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.