Drink Tea and Be Macking

Have lived in Russia about a week, and have already developed miserly, shrewd tendencies.  Have begun hording things, like free chocolate and water.  It’s 25 approx. 25 roubles to a dollar, but not knowing what’s a ridiculous, tourist-inflated, price to pay for water, and what’s a reasonable price, I end up by being over aware of every rouble (approx 4 cents) I spend on the cell phone.  The only thing that I feel liberal about spending money on is public transport.  Have already become big fan of the metro, and love being the last stop (Primorskaya) on the third line because I can’t go wrong.  Also find the Metro man recording (warning, the doors are closing) very soothing.  Give me somebody with that voice ANY DAY.
So, top two things Russians like to do:  Number One:  drink tea.  Number two:  Mack on the streets.  Or on boat tours.  Or on the escalators in the metro.  Clearly I can acclimate to this culture.  Have been drinking lots of tea, as the tap water in St. Petersburg is undrinkable unless boiled or filtered.  Giardia, you say?  If only I had only beaver feces to worry about.  The water is filled with heavy metals, bacteria, and viruses.  As a result, water isn’t simply given out at restaurants, and one needs to buy individual bottles of water (or six liter jugs of it like miserly me) if one wants STILL WATER.  And by still I’m referring to the lack of bubbles, not a location.
AS FOR THE MACKING, have not gotten around to that yet, although I will try not to disappoint.  I know you are all waiting on the edge of your seats for my macking exploits.  Well the sad truth of it is that I doubt there will be any macking action until bodily response to massive gluten exposure calms down.  Yes, I know you really want to hear this.  Unfortunately Russian cooking involves approx. -6 vegetables, and all of there are fried cabbage.  For sustenance my very sweet, lenient host mother Elena gives me KASHA, BUTTER, KASHA, BUTTER, BORSCH, BORSCH, KASHA, KASHA, BUTTER, BUTTER, BUTTER.  In that order.  It’s hard for my body to handle, and will probably return home as one giant scab, judging from this week.  But will take probiotics and pray (to the Jesus statue above my bed) that I can last four months before having a decent salad.
In other words, despite the flamboyant and alluring Public Displays of Macking, I doubt I will be taking part.  Will make up for this by participating in the FLAMBOYANT AND ALLURING PUBLIC DISPLAYS OF DRUNKENNESS (which are actually a criminal offense).
Toilet paper.  Either there is none, or it has the consistency of a tiny paper towel.  Often there is no toilet seat.  I just pretend that I’m in Plainfield, and am swamped by feelings of nostalgia, and have crying fits in the bathroom.
Callie, I tried to have conversations while using the toilet with other people in the program, but no one would answer when I asked questions.  Was slightly awkward, and made me realize how much I miss our in depth toilet conversations.  Apparently this isn’t the norm among Russians, or American students in Russia, or perhaps anybody.  WTF.

THE BEGINNING

And so study abroad begins.  After saying tender farewells to Bard College, we set off for JFK, and the twelve or so hour flight to Russia.  Pre-orientation was highly informative, our program manager Bryan told us the essentials about St. Petersburg, namely, two things:  the two most dangerous things in St. Petersburg are, one, race-related violence performed by packs of skinheads in fashionable sports attire, and two, falling icicles.  No joke.  Am hoping the first will not be a problem, although I have marked off all the skinhead hangouts on my map with big stars and notes “DON’T HANG OUT HERE,” and will avoid people wearing ADIDAS.  The second, however, is a danger I shall simply have to be consciously of and look out for.  Icicles don’t choose their victims, and they are EVERYWHERE.  Has not yet snowed yet, however, and hopefully have a few weeks before I need to think about walking underneath the edges of rooftops.

The plan rides weren’t god awful, as I had expected them to be.  On the second plane (Frankfurt to St. Petersburg) I sat next to a Russian woman named Renada, her son, and her Pekinese.  Although I do not have a fondness for small dogs bedecked in little pink bows, they were a friendly sort, and when I mentioned that I was a 19-year old American student Renada insisted that I take her phone number, saying “Ah, you are so young!  I have a 23-year old son, which is still young too, you know!  He studies at the Film Institute and can show you around, and you will become friends!”  Indeed, the typical mind of a Russian mother at work.  She also was concerned when she noticed that I did not have a jacket with me, but only a sweater.  Thus received my first berating from a Russian mother.

I experienced Russian efficiency at work at customs.  We had a number of musicians, mainly violinists in our group, and declaring their instruments consisted of filling out forms, re filling out forms, making double copies of forms, stamping forms twelve times, signing forms seven times, examining photos, stamping, signing, and dating the photos, and carefully examining the instruments.  Took about an hour for four people to get through.

When we finally left the airport, the first thing I noticed was St. Petersburg’s very distinctive smell.  I could almost taste the smoke in the air.  Actually, I could taste it, along with the vodka, and although it will take some getting accustomed to, it brings back sweet memories of Middlebury times 100 and with more pollution. Smell has always been such a secondary sense for me in the US, but here it’s overwhelming.  Also, people keep giving me chocolate.