Chapter the Third: In Which I Begin to *Study* Abroad

Chapter divisions are utterly arbitrary. I actually have a schedule and therefore a routine now, so I'm declaring this the start of another chapter of my life in St. Petersburg.  

Oh, I forgot to mention in my last post that my cell number has changed. It is now +7 (911) 196-0267. My old SIM card was defective, so Volodya gave me a new one. If you have a Skype account, you can buy Skype credit and call a mobile number in St. Petersburg for $0.052 per minute plus a connection fee of about 6 cents; I don't know how that compares to what it would cost any of you to call me on a regular phone, though.

So, anyway. First day of class. Right. Corinne and I decided to head out a little early and take care of starting our visa extension paperwork before class, as it takes about a month to process and neither of us is a huge fan of deportation. We had to stop at a bank to deposit 1000p into the university's account and bring them the receipt showing we paid the visa fee; while we were out and still had a little time, we stopped at a cafeteria and got some lunch because I knew if I waited until after class to eat I'd be too hungry to focus by 1:00. I got beet salad, chicken broth with dill, a chicken? шашлик (shish kebab) and some mashed potatoes; the shashlik and mashed potatoes turned out to be inedible (call me crazy, but those two things should not have the same texture; also, the potatoes were more like butter paste...but in a bad way), but the broth and salad were good, so I had that at least. I also grabbed a cookie, because...cookie. It was slightly expensive (just under 300p), but now I know that the shashlik and mashed potatoes at that place are yucky, and they were the most expensive things I got. Everything else was pretty good, and the sheer number of options is rather dizzying, but the ladies serving up the hot food were very patient with us.

We finished eating with just a few minutes to spare and encountered Liz on the way to the university. She had class on the second floor; our class was on the fourth, so we said our goodbyes and continued up the stairs. I do have to thank the designers of many of the buildings I've been in; there are a lot of stairs, but at least they're usually shallow and wide, making them easy enough to traverse (particularly in my boots). We got to class a few minutes late, but the professor hadn't really begun doing much of anything yet, so it was no big deal. Brenda is in our class as well, so the first twenty minutes or so of the class was spent with the prof asking us new girls questions about ourselves--where we come from, why we started studying Russian, what we study at our home universities, etc. She then asked the five other students in the room to offer a brief introduction for our benefit; there are three Chinese guys, one Chinese girl and one Japanese guy. The roster that was given to us when we got our timetables last week lists a few more students, mostly Chinese, though there is another American on the roll; he didn't show up today. Apparently St. Petersburg is a popular destination for Russian-as-a-foreign-language study-abroad programs among the Chinese; Corinne and I have seen a large number of Chinese students around the facultet, and there are apparently enough of them to merit having some of the more important signage around the offices in Chinese as well as Russian and English. There are a few Japanese students as well, but the vast majority of the Asian people we've seen around have been Chinese.

The class went pretty well; I was expecting it to be much more difficult, but Valentina Semyonovna is very patient with us. I could follow the lecture pretty easily; I'm sure part of that was because I understand the use and formation of the genitive case (finally, took me until last semester to get it straight in my head), and that's where we started. We began with the genitive case, and then by way of talking about food, shifted topics to the instrumental and prepositional cases (by discussing what kinds of foods are eaten with what other kinds of foods, etc). I would've appreciated more fanfare announcing topic changes, just so I knew when to start a new page of notes, but that's my OCD kicking in; the topics really aren't all that distinct from one another. Corinne and I were relieved to discover that we get a 15-20 minute break in the middle of the 3-hour block, although it was very sad when Brenda and I went down to the coffee machine on the second floor only to see that it wasn't working. The break isn't long enough to, say, leave the University to get food, but maybe I'll buy some sandwich ingredients or something and start packing a snack of some kind. I had an apple, but it got in a fight with my steel water bottle and lost, so it was all bruised up and gross by the time I went to eat it.

According to Corinne, in Irkutsk her language class had a system of two homework notebooks where you were supposed to do an assignment in one notebook, turn that notebook in in class the following day, do the next assignment in a second notebook that night, then turn the second one in and do the next assignment in the first one after you got it back in class the day after that. To that end, after going to Дом Книги (a huge bookstore on Nevsky Prospect) to find the books for our class, we stopped by the same little bookstore we went to the other night and each bought two more small notebooks to use for homework assignments. Some of the Chinese students had blue books that they used for the same purpose, although small notebooks are apparently also acceptable; a couple of them had ones similar to the ones we bought. Hers have some kind of cartoon hippo or something on them; mine have adorable pictures of baby animals (one is a polar bear with the caption "I'm a huge polar bear" and the other a zebra with the caption "I am the fastest zebra." I looked for a giraffe notebook but couldn't find one, or I would've bought it without a second thought, Jenny). Tonight's homework assignment is to write a story based on a series of images. Seems easy enough, I've done that before. My vocabulary is weak, but I have a dictionary handy, so there's that.

After class we went down to the office to take care of our visa paperwork. We got our student ID cards and our справки (certificates saying our документы--passports, visas, migration cards--are currently being processed for a visa extension and will be returned to us on a specific date), as well as copies of everything; I'm not 100% comfortable without my passport and stuff, especially given what happened the last time I applied for a visa, but I have no real choice in the matter. At least they didn't need my original health insurance card and could make do with just a copy of that. I'll feel better when all my documents are back in my hands; after that, chances are I won't need to touch them again until I leave. Sergei said that women are less likely to be stopped and asked to show their documents, though it still happens.

Now that I have a schedule and a reasonably-well-established routine, I'm starting to feel a little less homesick, although I still miss you all terribly. I keep catching myself having thoughts like "Michelle would love this store," or "I wonder what Caroline would think of the metro," or "I bet Gil would have something funny to say about that lady over there." I am pretty excited for the culture class, though; on Saturday we're meeting at a McDonald's, going to a market, and then going to this lady's apartment to meet her and her neighbors and help cook some tasty Russian food. As per the aforementioned reasonably-well-established routine, I'm going to wrap this post up now so I can take a shower; before I do that, though, here's a picture of me on a bridge over the Neva. The tiiiny church in the background is the Church of Spilled Blood I talked about in my previous post; the dark building on the left is the Singer building, built by the sewing machine company, which houses Дом Книги. Corinne took it just before we headed into the bookstore.

Me, very cold, in front of the river Neva on Nevsky Prospekt. Click to embiggen.

Chapter the Second: Of Crossroads and Crowds

Those of you who are friends with me on Facebook may have seen my status today, which read "First day of class today!" It was supposed to be my first day of class, anyway. I left with Liz, because I still don't quite have my bearings entirely and she has a class at the same time. We get just over halfway to the metro station and I realize I don't have my timetable, which tells me what room to go to, and I don't remember. I ended up walking back to the apartment alone (I took care to memorize the turns and stuff that time) to retrieve it, and then once I got inside I 1) didn't want to go back outside again and 2) realized I wouldn't make it to school before the class was half over, so I just decided to stay home and go tomorrow. I figure, for the time I would have been there today, it won't make a difference as far as catching up goes. I would have been just as lost sitting there for half the three-hour block today as I will sitting there for the entire three-hour block tomorrow. Besides that, Corinne wasn't feeling well, so she also stayed in, and I didn't want to interrupt a class alone. I'm shy like that, you know.

At least I made good use of my time; I managed to make the chili, and it turned out pretty tasty. If my calculations are correct, it's also about 280 calories for a bowl. Winning! I'm probably going to go heat myself up some more of it for dinner in a few minutes, when I finish this post.

Corinne was feeling better by the time 3:30 rolled around, and our cell phones were having some problems, so we headed to the metro for the supermarket tour and met Brenda, Holly and Elizabeth at Vasiliostrovskaya, along with Volodya. The supermarket we went to has a name that translates to Crossroads, although I don't recall its Russian name at present. It was multisyllabic and complicated. Volodya took us through each section--produce, dairy, meat/fish, prepared food/deli, cheese, bread--and talked about Russian food, teaching us some vocabulary and talking about some cultural things like what specific foods are associated with specific situations (e.g., you're not really cooking out if you don't make shashlik/shish kebabs, it's not really New Year's Eve unless someone brings herring-under-a-blanket salad, etc, just like it's not Thanksgiving without a turkey, or not Christmas without green-bean casserole in America) and pointing out the differences in the types of food you can find in Russian supermarkets versus American (e.g., the only skim milk to be found was Swedish and imported, because the stuff isn't very popular here).

Once Volodya got my and Corinne's cell phones working, he left and Corinne and I decided to go back into the market to look for Nutella and a few other things. Earlier today I found a recipe for browned-butter Nutella-chip cookies; if I can find the rest of the ingredients cheaply enough, I'm making them here. Otherwise, I'll just keep the recipe bookmarked until I get home. She picked up some laundry detergent and more dish soap for the apartment; I managed to find a little jar of Nutella that was cheaper than I was expecting it to be at just below 100p, or US$3. I got that and a 20-oz bottle of kvas for myself. Kvas is bread soda, basically made by fermenting rye bread with a few other things. It's bitter, but as we've already established, I'm into that sort of thing. Most of the informal Russian Studies events at Stetson (the yearly pelmeni-making party, the Maslenitsa party) involve a bottle or two of kvas.

We headed back to the metro station...and apparently hit rush hour. Not surprising, really; we were leaving around 5:30, so I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised by the sea of people slowly pushing their way into the metro. Corinne and I edged into the crowd and were absorbed almost immediately; we were mere minutes from being dissolved completely into the Hivemind, when luckily the stairs appeared and from there the progress to the door was much faster and less claustrophobic. There is no rush hour like public transportation rush hour, especially in this country (make your own Russia puns). See, as I mentioned before, people here don't think too much of just pushing past you if you happen to be in their way. If you're directly in front of them, they'll either push around you or actually ask you to step aside rather than just mowing you down, which is nice, but otherwise your personal space pretty much ends at the inside of your coat. I kept hold of my purse and just hoped everyone around me was also a commuter and not a pickpocket (as I had a handful of change from the supermarket in one of my coat pockets), slowly pushing as I was being pushed toward the door. Corinne and I were separated for a few minutes, but found each other on the escalator going down to the platform; a few people managed to wedge between us as we went through the turnstile, including one guy who decided to crawl under the spinning part because he apparently didn't have a token. No one saw him. Okay, whatever, everyone's just eager to go home. We stood for the entire ride back to Mayakovskaya because the train was packed, and the walk back to the apartment from the metro seemed to go on forever. But we made it all the same, and I'm starting to memorize the landmarks on the route between the apartment and the metro.

When we got home, Jorge had a Russian friend over; his name is Maksim, and Liz was practicing her Russian with him when we arrived. I said hi while I was putting my kvas in the fridge, but I was too tired to really start engaging him in conversation or anything.

Chapter the Second: Of People and Pies

Those of you who have seen Sweeney Todd and got all excited about the title of this post, I'm sorry to disappoint you, because this post more than likely has nothing to do with the, ah, "human resources" side of shady pie manufacturing.

Today was the walking tour of the city, as noted in the previous post. Once I dragged myself out of bed and got ready (around 12:30), Corinne and I headed for the metro station, where we rode to Gostiny Dvor and promptly realized we had no idea who we were meeting. Sergei had sent us a photo of himself...in the summer, dressed in jeans and a button-down shirt. You know, just so we knew what he looked like under the heavy coat and hat he'd be wearing. The photo wasn't the greatest quality, so it was kind of hard to make out his face exactly, but he eventually found us loitering on some steps on the way to the exit/into the mall proper. We were also met by a woman Corinne knew from her semester in Irkutsk, a really nice middle-aged Canadian lady named Brenda. She's touring Russia basically for fun, and has a friend who stays in St. Petersburg every February; she's going to try to join the Russian Psyche class last-minute, and I really hope she does. Two other girls joined us; Holly, from North Carolina, and Elizabeth, from Nebraska. (Elizabeths: they are everywhere. Just like Emilys. We are legion.) They're also in the program.

We left the metro because everyone was still bundled up and thus getting very warm, and started making our way around the city. Sergei took us around to various cultural locations, such as the park containing the statue of Catherine the Great, and we discussed the history and started talking about a few of the questions the culture class would cover. We also visited the statue of Pushkin, who was a well-beloved author of the 19th century; I think an English-language equivalent might be Shakespeare in terms of influence on the language and literature, although Shakespeare was far less political. Being a writer in 19th-century Russia was really a political profession more than anything, which is quite different from the role of the writer in Western society. Other places we stopped to chat included the courtyard before the Hermitage, which is painted the prettiest shade of teal I think I've ever seen, and around the Church of the Spilled Blood (colloquial name, so named because the Czar Alexander II was killed there in the mid-19th century; proper name is Church of Christ the Savior).

Russian cathedrals are so pretty. I've considered attending services here just to admire the inside of the cathedral and hear the choir; then again, Russian Orthodox services can be up to 4 hours long, and there is no sitting. Only standing or kneeling. So, you know, maybe I won't. At one point, we popped inside a theater to warm up a bit before continuing on; part of the course includes a visit to a cultural event of some kind, and the five of us didn't take long to agree upon a Russian ballet. I don't know when we'll go to that, but you bet I'll blog about it. We also went into another cathedral after lunch to quietly observe people and talk a little more about the role of the Church in the Czarist and Soviet eras. This one was interesting because it had an icon of the Czar Nicholas II and his son Alexei, the only czar to have been canonized by the Russian Orthodox church, as a reaction to the fall of the Soviet Union.

For lunch, we visited this place called (I think) Щтолле (approximate pronunciation: Shtollye), a chain of restaurants that serves both sweet and savory pies and nothing else. That is a solid business model right there. Well, they have drinks and stuff, but you know what I mean. The chain was originally owned by Germans, but it shut down (for obvious reasons) when WWII broke out; following the war, some enterprising Russians decided to bring it back, and it's doing pretty well for itself now. The SRAS budgeted for each of us to get two slices of whatever pie we liked and a drink; I got a slice of пирог с мясом and a slice of пирог с яблоками (meat pie and apple pie) and a cup of black tea. I have no idea what kind of meat it was, and I don't care because it was delicious. Welcome to Russia, where meat of indeterminate origin wrapped in some kind of bread exists in innumerable forms for your consumption. The apple pie was really interesting; it was made with green apples, which is a unique flavor in itself for apple pie, but the apples were sliced really thinly and there wasn't a lot of...I don't know what you call it, sauce? Rendered juice-glaze-stuff? Pie...goo? Just a little bit of the delicious pie-goo holding it together. That, plus the stacked thin slices, gave the pie a pleasantly different texture. Other flavors of pie that they had included cabbage, spinach+egg, green onion, cream cheese, lemon, and a few other fruit pies that I couldn't identify because I couldn't remember what the words for them meant. Berry/red fruit of some kind for a couple of them, definitely.

I'm really excited for this class. It seems like we're going to be doing a lot of really cool things. It'll be challenging--because I'm not as familiar with Russian history and literature as I probably should be--but I'm prepared to rise to that challenge. I can still access Wikipedia from here, after all. There's a bigger psychology component than the description of the program on the website lets on, examining the psychology underlying cultural differences. Things like smiling at strangers, which is a standard signal of polite acknowledgement in the US. You don't do that in Russia; and, in fact, there is no "polite acknowledgement" signal that I've discovered, as people will just push past you to get where they need to go if you're in their way. Smiling indicates familiarity or amusement, and also can be taken as flirting in certain contexts. It's a tough habit to break, honestly, and I have to be consciously aware of my facial expression or else it just kind of settles into a scowl. It's one of the perils of having Chronic Bitchface; when I explained to Jorge last night on the metro that I wasn't mad at him or anything, I just have this condition where I look like I'm pissed off at the world no matter how I'm really feeling most of the time, I thought he was going to pee his pants laughing so hard.

Shortly after the visit to the cathedral, Sergei bid us adieu (or до свидания, whichever you like), and the five of us--myself, Corinne, Brenda, Holly and Elizabeth--decided to get some coffee and talk for a little while longer before going our separate ways. We went to the Gamma Cafe, which is a combination cafe-bar-restaurant-hookah...quite an interesting place. I just got a mocha latte (delicious); Corinne and Elizabeth opted for Irish coffees, Brenda got a hot chocolate (which was slightly-diluted melted chocolate in a cup--problem? nope) and Holly decided to be all different and got a Cosmopolitan. The smoke didn't bother me as much here, probably because it was flavored tobacco/hashish.

On the way back Corinne and I decided to look for a bookstore before heading home; she needed a Russian-English dictionary, and I reasoned that a bookstore might have notebooks and pencils, which we both needed for class. Luckily, we found such a store; I picked up a notebook and three adorable mechanical pencils with bunnies on them and the word "happy" printed on the clip (or нарру, pronounced "narru," if you want to read it in Cyrillic as opposed to English; I'm honestly not sure which it is). I also got myself a huge wall calendar with gorgeous photos of palaces and parks, currently hanging on my wall above an IKEA poster frame without a poster in it. I thought about looking around for a poster or something to put in the frame, but I kind of like the statement that it makes as-is. It questions the line between mere packaging and art, blurring the dichotomy of utility versus frivolity, or something equally pretentious-sounding. Quite.

Chapter the Second: Of Stout and Shawarma

I spent most of my Saturday in bed. Went to sleep at about 3:30 AM, woke up at 2 in the afternoon or thereabouts, and then spent the rest of the day blogging, Redditing and generally screwing around online for lack of a desire to do much of anything else. Round about 10:30, Alex announces that she's meeting some friends at a bar across town to watch a rugby match and opens the invitation to the rest of us; all five of us decide to go, calling it a roommate bonding experience.

So we all get bundled up and head out the door. I'm glad I had the foresight to cram my doubly-sockéd feet into my tennis shoes instead of trying to keep up with everyone in my 3-inch heeled boots; I lagged behind anyway, not quite having got the hang of this whole "walking on slippery sidewalks" thing. I'll get my ice-legs soon, I hope. In any case, we head down to the metro station together and Jorge, nice guy that he is, pays my fare, just so we don't have to wait for me to buy a token. Down we go, riding from Mayakovskaya to Gostiny Dvor (a shopping mall with a metro stop in it), then switching to another line and riding to Sennaya Ploshchad.

We emerge into the frigid night air hastily pulling on gloves and hats, and then follow Liz and Alex as they strike off in a direction that turned out to be wrong. We walked in the snow, in subzero weather, for 25 minutes trying to find this place, and eventually we find it; Dickens Pub, tucked away around a corner in a part of town that's clearly more geared toward tourists (an observation based, perhaps, on the existence of an English pub in the middle of [swear word] St. Petersburg). Alex's friends are nice enough; one's an American guy, and the other is British. We get to talking about all kinds of stuff; I was only half paying attention at any given time, as the decor around the pub was rather distracting - scarves and tiny banners of various football teams were hung everywhere, and they were very colorful. Also, Russia evidently has no laws about smoking in public places, so Liz and Jorge smoked at the table and that, coupled with the smoke from all the other smoking patrons, kind of made my head hurt.

I'm old enough to drink in this country, so I did. I decided to try a Welsh stout, just because I know I like bitter drinks, and with a name like Brains Stout, what can go wrong? I mean, honestly. It was actually not bad (as if I know absolutely jack [swear word] about beer and related fermented beverages). Definitely bitter, but not in an unpleasant way. I liked it, in any case; Corinne tried the same thing and I don't think she was quite as much of a fan. Liz doesn't particularly like any of the beers she's come across in Russia, but then again, she grew up in Michigan, where there are a ton of microbreweries and the like, so she's kind of been spoiled for beer anywhere else. She was enthusiastic when someone pointed out that the pub served French fries, though, and we ended up getting two orders and nomming on them as we all finished our drinks. At that point, Alex's friends said they were going to a club a few blocks over called RadioBaby; after they left, we decided to meet up with them there.

RadioBaby itself was an interesting enough place, but first, I must relate the manner in which we got there. I don't know if this guy drove an actual taxicab and I just didn't see the rate information and stuff which would have marked his car as such, or if this was one of those informal "loose coalition of guys with vans" sort of deals, but Alex talked a guy into giving us a lift to the club, in any case. Four people crammed into the backseat of a tiny car is an adventure no matter where you're going; Corinne ended up on Liz's lap, and Liz ended up squeezed between myself and Jorge, as Alex took shotgun. Luckily, Corinne is tiny. We got to the club quickly enough; this was another place tucked away off the main road, and admission is free for foreigners.

The whole club is kind of geared toward foreigners, with a very "hipster" vibe. There's a bar at the back, and a tiny dance floor, and a few rooms with places to sit and yell at each other over the music. You know, just like any typical nightclub. Jorge insisted I get something to drink and convinced me by saying he'd pay for it; he and Corinne and I ended up getting White Russians. They're like chocolate milk for grownups, and, hell, I'm a grownup! That was the last drink for me; Liz had three beers while we were at the club, and Alex had a couple of mixed drinks (not sure what they were, I think one was a screwdriver). We sat and talked shouted at one another for a while; the combination of dehydration, the smoky atmosphere and this cold led to me becoming so hoarse that it became nearly impossible to hear me because I couldn't speak any louder. So we got up to leave and headed over to the coat check. By the time Corinne retrieved my and her coats, another group of people had arrived and inadvertently trapped us in the lobby; we had to fight our way through the crowd before we could put our coats on, which we had to do outside. On the way back to the main drag, I slipped on a large patch of ice and fell hard on my butt; luckily, I've still got a considerable amount of padding, so I was OK. It hurt for a little while, but I'm fine now.

At this point, it was getting close to 3 AM and the metros were closed, so our options for getting home were "walk" or "take another cab." Jorge declared that tonight would be the night Corinne and I experienced shawarma, so we ended up walking to this little продукти/cafe that served it. A shawarma is kind of like a gyro; it's meat and vegetables and sauce wrapped in a tortilla and grilled in a panini press. And it is delicious. I can understand why Jorge loves it so much. It's cheap, it's filling, and it's super-tasty. Then we headed home. Alex ran home, for some reason, but we just let her go because she's been here longer and knows her way around. Corinne and Liz followed her at a brisk pace; I went more slowly, in the interest of not falling again. I'd rather stay outside a little longer than keep slipping every three steps. Jorge stayed with me and pointed out landmarks and statues and stuff on the way home; the walk was about 4 or 5 blocks, not too far, but damn was it cold. I don't even want to think about how cold it was; by the time we got back into the apartment, I couldn't even feel my legs. Not wearing my boots meant that my lower legs didn't have that extra layer of warmth, and they were all tingly. Next time I decide to wear tennis shoes I'm putting on another pair of long johns under my jeans; this will probably be tomorrow, which is when the walking tour of the city is (I was mistaken in my last post).

Chapter the Second: Of Rice and Relaxation

I told you all to stay tuned for a post about cooking, and here it is. The stove lighter is very simple to use, kind of like a taser, although I admit I did derive a little too much joy out of watching the gas burner burst into such pretty blue flames. I made myself a hearty batch of Daddy Rice; most of it is currently in the fridge, waiting to be eaten. It isn't quite the same as home, but it's close enough.

We have some Tupperware now, but I don't think we have enough at the moment to store the vast quantity of chili that the supplies I've purchased will make. Maybe after I finish off the rice, or after Liz finishes the tasty-looking щи (cabbage soup) she made and is storing in what looks like a large Chinese takeout soup container. As far as food goes, there's not a lot of sharing that goes on here; my roommates did allow me to nibble at their food supplies until I managed to go grocery shopping, though.

I woke up at around 2 in the afternoon and I've hardly left my bed all day. I feel fine, no worries--just spending a lazy day before I have to start going to class. I mentioned in my last post that Corinne and I got our classes finalized; we're in the same Russian language class, which meets 5 days a week from 12:20-3:30 PM (which is 3:20-6:30 AM for you guys). I don't know when my culture class meets, as that's done through the SRAS, and I believe that particular class begins Tuesday. There's a walking tour of the city on Monday and a supermarket excursion following it, although I think I have to miss class to attend the walking tour. I feel like the tour would be a better use of my time, but eh, we'll see what happens.

Liz and Alex went out to see the political protest that happened in town today; apparently at one point it marched right past our apartment building, but I guess it was either an extraordinarily silent protest or I just pay absolutely no attention to anything, because I never heard a thing. I didn't want to get dressed, so I didn't go, which was probably a better decision. Liz and Alex made it back OK, but you just never know with this kind of thing.

Chapter the Second: Of Classes and Comestibles

Corinne and I returned to the university today to finalize our classes; apparently the woman working there today decided to treat herself to an extra-long lunch, because we were there shortly after 1:30 and the office was still closed (on Fridays it opens at 12:30, closes for lunch from 1:00 to 1:30, and reopens again until 5:30). We bought some more hot beverages from the coffee machine downstairs and waited it out, after getting some photos taken for our visas (which we weren't told we'd have to pay for, but okay, whatever). I got an amaretto cappuccino and she got some hot tea that apparently had berries or something in it, as it was very fruity and sweet. I want one of those coffee machines, just so I have something that will make me a tiny latte on demand. The coffee really isn't bad, either, for what you pay (average of about 25p).

I laughed last spring when Rachel said on her Russia blog that she was considering taking up smoking, just so she'd have a little fire to huddle around. I laughed at that...and then I came here. I now see the logic in that statement. Not that I'm about to run out and buy a pack at the продукты (it's like a quickie-mart) down the street, or anything. If I could even get cigarettes there.

That's something else I'm beginning to realize. There must be a thousand shops within a mile radius of my apartment, but they're all so specialized that I have no idea where I can find some things I've taken for granted in America, like tupperware and spiral notebooks. Liz says she might know where to find tupperware, and will spring for it if she finds it because we have so many people now. With 3 people in the apartment, it was easy enough to just use the bowls, but now space is running out.

Corinne and I went grocery shopping at this huge grocery store a couple blocks from the apartment, but all they had was food and like two aisles of toiletries. I bought some supplies to make enough chili to feed myself for a week; I just can't make it until I have something to store my leftover chili in. I suppose we have a few spare bowls, but at the same time, fridge space is at a premium, which is why I'm considering storing my hardier perishables in the space between the windows in my room. In Russia, they have inner and outer windows with a bit of space between them, I suppose to avoid cracking the glass due to the temperature difference between the inside and outside of the building. There's about three inches of space between my windows; that'll fit a carton of juice or a few cups of yogurt, if we run out of room in the tiny refrigerator. It was starting to get full by the time I finally got around to buying food for myself, so I just put the stuff that absolutely needed refrigeration in there (juice, yogurt, meat) and I'm storing all the nonperishables in my room. I bought some apples, an onion for the chili and some bread, and I'm keeping those on my windowsill because it's cool enough to keep them from spoiling too fast; I also got a few cans of beans and crushed tomatoes for the chili, and some cream of mushroom soup and rice with which to make Daddy Rice, because the ingredients were cheap and one canful of uncooked rice makes a [swear word] TON of Daddy Rice. Also, it's a taste of home.

Stay tuned for the post about me cooking for the first time here; we have to light the gas stove manually, and I'm not 100% sure how to do that without setting fire to the whole kitchen. I'll get Liz or Alex or Jorge to show me how to use the stove lighter.

Chapter the Second: Of Blisters and Blini

Oh. My. Goodness. My legs better be toned as hell by the time I get home or this entire trip will have been a massive waste. Liz took Corinne and me to meet with Volodya, a SRAS employee who gave us an orientation. This involved a walk to a metro station, a ride on said metro, and another walk to the Russian language and culture department building. SPbSU is very much an urban campus, with buildings scattered throughout the city (the math department, Volodya said, is actually outside the city proper, in the suburbs!), but this building should be the only one I'll need to worry about while I'm here.

I arrived in Russia without a ruble to my name. The currency exchange kiosk in Charlotte didn't have rubles, and the exchange kiosk in Munich's credit card swipe thingy was broken. They would have taken more than half of the $9 in grungy bills I had in commission, anyway. Luckily, I've notified my bank of my travel plans and my debit card does work in Russian ATMs.

We were running a little late by the time Liz, Corinne and I arrived at the Mayakovskaya metro station, so I didn't have time to withdraw any money from the bank of ATMs there. Corinne covered my fare today, because she's really nice. After a three-minute escalator ride, we emerged into the tunnel where you board the metro. The walls were covered in a red tile mosaic, the design of which included a silhouette of the face of the modern poet Mayakovsky, for whom this station is named. It was surprisingly pretty, especially given the no-frills, very utilitarian Russian aesthetic throughout the rest of the building and in most of the city. The mid-20th century urban architecture is pleasing in its orderliness, but at the same time the lack of any real ornamentation is both boring and kind of depressingly faceless (and it makes landmarks a little difficult to discern).

The three of us boarded the metro; Corinne was quick enough to score a seat, while Liz and I stood and held onto the rail. Heeled boots were probably, in retrospect, a really bad idea, but I'm not sure I could reach the handrail in the metro without them, honestly, and the acceleration and braking isn't as smooth as my delicate American sense of balance is used to, so I need to hold on to something. And thus comes into play the title of this post: blisters. Turns out the boots aren't quite as perfect as initially thought; my left foot is blistered up something fierce. I don't really have anywhere else I need to go today, though, so I can let it rest for a while. The boots are very warm, though, and I'm glad to have them--it beats walking around in this freezing weather with my thin-canvas Converse or my white tennis shoes, which are apparently among the telltale marks of the American tourist. I slipped a couple of times on the ice and dirty slush-slime coating the sidewalks and roads, but I kept my balance.

There was a stop between Mayakovskaya and our destination (Vasiliostrovskaya, because the station is on Vasily Island), and lots of people got off there, so Liz and I seized the opportunity and sat down. A helpful sign on the opposite window announced that seats are for passengers with small children and the disabled, but of course in the absence of either of those things, no one looks at you askance for sitting down. When we arrived, there was another three-minute escalator ride up to ground level, where we met Volodya and received our cell phones. Liz left us to go buy gloves and go to class, and Volodya took us to the appropriate university building so we could sit and chat someplace warmer than outside. On the way he told Corinne and me to pay attention to our surroundings, because we would have to find our way back home by ourselves. He pointed out a huge pink church we could use as a landmark to remember where to turn to get back to the metro.

Once we found a small lobby on the third floor of the building, Volodya sat down with us and explained the important things like how to extend our visas (which we'll have to do next week, since we need to start the process 20 business days before it expires; both of our visas expire in March), where to go to take the placement test and get our schedule finalized, and how to put money on our new cell phones. Nothing fancy, just a basic Nokia brick that doesn't appear to have a lock button, so butt-dialin' ahoy! Which is kind of a problem, as it is a pay-as-you-go sort of thing. I put some money on it after withdrawing some from an ATM. I'm not entirely clear on the terms of use for the cell phone, so if you need to get in touch with me just email me (elondon@stetson.edu) or message me on Facebook. If it's really urgently important you can call; the number is +7 (898) 112-9014. Remember the plus sign. I know it doesn't cost me anything to receive calls but I don't know if that applies to international calls or not.

Volodya left us after taking us to the office and helping to translate for us and the secretary who made copies of our passports, visas and migration cards. The other office ladies took care of the paperwork and had us sign it, and then they sent us to another room to take a placement test. The office was closed for lunch, so we bought some coffee and went back to the lobby where we talked to Volodya to kill time until it reopened at 2. The building has one of those coffee machines they have at rest stops, where you can buy a cappuccino or hot chocolate or some similar hot beverage; we each bought a small latte. Or, rather, Corinne bought us each a small latte; I still had no Russian money on my person. The cup was itty-bitty, about 6 oz, and the machine dispensed about 4 oz of coffee, but it was hot and very strong.

Soon enough it was 2 o'clock and we went back downstairs to the office. After stumbling through a conversation with the secretary there, it was eventually articulated that we were new foreign students and needed to take a language placement exam. She had us fill out some more paperwork and then gave us the test and told us we had one hour to finish it; we both finished in about 40 minutes, and the test was very quickly scored and our results given to us. Unfortunately, the office where we would have our schedules finalized was closed by the time we were finished taking that exam, so we have to go back tomorrow. We need to go back tomorrow with photos so we can get student IDs, anyway; for as much walking as it involves, and as cold as it will be, we might as well make the visit worthwhile.

Corinne's Russian is about as poor as mine; hopefully we'll both get better over the coming weeks. She scored a 55% on the placement test; I got a 69% (hurr hurr), but only by the grace of God. I suppose I guessed right on a few things, or something. She's only been studying the language for one semester, but she learned it by going to Irkutsk and immersing herself in it. (Knowing I would probably not ace this exam and not wanting to artificially raise expectations, I told the secretary I'd also been studying the language for one semester.) There you have it, folks; it's possible to learn five semesters' worth of Russian in a single semester by immersion. We should both improve quite a bit by the time we leave, then. She leaves May 21st; I wish it would have worked out that we could leave together.

Trying to navigate the streets of the island to find our way back to the metro station was quite an adventure. We stopped at a cafe and got lunch, because we were hungry and I needed to break the 1000-ruble note I got from the ATM. The cafe served sandwiches on blini (savory crepes, basically); she got mushroom, I opted for ham and cheese. I have said in the past that there are few sandwiches that can't be improved by serving them on pancakes instead of bread, and lunch today confirmed that assertion. Then we decided to just go back to the metro station and find our way home. We stopped at a drugstore to see if we could find any vitamin D supplements; maybe I'm just domestically blind, but I can't seem to find the bottle of supplements Mom said she bought for me. Hopefully I find it or can buy more; it's probably not good to go from taking 1000 units of vitamin D per day, in sunny Florida, to 400 units as part of a daily multivitamin (f*** yeah gummy vites!), while living in a place that doesn't get a lot of sunlight. The only vitamin D supplements Corinne or I saw were pretty expensive, so we're going to look around a little more; there are little drugstores all over the place here. I'm gonna search my luggage again before spending money on something I may already have, too.

I almost wish I wore contacts (or could afford Lasik or something), as much as I like how I look with glasses on, because I can't cover my nose and mouth while outside without fogging up my glasses. And it's so cold out that the condensation on the lenses will actually freeze, making it exponentially more difficult to clear them off; I have to unzip my coat and wipe the lenses with my sweater, because it's warm enough to melt the frost. My sweater isn't 100% cotton, but my lenses aren't scratched or anything. Just linty. It occurred to me somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic that it probably would've been a good idea to toss my cleaning cloth and lens cleaner into my bag, but there's nothing I can do about that now other than buy replacements. There are opticians all over the place; I'm sure I can find a cleaning cloth in town. As a result of the cold, my nostrils and lips are all dry and starting to crack; I've made mental notes to move certain little essentials like my Blistex and my phrasebook (thanks Heather!) into the pockets of my coat (thanks Mamaw!). It started snowing a little bit on the way to the university with Volodya, but thankfully it was done by the time we left.

Corinne and Liz are going grocery shopping at the moment; every time I stand up my left foot cries out in protest, so I think I'm basically in for the night at this point, unless we all decide to go get shawarma or go do something fun this evening. Jorge and Alex have decided that, because Corinne and I have never had shawarma, that they need to correct this injustice as soon as possible. Shawarma is quintessential Russian street food. It's meat, and that's all they'll tell me about it. I don't know what kind of meat it is, how it's prepared, or what it looks like; I suppose I could Google it, but I hate to ruin Jorge and Alex's fun. If something like that comes up this evening, then I might be persuaded to get dressed again. It's already after 6:00 here, and it's not even quarter after 9 AM at home--that's crazy to me, that my day is basically over and none of y'all have even had lunch yet. In the case of most of my Stetson friends, I know most of you aren't even awake yet.

I should have my schedule finalized by tomorrow, and then I have the weekend (probably, Saturday classes aren't unheard of here) to party it up before having to put my poor chapped nose back to the grindstone on Monday. Apparently classes have already started, even though the SRAS webpage for my program says the program begins on the 8th...maybe it's just Russian language classes, I don't know. Much as I'm dreading the language classes (Russian is hard, and last semester was pretty rough for me), I'm actually pretty excited to be going to class at all. I'll have something to do, finally! Corinne and I will probably end up in the same Russian class, and we're both doing the Russian Psyche program, so I'm thinking we'll just go to class together all the time. I wouldn't mind that, she's pretty cool. Alex is in the program too; I'm not sure if Jorge is, I don't remember if he said so. He and Alex have the same Russian class, at least. I know nothing about Liz's schedule other than that she had a class today at 12:20 and was done by the time we got back (4:30ish).