16 June 2008: Tsar Nicholas II

I really don’t have much to report from today. After class, I went to the computer lab to start this blog, actually. You know, it’s kind of weird to pretend these entries are current, when I’m actually writing most of this a week or more later. Hopefully I’ll be able to catch up soon, and I won’t have to keep pretending I don’t know how things are going to turn out . . .

When I got back to the apartment, there was no one home, so I started to settle in to get some work done. Just as I was starting, Daniel called to ask if I wanted to come watch a documentary on Tsar Nicholas II which our teacher had given him to check out. He’s super interested in the life of Nicholas II, which is part of the reason he chose Slavic Studies as a concentration. It’s a good thing he knows a lot about the last tsar, because my comprehension of the film didn’t get much past his favorite food. It’s a very interesting story, as a matter of fact.

Those of you who have read Animal Farm are familiar with Orwell’s depiction of the tsar as a tyrannical despot. Most of us are pretty used to this idea. On the other hand, we have movies like Anastasia where Nicholas is shown in a friendly, fatherly sort of way, and we fear for the royal family as they attempt to flee the revolution. Granted, George Orwell was kind of pessimistic about a lot of things, and we can’t expect a children’s movie to accurately depict anything, but there is something to this bipolar representation of Nicholas. During the Soviet era, propagandists naturally did their best to slander the Romanov dynasty as wretched imperialists. Since the fall of the Soviet Union, however, a lot of information has resurfaced concerning Nicholas II, and many Russians (my teacher included) harbor a very fond image of him. The very fact that the tsar and his family were canonized and the abundance of flowers at their tomb substantiate this change of heart.

As it turns out, Nicholas never wanted to be tsar at all. Once thrown into position, though, he turned out to be quite the change from his despotic predecessors. Nicholas was a deeply religious man who cared a great deal for humanity. He commissioned the construction of many dozens of new churches throughout Russia. One the eve of the first world war, Nicholas, who many have branded as a war-monger, actually convened an international peace conference to try to prevent the coming nightmare. Once the war broke out, his wife, Alexandra, left St. Petersburg to become a nurse. Some scholars like to chastise Nicholas for being poorly educated and ill-prepared for rule. In actuality, Nicholas was quite proficient English, French, and German, and did try very hard to keep things working. The image of a tsar isolated within his palace is also inaccurate, as Nicholas often went out to meet and speak with his people. Only when his family was threatened by the Bolsheviks (which ironically means “majority” even though they were a small party) did Nicholas retreat into the palace.

Well, that got a little long, but truth is always a good thing. No one’s perfect, and I’m sure Nicholas had his share of unfortunate deeds, but it’s good to re-examine these sorts of things and reconcile individuals slighted by history.

15 June 2008: Wonderful Walkabout

If I slept all day yesterday, and was generally a slothful wretch, then today certainly made up for it.

This wonderful day started out at the Kazan Cathedral. It was a Sunday, so there was a mass going on. We stood for quite a while (there are no chairs in Russian cathedrals) listening to the beautiful music cascading from the choir loft and filling the cavernous room from floor to lofty cupola. After a bit, we walked around and looked at many of the famous Russian icons, the caricatures of saints and the holy family. One very interesting icon featured Tsar Nicholas II and his family, all of whom have been entered into the Orthodox cannon of saints.

After that very pleasant experience, we crossed Nevsky Prospect, the Champs-Elysée of St. Petersburg, to the old Singer Building of Singer Sewing Machine fame. Currently, the building is home to “Дом Книги” or House of Books. We were pretty excited to find the Harry Potter books in Russian, where Harry becomes Garry. I wanted to take a picture, but I don’t think the clerks would have appreciated that too much. There was one book I knew I would buy if I could find it, and I did. Three guesses as to which one it was. The Little Prince. Now I have it in four languages!

I took around 170 pictures throughout the day, so I’ll let them tell the story of the rest of the walk. All in all, it was a wonderful day, and my first great opportunity to see the city.

(Darn Internet put these all out of order, but whatever.)

Maria, the cat. One of the street artists' faithful companion.







View of Gostiny Dvor, shopping arcade. I went there to look for some shoes at one point, but decided that $500 was a little out of my price range.


The Chocolate Museum! Actually, it's really just a store, but I think more people just come to look at the chocolate statues, chess sets, and suits of armor than to actually buy anything.



Arch leading into the Decembrists' Square and the Hermitage. (I was introduced to a monkey here a few days later.)







Kazan Cathedral.



Woman feeding the winged rats, I mean pigeons.






Дом Книги!














Dome on the Дом Книги.





Pillars on the Cathedral









Cathedral again, and St. Peter, maybe?










The Mikhailovsky Castle. Emporer Paul I built it to hide from his mother. Just a thought, but a gigantic castle isn't the best way to secret yourself away. He was murdered here within days of moving in.






In the Summer Gardens.







The Finnish Consulate. Made me miss Minnesota a bit, knowing how many Finns have descended on Duluth this summer . . .







The Swiss and Greek Consulates. Switzerland and Greece, roomies? Who knew?






The eternal flame in the Field of Mars.

Silhouette of the Cathedral on the Spilled Blood.









A statue in the Summer Gardens. Sadly, I've forgotten her name.








The Summer Gardens have been around since Peter's time. They are absolutely beautiful, and populated with all sorts of interesting statues.

Justice.










日本の"consulate"です。






Japanese Consulate plaque.










Vive la France!









French Consulate plaque.









Yes, that is a live bear cub. Karis asked what his name is. "Juice," replied his owner. I have the feeling there was a bit of miscommunication somewhere in there.

Falconet's famous and controversial monument to Peter the Great.









St. Isaac's Cathedral from below.






The Romanian consulate, shot from across the street at a dumpling restaurant.





"Russia. Nation of possibilities." This sign is everywhere.








French institute of St. Petersburg. Weee! Oops, I mean "Oui!"





The Admiralty. (Darn crooked picture, but it's the best I've got.)

The Kunstkammer, home to an array of nature's oddities, including mulit-headed snakes, two-headed calves, and jars containing human foeti. Ew.








An angel perched on some random building.

14 June 2008: Fish, No Chips

Today I almost quite literally did nothing at all. I got up rather early and waited for Irina to wake up. I didn’t realize that she works on Saturdays. I had thought perhaps we could go for a walk somewhere, but that wasn’t going to happen. She asked what I had planned for the day, and I mentioned taking a stroll around town. “By yourself?” I said yes, but this was most displeasing to her and she told me not to. I decided it would be a good idea to listen to her, so I stayed in all day . . . and slept . . . all day long. I’ll just use the excuse that I was making up for jet-lag.

There was a funny story from today, in spite of my lethargy. Sometime late into the evening, I heard a gleeful shout from the front door. Irina was calling for me to come see something. I hadn’t made it out my door yet before the “something” met me in the form of a very large fish. Alexander is an avid fisherman. He goes out almost everyday to go fishing in the river (whose level of cleanliness is questionable) and sometimes comes back with a weighty catch. I always know when he’s caught something, because I find it in the tub the next morning. Fortunately, the fish is dead and wrapped in a plastic bag, which makes getting it out of the tub easier, but avoiding contact with the fish juices that have leaked out can be kind of tricky.

13 June 2008: Вечеринка!

Oh my goodness, I can’t believe I forgot to relate this story from yesterday. So funny.

So, birthdays came up in conversation on our walk in the woods, and I happened to mention that mine was on the nineteenth. Well, last Thursday, the 12th, I sat down to breakfast and in comes Irina with a picture book of St. Petersburg and a coffee mug with pictures of important sights on it. "Happy Birthday!" she says and then, in good Russian fashion, wishes me good health, good future, love, happiness, and all that. I thought that was such a sweet gesture, so I didn’t correct her, but I was kind of confused. I thought I had a good idea of when my own birthday was . . .

Later, Dan Bi and I headed to class together, and she shook my hand, saying "Happy Birthday" too. Well, goodness, Irina must have spread the word. And spread the word she did! Dan Bi's whole family knew about it, and decided to give me a present too, along with a heaping helpful of good health, long life, etc, etc. Then, at school, some girl I don't even know came up and asked whether it was my birthday. "No, it's actually next week, but don't tell my family; I don't want them to feel bad."

It didn't take too long after all of this had happened to realize what went wrong. In Russian, the words for twelve and nineteen (and twenty, as it happens) are remarkably similar, and it is most likely the case that Irina heard twelve when I said nineteen. Or rather, when I tried to say nineteen.

So today after class, I asked Dan-Bi if she wanted to go for a walk. She said that would be great, since Katya was going to invite me over anyway, so we could go to their apartment afterwards. Dan-Bi and I headed over to the children’s park where Irina and I went.

When we got to Katya’s place, Katya said “Happy Birthday” and gave me a birthday present, too! It was super sweet. I didn’t tell her it wasn’t my birthday, either, but Dan Bi and I smiled knowingly. So, this was to be my first вечеринка (“vecherinka”) or party. Katya was there with Boris, of course, and there was Dan Bi. There was also a girl named Sasha, I think, but she hardly spoke a word the entire time we were there. I was offered green tea, which was delicious. The bottle of apricot wine came out shortly after that. It was supposedly very good, but I contented myself with my tea. We went into Katya’s room (I think) where Boris had set up his X-Box and Grand Theft Auto IV. Good heavens, what a terrible game. I admit, though, the graphics are very impressive, and the range of freedom within the game is astounding. (Just for kicks, I rolled a garbage can down the road.) Dan-Bi played for a little while, and managed to blow up her car several times by running it into buildings or over highway overpasses. I was offered a try, too. My performance was only a minutely better, as in I didn’t blow anything up. I guess I was avoiding the point of the game, but I tried my best not to kill anyone, with limited success. It was kind of fun, though, when Boris stole a helicopter for me.

Katya asked a lot of questions about my life, hobbies, interests, and what not. I’m afraid my life must seem kind of boring, since I don’t go clubbing, I don’t drink, and I do truly enjoy the peace and quiet. Meanwhile, Boris was having quite the time using his newly-learned word “tipsy” which he was quickly becoming.

I had to leave at midnight, since that was when I told Irina that I’d be back. This picture was taken on my way back to the apartment shortly after midnight.

12 June 2008: Georgian Treat

Today was a pretty run-of-the-mill day, which means that a lot of quirky, funny things involving cultural miscommunication and general ignorance happened, but I could never relate all of those.


Tonight, Brown treated us to dinner at a Georgian restaurant. What's Georgian food like? I took pictures! There were appetizers involving really yummy (really huge) bread, bean paste with pomegranite seeds, and eggplant rolls with some sort of scrumptious pasty goop inside. The main course was lamb. Sometimes I feel bad, but it's not my fault baby sheep are tasty. There was some strange juice I'd never had before as a beverage, and it was delicious.

I hope it doesn't bother anyone that I don't remember the name of the restaurant. Irina never missed an opportunity to criticize me for not knowing: "You really should pay attention to these things," but then I don't think that it's super important.

We were there for kind of a long time, which was fine except when people started smoking. (The hookahs at left were just for decoration.) I'm spoiled living in a state where smoking inside is illegal. And I'll be even more spoiled next year in a country with similar laws!



So it was around ten or so when I was on my way back to the apartment. This picture was taken between where I live and the institute. Yep, it stays light out super late.

No, I did not get shipped to Siberia. There's some sort of construction zone (surprise!) close to where I live. I guess they don't want people peeking inside. I just liked the juxtaposition of the sense of imprisonment conveyed by the bars and wire with the freedom of the sky beyond . . . ha, gag. Take that, artsy people.

My camera takes video! So exciting. This is what the restaurant looked like. Sorry it's so dark, but the restaurant was rather gloomy. Look at the bread on the table! And yes, that is a wicker spider web on the ceiling.

11 June 2008: A Walk in the Woods

There is a story about two ambassadors, one American and one Soviet, who hashed out a plan to resolve the intermediate-range nuclear forces treaty while on a walk in the woods. I feel like Irina and I had our own walk in the woods today.

Around 9:30 PM, Irina asked me whether I would like to go for a walk. I said sure, and we set off under the blazing late evening sun. We left the Petrogradsky Island where we live and headed west, onto the Krestovsky Island. We fought our way through one of the many construction zones dotting the city and ended up in a very nice little park. Irina told me that she used to take Maxim there when he was little, but that she hadn’t been there for a very long time. There was a bit of a nature lesson in all of this as well, as Irina told me the names of most of the trees we saw, all of which I promptly forgot. Apparently you can make a delicious tea from the sap (?) of one of the trees, aspen perhaps? That would be good for headaches, in any case! I had a little burst of excitement when I saw a grove of red pines, and rather exuberantly ran over to gawk at them. I don’t know that Irina understood when I tried to explain why those trees were so special to me.

From there, we walked along the edge of the island. The island is mostly a big park, but there are some strange restaurants and clubs tucked away. There’s also an apartment building, which is supposedly one of the most expensive in Europe, called the Five Elements . . . yeah. Along the way, Irina started getting tired. I offered to turn around, but she really wanted to get to the Gulf of Finland, so we kept going. At the end of the park, there is a great view of the gulf. Well, it would be better if they weren’t building a stadium there, but it was still nice.

On the way back, Irina started getting really tired, and had to hold onto my arm for a while. We passed through the park again, this time along a different route, and came upon an amusement park. Random. (Oh, wow, can you imagine Russian carnies?) A man pulled his car up along the sidewalk to ask for directions. Irina didn’t know where he was trying to go, so he gestured to me, standing a bit back from the car, and said, “Maybe he knows.” Irina and I both had a good laugh about that. We tried to hop a ride on the metro, but it was closed, so we made the long trek back to the apartment. We got back at around two in the morning.

This was a really nice opportunity for Irina and me to get to know each other better. For the first couple days, I had been pretty timid, not wanting to get in anyone’s way, or cause too much inconvenience. She was constantly telling me not to be so shy, and to feel at home, but that’s kind of challenging when you don’t really know what’s allowed, or what’s going on. When you can’t even figure out how the toilet works, or when you almost blow up the kitchen trying to get the water heater to turn on, it’s not a great sign that you can “feel at home.” During our walk, she asked why I was so shy, and I tried to explain that it was hard because of the language barrier. Then she told me the story of what led up to my staying with them.

Apparently, the night Galya called wasn’t the first time Irina had heard of a group of Americans coming to the institute. The institute had called her a few weeks ago to see whether she would like to host someone. She said no. She asked her husband and her son whether they would like to have someone stay with them, and they didn’t want to. So basically, when Galya called and Irina agreed, she was conceding to something she never wanted to do in the first place. And she found it odd that I wasn’t feeling at home. Fortunately, she seems to have had a change of heart, since she’s really very nice to me. I feel like Maxim, on the other hand, thinks I’m ignorant; and I think Alexander just tries to avoid me most of the time. Oh well.

I got to learn a lot about Irina’s life, too. She seemed to be pretty open about everything, but I wouldn’t feel right about putting that information here. One thing I will mention, though, is a somewhat surprising tidbit from her education. During the Cold War, I understand that American students were taught to be suspicious of the Soviets and to practice duck-and-cover in case of a nuclear strike (which I still find very humorous). After all, James Bond (though British) was always chasing Russians, and Ronald Reagan was a bit fond of his Evil Empire idea. I’ve always thought that this was all a bit over the top, but then I wasn’t living in the midst of those times and I wasn’t worried about the world being blown to bits.

Irina asked me what people were taught in America during the Cold War, and I mentioned the above. She said that that was too bad. She had always been taught to be tolerant, to reach out to Americans when she had the chance, and to try to make friends. Even still, Irina is very much interested in peaceful cooperation. Kind of makes the red scare and rants about the “domino effect” sound kind of silly.

I was asking her about Russia’s relationship with all of its neighbors (Russia and China border more countries than all the rest), since it would be really interesting to have Finland and Norway on one end of the country, and North Korea and China on another. Of course, this is perfectly normal for someone living in Russia, so Irina couldn’t really say whether it was difficult; it’s just normal. I said it was pretty easy for us, since we only have two neighbors, and we all get along quite well, especially with Canada. She asked whether we needed a visa to get into Canada, and I told her that we didn’t even need passports before September 11th.

When I mentioned that, she got very emotional, and stopped walking. She told me that she cried a lot that day, and that she prayed for us all. She seemed to be on the verge of tears just thinking about it. When I was in Germany, I got similar reactions. I think it wise to consider the implications of this story. Too often, I hear people ranting about anti-Americanism around the world, how everyone “hates us” and how everyone wants to see us dead. I maintain, as I always have, that this is not true. People are people, and they care about each other no matter where they live. I don’t care if we’re talking about September 11th, the train bombing in Madrid, the bus bomb in London, the tsunami, or the earthquake in China: people’s hearts go out to those who hurt. It is a sad day when a country goes on the defensive and assumes that they are alone in a struggle of all against one. I think there are a lot of people who would do well to remember that.

I didn't take any pictures on this trip, but I came back to the children's park with Dan-Bi later. I'm borrowing pictures from that.

Water on the Malaya Neva, the river we crossed to get to the new island.

Part of an old sports complex we passed on the way to the park. At least, I'm pretty sure it was a sports complex; it had the olympic rings on the side.







Green loveliness.











The red pines.

Bus Tour: 10 June 2008

After classes today we went on an “excursion” through the city. The bus tour lasted about four hours, which according to the tour guide was a very short time in which to see the city. I suppose that’s accurate, but I was so exhausted by the end of it that I went to bed without eating dinner (much to Irina’s dismay) and without even changing clothes.

The excursion took us through the better part of the old city and highlighted many of the more important historical points of interest. I’ll put some of the better pictures here, and I’ll dump the rest in some bucket or other as soon as I can figure out how to do that.

The tour guide was really quite humorous. My favorite of her quips concerned the Russian weather calendar: “Nine months of anticipation and three months of disillusionment.” She said that there are over two hundred days in the year that see rain or snow, and only about twenty-some that are cloud-free. This is certainly no exaggeration. I think meteorologists here must have a very hard time, since the weather is completely unpredictable . . . and I mean completely. It’s best to carry an umbrella and sunglasses together.

Along the way, we stopped at a snazzy gift shop where the clerks offer you coffee, tea, or vodka while you shop. Nothing like some vodka for shopping, I guess. The shop was filled with beautiful матрëшка dolls, chess sets, and all sorts of other souvenirs. I was delighted to find everything was incredibly cheap . . . only to find out that the prices were listed in dollars; in other words, twenty-five times more expensive than I thought.

Like I said, I’ll put some of the better pictures here. It was difficult, since we were in a bus most of the time. As per normal, it was raining, so the raindrops were persistent in getting in on the fun. I had a chance to go back to many of these places to take better pictures, so do not distress if you do not find many here. Oh, and yes, the unevenness does bug me, but formatting on this site is more trouble than it’s worth.





Raindrops on the window, since they were so persistent on getting into the pictures (and my camera . . .)










Chapel within the Peter and Paul Cathedral, dedicated to last Romanov family. Anastasia is on the right.












The Smolny Cathedral, with adjacent monestary. More of Catherine's extravagances, but oh so pretty.







Detail of the wall guarding the sanctuary in the Peter and Paul Cathedral.










HQ of the KGB, Putin's old stomping grounds.







St. Isaac's Cathedral, fourth largest in the world, after St. Peter's in Rome, St. Paul's in London, and Saint Maria del Fiore in Florence.





Church of the Resurrection, a.k.a. Church of the Spilled Blood. Alexander III was fatally wounded by a bomb blast on the square just outside.

Inside the Peter and Paul Cathedral, final resting place of the Romanovs, from Peter the Great, to Nicholas II and his family.

Detail of a dome on the Church of the Spilled Blood.









Peter the Great's first house in his new city. See how modest he was!











One of the many military police wandering around. Makes for a very safe neighborhood.

Detail on the Church of the Spilled Blood.

Our friend Pushkin! Or his bust at any rate . . .

Vladimir Churc, one of few churches left after ol' Stalin destroyed them. What a nice little alter boy he was.

St. Isaac's, towering over the Neva embankment.







A sphinx outside a museum. At some 3,500 years old, it is older than the river itself.