April 16th, 2009
On our third day in Russia, the student teachers went to their school to teach while the rest of us went on a scavenger hunt. The breakfast before it was amazing for the third straight day. The cereal in Russia is sweeter and tastier than the cereals in America and their fruit drinks are like the nectars of the gods. The Russians do not dilly-dally when it comes to their juice. The slices of cheese and hard-boiled eggs complete the scrumptious meal. And the adorable old man who helps us with our breakfast is so nice. I just want to walk up to him and say “Spasiba!” every chance I get.
Then the scavenger hunt; we split off into groups of two and I was with Chris “I want to stick out” J. and boy did he stick out. Over six feet and one hundred and ninety pounds of fresh American values right there in the streets of St. Petersburg. I followed him and his long golden curls to the ends of the Nevsky Prospect, which is the greatest shopping area for the city’s population, but I would have followed him to the ends of the Neva River and back again. To the ends of the earth.
We had to take various pictures of the city, including examples of baroque architecture (we went to the Winter Palace for that), neo-classical architecture (that was all over the place), images of Peter the Great (for this war-like czar we went to the Bronze Statue), and ATMs. We found several ATMs but every where we looked, there were cops and muscular soldiers waltzing around waiting for the funny Americans to take pictures of their stuff so that they could arrest them or give them a good talkin’ to.
But oh mama, could this really be the end (as Bob Dylan would say)? To be stuck inside of St. Petersburg with the Moscow blues again. There were a lot of soldiers and cops around but I sort of liked it – it was nice to see the various uniforms and hats the different divisions wore. I wonder if they dislike each other; mess each other up every now and then with witnesses. Anyway, the hunt was nearing an end so we went back to the hostel. After dinner, which was spaghetti and sausage and other delicious things I will not take the time to name (because all you need to know, is that I haven’t been fed better since being at home, and I am starting to wonder about that one, too.
To top off the day, Chris J., myself and a few others went to the 24 hour bookstore which was pretty much a Russified Barnes & Noble and with a disappointingly small English section. But I was happy because the music selection was amazing, and you can’t tack down a song like you can a word, man. You can’t. Music is the true international language and no amount of “Bonjour”s or Gadsden Purchases or Nicaean Emperors will change that. Tatu is from here, after all. And Tchaivosky. I understand Tchaivosky more so than James Joyce and Mr. Joyce was from the heart of green Ireland. Dubliners, anybody?
Ryan
April 17th, 2009
This day was a little less eventful than the day before was. We had a class that discussed the great many numbers the Russians have. Addean, dvah, three, chitheory, pyet, shaste, same, vohsame, etc. All those great ones. I learned a lot and I’m even starting to remember my room number: number nineteen a.k.a. divitnatset a.ka. where I read my “Crime & Punishment” in one and drink my Russian bottled water in the other. I count my ruples in these parts; I count my kopecks in that room. I understand Russian macro ‘n’ socio-economics like I understand tried & true, red & blue American aeronautics yet I know how these ruples will be put to use. I know how to put the ruples in the little tray for stores because I know that the traditional Russian custom is to put money on trays so that the hands don’t touch them because it is considered uncouth. Uncouth like the crude peoples of old.
Several of us (with trusty Chris “Alberto DeLarge Westminster” J. at my side again) went to a local St. Petersburg bakery, where the pigs in the blanket looked delicious but I had no idea how to order it in Russian so I ordered scones and pies and Coca-Cola. Chris called it a meat-sandwich or something. I called him foolish and laughed and caroused the whole time but I knew that in the dark recesses of my stomach and lazer light eyeballs, that I was merely jealous of the old boy and that I wanted those pigs. I wanted those blankets. I wanted everything and I couldn’t have it because of not wanting to appear to be a guy who gorged himself on scones and pigs in blankets.
I did a bit more reading on my Rodia’s troubles (and he brings them only on himself to tell you the truth…believe me, I’ve read Parts I-III and the man likes to hear himself talk and talk and talk and talk. Whatever happens, as Rodia says, “Come what may!” After some reading I took a little nap and waited until I had to shop for dinner. Chris “Rublestein” J., myself and two other hearty fellows went with our teaching fellow to two stores in the streets of Peter’s Dream. In Russia, the stores are really small and really crowded. Perhaps having four brutes like us standing around in the small crevices wasn’t such a good idea; maybe we should split up next time and hunt and gathers as separate units. Either way, though, we got our 30 pieces of chicken and our 30 pieces of fruit and our ten or so potatoes. It was fruit salad, baby.
Dinner was the most amazing meal we had since…well, before Term 1 of school started. The chicken was sweet and moist, the fruit was crunchy and popped, and the potatoes were drenched in oil or something to that effect. Great bangers and mash, gentlemen, I must say.
I helped clean up a bit because the group is composed of various students who are a part of a team in one way or another and I was assigned to a group that had to shop and clean today. Now, as I type this blog, I hope you wish us Good Night & Good Luck. We are wasting time in the flotsam and jetsam, but enjoying every minute of it, and the snow of St. Petersburg is coming down every so gently with its turgid puffs of ice on us as we walk up and down the streets of Peter’s Dream and oh what a dream. What a dream a dream he had and that I have now. Snow in later April? Not even New York state can offer that I have seen the snow of New York state and it does not have the magic essence of a Petersburg snowfall.
Ryan
On our third day in Russia, the student teachers went to their school to teach while the rest of us went on a scavenger hunt. The breakfast before it was amazing for the third straight day. The cereal in Russia is sweeter and tastier than the cereals in America and their fruit drinks are like the nectars of the gods. The Russians do not dilly-dally when it comes to their juice. The slices of cheese and hard-boiled eggs complete the scrumptious meal. And the adorable old man who helps us with our breakfast is so nice. I just want to walk up to him and say “Spasiba!” every chance I get.
Then the scavenger hunt; we split off into groups of two and I was with Chris “I want to stick out” J. and boy did he stick out. Over six feet and one hundred and ninety pounds of fresh American values right there in the streets of St. Petersburg. I followed him and his long golden curls to the ends of the Nevsky Prospect, which is the greatest shopping area for the city’s population, but I would have followed him to the ends of the Neva River and back again. To the ends of the earth.
We had to take various pictures of the city, including examples of baroque architecture (we went to the Winter Palace for that), neo-classical architecture (that was all over the place), images of Peter the Great (for this war-like czar we went to the Bronze Statue), and ATMs. We found several ATMs but every where we looked, there were cops and muscular soldiers waltzing around waiting for the funny Americans to take pictures of their stuff so that they could arrest them or give them a good talkin’ to.
But oh mama, could this really be the end (as Bob Dylan would say)? To be stuck inside of St. Petersburg with the Moscow blues again. There were a lot of soldiers and cops around but I sort of liked it – it was nice to see the various uniforms and hats the different divisions wore. I wonder if they dislike each other; mess each other up every now and then with witnesses. Anyway, the hunt was nearing an end so we went back to the hostel. After dinner, which was spaghetti and sausage and other delicious things I will not take the time to name (because all you need to know, is that I haven’t been fed better since being at home, and I am starting to wonder about that one, too.
To top off the day, Chris J., myself and a few others went to the 24 hour bookstore which was pretty much a Russified Barnes & Noble and with a disappointingly small English section. But I was happy because the music selection was amazing, and you can’t tack down a song like you can a word, man. You can’t. Music is the true international language and no amount of “Bonjour”s or Gadsden Purchases or Nicaean Emperors will change that. Tatu is from here, after all. And Tchaivosky. I understand Tchaivosky more so than James Joyce and Mr. Joyce was from the heart of green Ireland. Dubliners, anybody?
Ryan
April 17th, 2009
This day was a little less eventful than the day before was. We had a class that discussed the great many numbers the Russians have. Addean, dvah, three, chitheory, pyet, shaste, same, vohsame, etc. All those great ones. I learned a lot and I’m even starting to remember my room number: number nineteen a.k.a. divitnatset a.ka. where I read my “Crime & Punishment” in one and drink my Russian bottled water in the other. I count my ruples in these parts; I count my kopecks in that room. I understand Russian macro ‘n’ socio-economics like I understand tried & true, red & blue American aeronautics yet I know how these ruples will be put to use. I know how to put the ruples in the little tray for stores because I know that the traditional Russian custom is to put money on trays so that the hands don’t touch them because it is considered uncouth. Uncouth like the crude peoples of old.
Several of us (with trusty Chris “Alberto DeLarge Westminster” J. at my side again) went to a local St. Petersburg bakery, where the pigs in the blanket looked delicious but I had no idea how to order it in Russian so I ordered scones and pies and Coca-Cola. Chris called it a meat-sandwich or something. I called him foolish and laughed and caroused the whole time but I knew that in the dark recesses of my stomach and lazer light eyeballs, that I was merely jealous of the old boy and that I wanted those pigs. I wanted those blankets. I wanted everything and I couldn’t have it because of not wanting to appear to be a guy who gorged himself on scones and pigs in blankets.
I did a bit more reading on my Rodia’s troubles (and he brings them only on himself to tell you the truth…believe me, I’ve read Parts I-III and the man likes to hear himself talk and talk and talk and talk. Whatever happens, as Rodia says, “Come what may!” After some reading I took a little nap and waited until I had to shop for dinner. Chris “Rublestein” J., myself and two other hearty fellows went with our teaching fellow to two stores in the streets of Peter’s Dream. In Russia, the stores are really small and really crowded. Perhaps having four brutes like us standing around in the small crevices wasn’t such a good idea; maybe we should split up next time and hunt and gathers as separate units. Either way, though, we got our 30 pieces of chicken and our 30 pieces of fruit and our ten or so potatoes. It was fruit salad, baby.
Dinner was the most amazing meal we had since…well, before Term 1 of school started. The chicken was sweet and moist, the fruit was crunchy and popped, and the potatoes were drenched in oil or something to that effect. Great bangers and mash, gentlemen, I must say.
I helped clean up a bit because the group is composed of various students who are a part of a team in one way or another and I was assigned to a group that had to shop and clean today. Now, as I type this blog, I hope you wish us Good Night & Good Luck. We are wasting time in the flotsam and jetsam, but enjoying every minute of it, and the snow of St. Petersburg is coming down every so gently with its turgid puffs of ice on us as we walk up and down the streets of Peter’s Dream and oh what a dream. What a dream a dream he had and that I have now. Snow in later April? Not even New York state can offer that I have seen the snow of New York state and it does not have the magic essence of a Petersburg snowfall.
Ryan
No comments:
Post a Comment