Hello, My name is Spoon

"Spoon" - The March Hare, Alice in Wonderland

Russians names are rather long and have a handful of set nicknames that come with each.  To add ‘itchka’ to the end of something is a way to show endearment and care/love.  A name with ‘itchka’ is called a dominionative and is usually used by parents and significant others, sometimes very close friends.  MY name is rather foreign as it ends in a consonant (strange for feminine names in Russian) and also because a dominionative is difficult for Lauren.  One of my professors however, called me Лоритчка /“Loritchka” the in class and it made me smile bigger than the Cheshire Cat!  I was so happy to be called by an endearing nickname that I did not pay attention to the fact that she had not fully pronounced “Loritchka” and had instead said it so quickly (as is the norm) that she sortof garbled the second syllable into something that sounded like “Lortchka”.  “Lortchka” sounds exactly like ложка /“lodgka” which means spoon.  Which, of course, none of my classmates had missed.  Awesome.

Marshrutka Madness

 “Curiouser and curiouser” – Alice, Alice in Wonderland

"I'm investigating things that begin with the letter M" - The Mad Hatter, Alice in Wonderland

In this land of curiosities there is nothing more “curiouser” than a маршрутка/marshrutka (which starts with M!).  When I first arrived in Russia I was told this was the most difficult of transportation methods.  A representative from the American Consulate specifically mentioned that marshrutkas were also amongst the most dangerous forms of transportation here – not quite a gypsy cab (exactly what it sounds like – stick your hand out and the first car that stops will give you the price and you get in at your own peril) but still risky business.  Well, the warnings had their place but frankly the marshrutka is my favorite form of transportation.  For all of its quirks it is still more reliable than trolleybuses, the ‘avtobuses’, metro, and even cabs -  по моему мнению.  The marshrukta is my daily entertainment both to and from Smolniy!

What is a marshrutka?  It’s a small, privately owned ‘bus’.  I say ‘bus’ and not bus because the K-46 marshrutkas are white vans, like ice cream trucks, with a haphazard arrangement of seats and metal poles to hold on to in the back.  These ‘busses’ can have anywhere from one to nearly 40 other passengers crammed in depending on the time of day and weather.  40 of your nearest and dearest smelly Russian friends (yes, к сожалению/unfortunately the smell of armpits is quite common) stacked on top of one another in a heap for 30 rubles a go.  But why bother with it if it has such smelly potential to be uncomfortably crowded AND costs nine more rubes than the avtobus or five more than the metro?!

The answer is simple – entertainment value.

Each morning I meet my crew at the metro station near the house to catch the K-46.  Sometimes it comes.  Sometimes we wait.  But every morning we all attempt to get into the same marshrutka.  I say attempt because… well just keep reading.

Here are a few of the more eventful rides:

1)      “Barbara Streisand” – There we were, crammed into too few seats at the back of the K-46.  We lucked out and didn’t have to stand and grip a pole or fellow rider for dear life on this marshrutka although it started and stopped along the road as if a Driver’s Ed. student was at the wheel.  The driver switched on the radio to keep everyone entertained in the peak evening traffic and on pops “Barbara Streisand” by Ducksauce.  As soon as the first chorus played the ‘bus’ stalled out.  General dysfunction is fairly common with on marshrutkas.  They are not always well kept and often stall out, shake and screech to a halt at each stop – but at least they start and stop.  This one however, did not start back up again...  It just sat there in the middle of the busy road blocking traffic as the song played and cars honked.  We ended up hopping out (as the driver yelled incoherently after us) and finding bus along the same route.  30 rubes down the drain…

2)       “Watch me get off this marshrutka!” - One of the advantages of riding a marshrutka you see, is that the driver will stop just about anywhere along its set маршрут/marshroot (route) if you ask properly.  The catch?  If you don’t ask, you don’t stop.  And if you don’t ask properly then the marshrutka will stop wherever the driver chooses.    As a student of Russian language it can be rather stressful to politely ask the driver to stop at a given place with a properly conjugated sentence loud enough for the driver to hear.  Especially within the first couple weeks of living in Russia.  The first few rides we all sat there like penguins trying to push one or the other of us to stop the marshrutka first – NOSE GOES!  But now we’re pros. 

Sy standing by the door.  He was closest to the driver  so he got to do the honors of stopping  the marhsrutka.

3)      “Shoddy!” – The most comfortable seat on a marshrutka is up front.  You have the most space – no one crowding you, you can see the road and thus where you want to stop, and (most importantly to us new Russian speakers) you do not have to scream over the heads of the other passengers and can just quietly ask the driver to stop.  This extremely coveted space is almost always taken by a babushka (old woman) but Margot, my marshrutka mate, managed to steal the seat while simultaneously shouting, “SHODDY” in English, causing everyone on the street and in the marshrutka to stare.

Margot sittin' shoddy!

4)      “Chump Change” – On public transportation a worker comes around and collects fare from each passenger once on the bus or trolley or what have you.  Marshrutkas work a bit different (bet you didn’t see that one coming!).  The name of the game is get onboard.  Once there, you sift through your bags and pockets for the proper amount of change and pass it forward.  If you need change, it will be passed back.  No need to get up or move around (if you can).  If the front seat is the best spot on a marshrutka, then the seat just behind the driver is the worst!  All you do, the whole trip is pass change back and forth. 

That lovely lady with the glasses was passing change her whole ride.

5)       “Ass to Ass” (Also “Nut to Butt” for some of you) – Marshrutkas are small.  Very small.  They look even smaller than they actually are.  Well that or the same magic in Mary Poppins’ purse is at work on every marshrutka in Russia.  It is absolutely incredible to see a small white van pull up to a street corner and sit there bobbing as 20, 30, sometimes 40 people hop out of it.  It is downright comical to watch a mop of people congregate somewhere on the street and flag down a marshrutka.  No WAY they’ll all fit in, right?!  *Ahem* They always do.  Somehow. (It’s magic.  There is no other explanation.)  One morning my morning crew and I were a part of such a mop.  We did a headcount at one point – it was upwards of 40 (we kept letting a few on and off here and there along the road).  Nicole started singing “Ass to Ass” because we, erm… standing a bit close?  None of us could stop laughing.  At least we couldn’t see everyone staring at us through the ridiculous mass of bodies crammed into this rolling metal death trap as we laughed and sang in English. 

This is what a Marshrutka full of 40 people looks like.  From the middle.

6)      “Never leave a man behind.  Except when getting onto a Marshrutka.” – Sometimes you get left behind.  And there is nothing you or your marshrutka mates can do about it.  To be honest, the first time I stopped the marshrutka on my own was one such time.  No sooner had I stepped inside and paid then the driver drove away – sliding door open, people hanging out and all.  The marshrutka was not nearly at max capacity.  There was no traffic jam behind him.  He just drove off as I watched my crew waving at me with frowns on the sidewalk.

A less crowded marshrutka. 

7)      “MOVE KID” – Another ‘left behind’ moment.  Nicole and I got onto the nearly empty marshrutka but Sy could not fit.  He, being a gentleman, told us to go ahead and he would catch the next one.  Except that there was plenty of room!  It was just that a young boy of about 12 was standing in the doorway and refused to move back so Sy could get on!  I mean REFUSED!  So the marshrutka left без Сайа/’bez Sya’ (without Sy).

Me holding on to the roof and reading - aka doin' what the locals do.  Margot liked my book.

      


      Marshrutkas are governed by the logic of the Mad Hatter.  Afterall, "Anyone can go by horse or rail, but the absolute best way to travel is by hat," said the Mad Hatter.   And by 'hat' he meant 'marshrutka'.

Disney had it right - it IS a small world afterall

Russia is the largest country in the world.  It covers and expanse of 11 time zones.  Just think about that one - 11 time zones!  One thing that I have learned since coming here is that Disney was right – it really is a small world, after all.   Here are just a few of my “small world” experiences since coming to this huge, sprawling country.

1)      I sat next to a woman from Santa Clarita, my home town, on the plane from Dulles to Copenhagen.  We didn’t even start in Los Angeles!

2)      I overheard a young man asking where the connecting flight to Pulkovo was during my layover in Copenhagen.  I asked him if he was studying abroad.  As it turns out Ethan is in my program here in Peter!

3)      Wandering deliriously jetlagged around the streets of Peter on a scavenger hunt I literally ran into Shannon from my Russian classes at GWU.  Apparently she is here this semester starting graduate school!  What are the chances that we would run into one another on the street in such a big city?!  We weren’t even on Nevsky Prospekt (the main drag) or in front of any major attractions – we were in an ally.

4)      Here I thought I could keep NROTC on the ‘DL’ but there is another midshipman on my program.  And, naturally, we picked one another out of the crowd (his boots were sortof a dead giveaway).  We also found the former marine in the bunch.  Oy veh. 

Ancient Russian Tradition

"Alice: Well, after this I should think nothing of falling down stairs." -Disney's "Alice in Wonderland"

Today I went to the баня/banya.  What is a banya, you ask?  Well a banya is the golf-course of Russian business.  It is the local massage parlor, the meeting place, the “I’ve had a long day” place, the place you go drink vodka with friends.  The banya is a bathhouse steeped in tradition.  The banya is a uniquely Russian experience…

After a full day of classes at Smolniy I was absolutely delighted to meet up with a few friends and make our way to a banya.  We split off into guys and gals, of course.  Once at the ladies banya we stripped down (no skivvies necessary… yea, it raised our eyebrows too), threw on some tapochki, and put all of our shtuff in a locker.

The first room was the shower room.  It was concrete except for the ceiling level windows that ran across one whole side of the building, letting in the gray afternoon light.  The showers were simply metal faucets in the concrete wall but there was gloriously hot water (in my apartment, hot water controls you… not the other way around)!  In the middle of the room were benches with large buckets for those who were less than fond of the metal faucets, and for soaking веники/veniks (bundles of birch branches).  There was also a small, tall pool of ice cold water (enough for two adults to stand and be covered up to their chin).  We showered down and made our way into the sauna.

The concrete room of the sauna itself is completely covered in wood.  The walls are covered in wood, the door is wood, and there are wooden platforms to sprawl out on – naked as the day you were born of course.  Oy.  The other American students and myself, being… well being American, clung to our towels for dear life!  The whole idea of buck naked was not appealing in the least.  Our culture is so modest in that regard and I have no qualms with that.  In fact, I rather missed it today at the banya.  You can wear pasties to a pool party, but naked is just not ok.  Well the women in the banya couldn’t care less about our American modesty.  We looked foreign and lost all wrapped up in our towels, blinking in the extreme heat.

The sauna is ridonkulous.  Russian banyas reach upwards of 90 degrees Celsius (Yup.  That’s right.  Around 200 Fahrenheit).  It is absolutely stifling.  Even the wood is hot to the touch!  No matter how much we wanted to stay wrapped up in our towels there was just no way.  We laid them out on the wood and sprawled out, trying just to cope with the heat.  When in Rome, right?

Our very mannerisms must have looked ridiculous to the other women in the banya.  One lady took pity on us and asked if we knew the ritual (uhh nope!).  She patiently showed us what to do in broken ruslish.  The ritual goes like this:  the buckets on the benches are filled up water and dumped on the concrete floor in the banya to make a hot, steamy room, bucket after bucket.  Some water is splashed onto the walls and the furnace as well.  Most women wore a funny felt hat to protect the top of their head (it actually makes a huge difference).  Then, and this was where I almost lost it, they began to flick themselves with the veniks from head to toe.  It is said the extreme heat opens your pours and flicking the leaves of birch over your skin brings to the surface any impurities.  There are many health benefits of the whole banya exercise.  Wikipedia knows all of them, so you can go read up.

When we just couldn’t take the heat (or the veniks) any more, we jumped into the ice cold pool in the shower room to cool down, showered, and put on our beloved clothing at long last.

So.  Ritual Thursday afternoon girl-talk session.  Who’s in?

The Key to Living on Gatchinskaya Street

 "Alice:  Why, look!  I'm just the right size!

Doorknob:  No use.  I forgot to tell you.  I'm locked!

Alice: Oh no!

Doorknob:  But of course, you've got the key, so...

Alice:  What key?"

-Alice in Wonderland 

For the first time since leaving my parents’ house I have to check in when I leave and come home… with my mom (well, host mom).  It’s a strange sensation to have my wings clipped in this way.  I have become such an independent person and I am used to fending for myself on a daily basis.  I cook my own food, I run all of my errands, I get myself to and from class and around town (and the East Coast in general) when I need it.  Now I rely entirely upon my host family in this strange, teenaged-esque limbo that didn’t work out so well for me the first time.  But my host family is sweet and they take good care of me.

The front door to Dom 12

I live on Гатчинская Улица (Gatchinskaya Street) on one of the islands of St. Petersburg, as I have mentioned earlier.  My host family has a spacious apartment – room enough for all six of us!  Traditionally, Russian apartments are small and crowded but cozy and comfortable.  My family’s apartment is a bit larger than what I was expecting.

The entry hall of Dom 12

From the outside Gatchinskaya looks like a rough neighborhood but it is quite upscale.  There is a bit of graffiti at street level on the buildings which look to be falling apart on the outside.  There is a soccer pitch down the street much like a basketball court in between buildings in New York.  Once you venture inside building 12 it looks a little scary – it was built over 100 years ago and the entry hallway looks it.  Each apartment inside, however, has been remodeled and if they rest look like mine, they are quite nice.  Just another example of how nothing is what it seems to be in Russia. 

The soccer pitch down the street

The apartment is conveniently located close to two different metro stations and there is both a nicely decorated 24 hour coffee shop and a wine bar with live music on the corner of the street (in the opposite direction of the soccer pitch)!  The only challenging part about where I live is the front door.

Gatchinskaya Street
(if you were to stand in front of the door)

The front door to the apartment is a bit of a metaphor for Russians in general.  It is heavy and has the largest lock I have ever encountered.  Ever.  It’s also taken me over two weeks just to figure out how to turn the key properly so that it opens to begin with!  Inga and I laughed our tapochki off when I finally managed to let myself in the front door.

So it is with Russians.  It takes time to get to know them and to work your way into their inner circle.  Outside of that circle and you get a stone cold “metro face” (more on that later).  Once you have found your way in however, once you are “наши” (one of us), they are a warm and loving people and are fiercely loyal.  The front door however, is less welcoming.

The front door to the appartment

  Even after I finally managed to figure out the specific angle at which one must turn the key (Twice, mind you!  Not just once all the way around!) in order to pull back the three sets of four, ¼ inch thick metal prongs that keep the thick steel door shut.  Once you manage to open that monstrosity you must then squeeze yourself into the little (and I do mean little) space between the front door and the next, shut and lock it (with two turns, of course), and fiddle the next one open in total darkness. And then you are inside the beautiful, bright apartment!

I am lucky that it only takes two keys to get home.  Many of my peers have shown me their rings full of keys of all shapes and sizes like something out of Gringots Bank!  Some of them have to work their way through three or even four doors to boot.  The chaos of the 1990s left a bad taste in the mouths of most people here.  They are paranoid about keeping themselves and their apartments safe from burglary and other nastiness because it lives on in the recent, living memory of all but the very youngest generation.  Every building has a key-fob to get in and then each apartment is equipped with an army of keys and doors.  No two doors are alike.  No two keys are alike.  And don’t you dare lose the keys – you will buy a new door and new locks.

Quirky doors and keys are not limited to houses either.  I had to work my way through a number of locks to purchase my modem at Цифры/Tsifree (think Fry’s minus the cool themes and about the size of a video game store).  Every item was in a case.  With its own key.  The gentleman who helped me had to leave one set of keys in a box on the wall (that is then locked) in order to walk into the room with the modems to get out another set of keys to unlock the cabinet for me.  He then put that set of keys in another box on the wall (again locked) to walk me to the cashier so that I could purchase the modem.  At no point did I touch anything in the store.  This is even the case at Smolniy!  Each classroom is locked (and has two sets of doors) in between classes (even during the ten minute passing periods).  Professors must go to the front desk to sign out the key to the classroom.  And what if you want to buy a soda?  You must ask the cashier to open the refrigerator with a key - heaven forbid someone steal a bottle of carbonated water.  Нельзя. Невозможно. All of the doors are locked.

Friendly neighborhood statue of Lenin 

Some things here in Russia are a mystery.  Others are readily accessible – they’re just under lock and key.

Entry hall in the apartment

View from my bedroom window 

The living room

The kitchen (I took this picture standing in front of the stove)

Lucy, I’m home!

Ok so Lucy is probably on the couch (If Mom isn’t looking) or under Dad’s desk, and not here in Russia.  But I am.  I am home!  I live on Petrogradskaya Storona (affectionately known as P-town but us CIEE kids) with my host family – a typical family by American standards, with a Georgian background.  So not your typical Russian family.

I live with my host mom Инга (Inga), host great aunt Мария Дмитриевна (Maria Dimitrievna) or Masha, 16 year old host brother Джон (Johnny), 13 year old host sister Лена (Lena), and their skittish little chinchilla.   Mr. Ioroshvili (my host dad), is a truck driver and spends the majority of his time on the road. 

Inga is super-host-mom.  She runs around after two rather angst-y teenagers every day and takes very good care of both Masha and myself.  When my host dad is home, she does all of this while adding ‘doting wife’ to the mix!  In her spare time Inga has been redoing the kitchen.  She repainted the edges of the kitchen table and the TV stand a few days ago to match her new Italian cabinets and door handles.  It’s quite the project but it is coming along nicely!  There are only two things missing at this point - the granite counter top (which has not yet been delivered) and the sink.  That’s right, for the second time in my life (who knew there would be a first?!) I must do my dishes in the bathtub.

Inga and I bond over little cups of coffee after I eat dinner.  It’s probably the only time I see her just sitting and not buzzing around the apartment, so it’s a nice break for both of us!  I have been getting to know her little by little and have begun to understand more and more each day (she speaks very quickly).  I feel that in a few months’ time we will move on from Lena’s summer vacation plans and kitchen remodeling to something a bit more substantial but for now I am excited that we can sit and chat and have a cup of coffee over whatever topic pops into Inga’s mind.

Masha is my homeslice!  As a pensioner, she has had the time to show me how to use public transportation (the many different forms of it!) and has shown me a few land marks and how to get home from them by physically taking me to these places when I am not in class.  On our little excursions she asks me questions about my life back in the states and offers her own commentary that hopefully soon I will understand.  She was very excited to open my gift and find a bottle of California wine.  Her eyes got wide and she asked, “Is it red?!”  We get along very well ;). 

Masha and I speak for a few minutes every morning at breakfast.  She always informs me that it is going to be very cold outside and that I should carry my umbrella as it is forecasted to rain.  Even if it isn’t.  When I walk around the house she always praises me for wearing my тапочки/tapochki (house slippers) and makes me run and put them on heaven forbid I only wear socks around the house!  According to Masha that is how one catches a cold.  I once tried to leave the house with damp hair in a braid – damp, mind you, not wet.  She looked at me as if I was already dead and had given her a nasty cold as a gift.  She marched right into the ванная/vanaya (the shower/bathtub/laundry room that is doubling as our kitchen for the time being – the toilet is in a different room called the ‘toilet’), grabbed the hair dryer, and made me dry my hair until she was satisfied with it; which of course was long after all water was actually gone.  As for the coffee date with friends I was late for?  Well they have babushkas (Russian grandmas) too and very much understand that sometimes you are going to be late because babushka (or in my case, Masha) says so.  To argue would be most unwise and to think one could win said argument would make you mad as a hatter.

My host siblings are angsty.  They are  both good natured kids but it is a bit hard to connect with a 13 year old girl and a 16 year old boy.  Especially with a language barrier.  Lena speaks English pretty well but I try to speak Russian with her as much as possible.  She is very artsy and is always doodling or painting something in front of the TV (watching Russian MTV of course) in her spare time.  As for John well, the telephone is surgically attached to his ear.  I have never seen him without at least his cell phone in his hand (that’s when his best friend is over) and I have never had a conversation with him without him simultaneously talking to a friend over the phone.

Last but not least, there is Mr. Ioroshvili.  He is a big dude.  He is at least six feet tall and his grizzly booming voice is intimidating.  But he is a bigger teddy bear than he is grizzly bear.  When he is home it is all kisses and hugs as he sweeps both Inga and Lena off their feet randomly just for fun!  He and Lena watch movies together on the couch when they have the time.  It’s really sweet.

Ну вот - моя русская семья (There you have it – my Russian family).

Red Tape

Door:“Why it’s simply impassible”
Alice: “Why, don’t you mean impossible?”
Door: “No, I do mean impassible. (chuckles) Nothing’s impossible!”
-Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland & Through the looking Glass

The Soviet footprint is still deep and visible in Today’s Russia.  I thought that it might be isolated to big government at this point but I vastly underestimated the “70 year road to nowhere” that was the Soviet Experience.  It’s everywhere.

My journey to this place has been a sort of post-soviet soap opera…  I first dipped my toe into the puddle of quicksand that is Russian Bureaucracy about three months ago now when I began the visa application process.  I had to simultaneously apply to St. Petersburg State University at Smolniy - СПбГУ (where I now study) and the government for sponsorship and approval to enter the country.  A visa to live/work/play in Russia cannot be obtained without a sponsor from inside the country, and the university sponsored me.  That first process took roughly six weeks start to finish but was practically painless for my part.  Applying for the visa itself on the other hand was a pain in the rump.  Ready for the saga?

The seven million question visa application covered all manner of minutia one could think of.  Once it was complete, naturally, I mailed it in only to receive and email stating that the paper application was no longer accepted and the Russian government had switched to an online version.  At least I knew how long it would take to fill out, right?  Wrong.  The “.ru” was horrific.  Each time I came close to finishing the application it would crash and start over or simply log me out for an indefinite period of time!  It took days to complete and email the paperwork but eventually it happened and the magical mysterious Russian government was finally at work on my visa.  I had one final step. 

               There is an AIDS/HIV epidemic here in Russia (apparently) and negative test results are required for a visa.  I emailed the results of my test to the company helping with my application so they could submit it with the rest of my paperwork.  I was surprised when I heard that the email was not (and I’m quoting here) “official looking enough”.  This was my first encounter with such thick bureaucracy and it was a bit of a shock.  It was not that big of a deal to obtain an “official looking” copy of the same results – it just seemed like an odd task to have to complete.  So I went back to the doctor who ran the test and asked the clerk to print out the exact same information on watermarked paper, stamp it with whatever random stamps were on his desk, and sign it.  If it was not “official enough” then, it never would be!  Take THAT Russian Bureaucracy!  (They did.)

               A few weeks later I received my visa in the mail!  SUCCESS!  A short lived success, but success none-the-less.  My visa expires before I finish my semester.  To extend my single entry visa and turn it into a multi-entry visa (Europe, watch out!) was yet another set of tasks neatly bundled by an extensive amount of red tape.  But not before I was registered with the city of St. Petersburg.

               Each city within Russia one travels to for more than perhaps a weekend one must register with the local government.  Hotels and hostels take care of the process for you if you pay them a small fee (which is totally worth not having to figure out how to do this alone) and relinquish your passport to them upon arrival.  I hated doing this.  I knew I had to but I felt entirely vulnerable letting go of my passport and knowing all forms of identification I now held were only valid in the United States – where I wasn’t.  At any rate, I was registered in St. Petersburg and could now start the process of extending my visa.

               There was no paperwork this time, but there was another HIV test. CIEE and hotel staff took us down to the basement in small groups to have this done.  Hotel staff had to be present as the basement is strictly off limits to guests (Which is entirely normal, right?  It’s just strange to me that such a matter-of-fact tone is taken in situations like this.  Нельзя, невозможно.  It is impossible for guests to go there.).  So down the long, winding corridor we went following the CIEE staffer and the hotel employee.  The floor was green linoleum and the walls were painted white brick.  The nurse was wearing a white dress, white stockings, white shoes… and a little white hat straight out of the 1950s.  What a trip…

               Well a few days later we were each given a справка (spravka) – an official photocopy of our passport and current visa with a note stating that our visa is in the process of being extension and is currently registered in St. Petersburg.  My passport will be returned to me once my visa is complete.  In October.  As for right now, I have an official form of identification here, even if it is a folded piece of computer paper with a photo copy of my visa on it.  It has a signature, so I guess it’s pretty official looking.

                

               There are more Soviet-isms to share but I will add those to later updates.  This post turned into something of a Dostoyevsky novel (Though I suppose that is rather fitting).