September 11, 2014
My alarm goes off at 8 a.m. and I open my eyes to sunlight. During the summer-white nights, the sun never truly sets. I get dressed and head into the kitchen for breakfast, where a pot of warm kasha (oatmeal made from buckwheat) awaits. Since the tap water is undrinkable here, my host family has to boil the water before drinking it. After filling my water bottle, I take copies of my papers in my bag and head out the door. I enter the busy street and cars scream by me swerving around each other. I shake my head and make my way towards the bus stop.
I watch as marshrutka after marshrutka stop along the road to pick up more people than you think could fit in a van. Marshrutkas are privately-owned buses that run a certain route but will stop anywhere along that route to let you off. Finally, my bus comes and I step on, take a seat and wait for the person in the orange vest to give me a ticket in exchange for 25 rubles (about 67 cents).
As I’m riding past the elaborate, baroque, yet damaged and unkempt buildings, I observe the people on the bus. Some men with briefcases seem to be going to work; a boy in jeans listens to his iPod as he gazes out the window; two young women in short skirts, tight tops and high heels sit with large bags on their laps and sunglasses on their heads; two elderly women sit near the front, wearing flat shoes, long skirts, light jackets and scarves covering their head. They hold their bags on their laps and stare at the other passengers on the bus. They are known as babushkas, or “grandmothers,” and nobody messes with them.
We cross two bridges, pass the ornate, blue-and-white Hermitage (one of the world’s largest art museums) and drive a little ways on Nevsky Prospekt (the main street in St. Petersburg). The bus fills up and some passengers need to stand. At the next stop, a babushka comes slowly on the bus. She approaches the young boy on his iPod, who rises to give her his seat. If he hadn’t, very strong, spiteful words would have been said by the other babushkas.
Finally, we reach St. Isaac’s Cathedral, the fourth largest cathedral in the world. I remember visiting this cathedral the first week I arrived in St. Petersburg; its large, stone pillars and golden dome are impressive from the outside, but the inside is even more striking. The walls and ceiling are covered with hundreds of colorful mosaics.
I get off at my stop, walking the rest of the way to Smolny College. Along the way, two locals ask me for directions, and I do my best to answer them. I’ve been asked for directions at least three times a week since my arrival—and now I can actually answer them!
I continue the familiar route to school: past the men drinking in the park, the many buildings covered with green tarp and the food stands on the corner selling blinis (Russian crêpes).
I encounter dirty gasoline, cigarette smoke, asphalt from construction sites, sewage, garbage and other unpleasant smells that cannot be explained. Only every now and then I smell freshly baked bread or pirogis wafting out from a café or food store.
When I get to the school’s only entrance, I scan my ID card and pass through the turnstile. The college is one building with two courtyards. First, I have Russian grammar class with other Americans in the program, then History of Russian Autocracy alongside Russian students. All of my classes are taught in Russian.
After school, I usually walk around the city or go to a café with some friends. In the summer, St. Petersburg can be very hot and filled with tourists, but in the fall, the temperature is perfect; there are fewer tourists, and families have arrived back from their dachas, summer homes in the country. Now that families populate the city, many faces on the street have changed from serious and cold to smiling and laughing. Family is the center of Russian culture, and kids are the center of the family.
St. Petersburg was built to resemble Amsterdam, so there are many beautiful bridges and canals to walk along. The city also has many great museums, some of which are pretty strange. The ones I have visited include: the Hermitage, Erarta (contemporary art), the vodka museum, the cat museum (St. Petersburg has a thing for cats), the Museum of Strange Things, the Freud Museum and more. It’s also great to visit the city’s suburbs, where you find forests, summer palaces once owned by nobility and beaches.
I’ve been to the Church on Spilled Blood, tanned in the Field of Mars, toured numerous baroque palaces and had picnics in many parks and gardens. I’ve seen a ballet and an opera, and I plan to go to the circus. I’ve been to a jazz concert in a park and gone spelunking in the woods with my host brother. And almost every day since I got here, I’ve witnessed a wedding.
When I get home to my host family, the three small girls are running around naked, chasing each other and screaming. Other family members are scattered throughout the house. I live in an apartment with ten other people, and although it has eight rooms and two bathrooms, there’s no open space. There’s no living room, only two long, narrow hallways with rooms coming off them. The gathering space is in the kitchen, which has a table that seats only four people, and if there’s no one in the kitchen, then they are in their room with the door shut. But being in a small, closed room can be extremely stuffy and hot during the summer since there’s no air conditioning or ventilation systems.
For dinner, Tatyana, the housekeeper, makes traditional Russian cuisine: borsch, herring under a fur coat, chicken, cucumber and tomato salad and more. Some things I’ve noticed about the food: Russians love to soak their food in fat, whether it be butter, oil, or mayonnaise; they use dill frequently and they eat a lot of chicken.
Towards the end of the summer it wouldn’t get dark until 1 a.m., but now the sun sets around 9 p.m. After doing my homework and browsing the web. I lay my head down and go to bed, exhausted. On the wall next to my bed hangs a brown, flower-patterned carpet that covers the entire wall, good insulation for the coming winter.
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