kafe. Ruby and I, in the hopes of getting a good night’s sleep, left about 10:30-11ish. Of course, I had a horrible time falling asleep, and then woke up in the middle of the night.

So Saturday morning rolls around, we have some eggs and porridge for breakfast. Had I not let my porridge sit while I ate my eggs, its consistency probably would’ve been better. After breakfast, we had more sessions on transportation, including a few individual consultations about what is the best way to get from where each person lived to school. There was then a role-play showing us once again how to hail and negotiate with a gypsy cab and how to behave when the police confront you and ask for your documents (Short answer: Pretend you don’t know Russian, and then pretend to call the consulate. 99% of the time, they’re just looking for a bribe).

I suppose I could now take a moment to explain “gypsy cabs.” Of course, I have yet to hail one. That first attempt comes Monday. Basically, they’re not real taxis. They’re just regular guys who either make a living or supplement their income driving around the city taking people places. I say they’re not real cabs because they’re not licensed, not affiliated with any company, and there’s no meter. Instead, the price is arranged beforehand. So it’s hitchhiking, but with money. Yeah, it’s going to be exciting.

Then we packed up the rest of our stuff and had lunch (Borscht, crab salad, and some kind of beef(?)). Then it got depressing. We were separated and broken up into smaller groups. My group of five (Andrey, Claire, Becky, Hillary, and I) was all in a van together going to Petrogradskaya Island. Which, surprise, is where I am now. We were all pretty terrified and felt like orphans or refugees, especially because our van was the first to leave Repino, so we got to see everyone else standing inside and we drove off into the distance.

Andrey was dropped off first, at a nice looking building with a courtyard. I was next. I am living on ìÎËÁˆ‡ ÅÓθ¯‡fl, literally “Big Street,” in what Katie described as the “chic” neighborhood. Bolshaya is one of the two main drags on the island, and I’m a block and a half away from where it intersects with the other main drag, Kamennoostrovsky Prospekt. There are lots of posh stores and theatres and galleries around here, plus it’s really safe. So I couldn’t be happier with the neighborhood. I’m living with Marina Zenovevna. She’s a babushka who lives alone and has hosted many an American student. Also, she speaks a tiny bit more English than I speak Russian, so we’ve been able to communication pretty effectively.

I am now in my room, sitting at my desk. I’ve got a comfy-looking (but probably isn’t, I wouldn’t know, my backpack is there now and I haven’t sat in it yet) chair, a bed, and a shkaf (large cabinet). The apartment is probably small by American standards, but it’s got nice high ceilings and molding around my light fixture. The bathroom, probably what I was most terrified about, has recently been redone, with a nice (separate) toilet, and a new shower that’s actually fairly large. We’re on the third floor. I think I’ll be opting for the stairs, as the lift is pretty terrifying. It’s pretty tiny. The driver who dropped us off came in and helped me with my luggage, and we had a good laugh as we tried to squeeze both of my bags, my backpack, him, and myself into it. It’s not an elevator in a closed-off shaft. I don’t really know the best way to describe that. You know the elevator that Dr. Frankenfurter goes down at the beginning of “Sweet Transvestite” in Rocky Horror? It’s like that, but smaller and green, in the middle of the stairway.

Marina is already mystified by the fact that I don’t drink tea, but is happy with the fact that I prefer to eat dinner later. Her daughter-in-law and grandson came over for dinner, and once she finished the dishes, we went for a walk around the neighborhood. She said there’s an internet café close by that the girl she had last semester went to all the time, so I’ll probably post this from there. While I was unpacking my stuff, I had a real moment of, “Oh God, I really need to get comfortable.” Near-breakdown count: 4.

So, dinner was interesting. Sasha’s about my age, although probably more moody. He seemed nice but of course was shy and choosing not to try to speak in his limited English, and I was more than happy to oblige by also staying silent. Mostly I just listened to their conversation, trying to work on my comprehension skills. Conclusion: Russians talk too damn fast.

We began dinner with a cabbage soup. Yes, I ate the whole thing. To those of you who know that I don’t like cabbage, this may come as a surprise. But I’m in Russia, and it’s going to be impossible to avoid it. This was pretty filling as it was, but then came mashed potatoes and sausage. The sausage was good, the mashed potatoes tasted just enough different from Mom’s to make me kind of homesick, and the whole thing filled me up before I was even half finished with the plate. But I must be a good houseguest! So I sucked it up and shoveled it down. Then, while everyone else had tea (Marina offered it to me twice. When she told her daughter-in-law, “Sara doesn’t drink tea,” her daughter-in-law said, “What do you mean, she doesn’t drink tea?” I think Marina thinks she’s going to convert me.) I had an orange. My second whole orange of the day. Well, guess this means I won’t get scurvy!

Tomorrow, Marina is escorting me to Kapitanskaya Station, where I will be meeting the rest of the CIEE folk (Haha, Marina’s cell just rang, the ringtone is hilarious) and we’ll board a bus to take a bus tour of the city. After that, it’s either HIV tests or pancakes!

Monday Morning, Marina will help me get to school (either by Metro or marshrutka), and we take a bunch of placement tests. It’s at this point that the Russian only rule comes into effect. It is also at this point that I suddenly become a very quiet person. You see, I’ve signed a contract saying that I can’t speak English when in classes, on official group trips, or at official group gatherings. I say “official” because if I just meet up with some people after classes, we’re okay to speak English. This is nice because some of the people on the Area Studies Program (As opposed to the Russian Language Program) know very little Russian. Like my roommate from Zarya, Ruby. Ruby knows absolutely no Russian. Well, she knows “Hello,” “Bye!”, and “dog.” But were I not allowed to speak English in informal situations, then I would never be able to speak to Ruby again. I asked Katie how hard it was to go to classes that were all in Russian, but she said that your comprehension picks up pretty quickly, and no one expects you to take notes in Russian.

After that, there’s a group excursion to all buy Russian cell phones. Once that happens, I will once again have the opportunity for a social life. The rest of the week we have classes in the morning, and little trips to see or do things in the afternoon. Wish me luck.

.....And now I'm posting from a cafe about 200 yards away from my door with WiFi. Awesome. Can't write more now about our walk last night and our bus tour today, but I probably will tomorrow afternoon when Marina's not awkwardly sitting across from me reading a newspaper.