Hopefully you can see these videos. They are short clips I took on my trip out of town. They would make great openers to a horror film in Siberia.
Vyborg. We were meant to go to Novgorod, but transport proved too difficult to figure out. Even to Vyborg, we had to go to 3 places before we could even find how to get tickets. Using a varitey of sources, I have ascertained how to get to Novgorod, and will journey there this weekend. As I can find no central source of information. I plan to copy all the names of destinations from the board in the train station. Then maybe I'll just draw a name out of a hat on my next day off.
I want to take this down and put it in my house. How chic would I be?
This is the most daunting "Cloak Chamber" I've ever seen.
Getcher hair did and a brew at the "Hairdressing Saloon"
If you click on the photo to see the large version, you see that the sign says, "Exit to the city". This just amused me. Like there's some sort of Willy Wonka door, and when you enter it, its a land of pure imagination!
Vyborg!
"AHHHHH, get this bear off my leg!"
Again, clicking on the photo for the large size, you see this is a giant pile of scrap metal from Kazakhstan. Or maybe its scrap metal destined for Kazakhstan. Maybe that's what they build their houses out of. Old metal from the great white north of Russia.
I just love the lady on the side of the building. Close up below.
An Orthodox church:
So as we're walking, we see this girl walking with an owl on her arm. Then as we're desperately searching for a restaurant, we find one called "Sava", or Owl. It was this or a place called Kamelot. I often believe too much in signs. This was one of those times. While the place was really cute, the food was nothing to speak of; except I just did. Anyway, it did provide this great photo op!
I have a thing for frozen water. Especially when it occurs in less than comfortable places. What does that even mean? It's early. Anyway, I like the way these gutters just hang off the side of the building. I mean, in summer, does rain just shoot on the passers-by? And when it just starts to warm up do icicles shoot off the side? Ok, maybe I'm being too imaginative, but its a funny image.
So one of the videos above is a man with a giant "Screw". It took me a bit to figure out why the train was full of men with giant screws. They're ice fishermen! While I didn't get to go fishing with them that day, its on my list of things to do....well photograph anyway. I don't fish.
St. Cog. Patron saint of "The Machine"...and I don't mean Jordan....
This building reminds me of Sweden. But then Vyborg was inhabited by Swedes I think, so I imagine they left their mark.
This is great. Finish the outside first. Make sure you get the sign up in nice gold letters. We'll worry about the inside structure later. Just make sure people know its going to be great...one day.
I tight rolled my jeans and went to a reggae concert Sunday. What does this mean?Well, the second is a cry for help.Please help me find any kind of live music.Especially if it is in a language I understand.I will say though that reggae grows on me more and more every time I travel.It’s amazing how often you run across Bob Marley in hostels.Tiny little places in Lao were blasting Bob Marley.One place I stayed advertised Rasta Pasta.When you travel, you find yourself craving any kind of recognizable music.If you travel long enough without hearing music in your own language, and then stumble upon a Kelly Clarkston CD, you will find yourself a huge Kelly Clarkson fan.So I have become a minor fan of reggae.Michael Franti helps.If you don’t have Rebel Rockers, go buy it now.I listen to it every day.
Why did I tight roll my jeans?Honestly, it was just so they wouldn’t get dirty and wet on my way to the concert.I looked just like an Asheville gutter punk.But the funny thing is, people kept looking at me with…admiration?I could see them thinking, “wait, is there a fashion from the 80’s we aren’t already still clinging to?”I’ve bought quite a few items of clothing here I would laugh at people for wearing back home.But I have little choice.It’s what is available.I bought a green faux leather bomber jacket, that I love.I bought fingerless gloves.I find myself nearly buying coats that would make anyone look like the Michelin man.
Anyways, after much trial and tribulation I went to see the Wailers Sunday.It wasn’t the raw reggae fest I was looking for.It was a few rastas and some average Russians.They hardly moved to the music.At first I thought it was because they couldn’t understand what the guy was saying, but I realized eventually that they did, they just weren’t moved.Perhaps it’s a cultural thing.There is a history of theatre and ballet here.Maybe it’s just normal to watch a performance and not actively participate.You wouldn’t jump up in the middle of an orchestral performance and start ball room dancing.It was a bit of a downer, but maybe just something to get used to?
Let’s talk about transport for a moment.One of my favorite subjects.In St. Pete, there are a plethora of types of transport.My favorite and the easiest, the metro.Unfortunately, there is not a metro stop near every place I want to go.For instance, it isn’t really useful to go to school.To go to the main shopping mall, you take the metro to the last stop and then hop the free Ikea bus.In addition to the metro, one can take a bus, a trolley bus, a tram, a taxi, a marshrutka, or a private car (this does not in fact mean your own car.)So a trolley bus is a bus with wires above.A tram is on rails.Fairly uncomplicated.Taxi, I’m sure you’re aware.Marshrutka?This is a privately run affair, not affiliated with the state run transportation.They are usually minivans, or something in between a minivan and a bus.Due to their size, they can get through traffic quicker, and due to their quickness, they cost more than state funded public transport.Unlike a bus, they don’t have designated stops.Which brings me to my real point.We actually had a session in school devoted to “How to communicate with Marshrutka drivers.”Which I still don’t have the hang of.Usually I just hope someone asks to get off near where I’m going.While very convenient as a mode of transport, I don’t enjoy yelling from the back of the bus when I want to stop, and it isn’t always convenient to determine where these “buses” are going.There is a list of some highlights of their route on the side of the van, but that doesn’t always mean they go where you’re going.You may still end up walking 20 minutes if you grab the wrong one.And payment on these buses is kind of on the honor system.You pass your money up to the front and if you have change, it is passed back to you.Now of course, I’ve thought, “How bout I just don’t pay, will the driver even notice?”I think these people have been bred to rat others out though, so I haven’t tried it.I’m sure some babushka will cry “Citizens arrest” or the Russian equivalent.Private cars are an interesting institution. Hitchhiking is an actual mode of common transportation in this city.If you want to go somewhere without the bus, I guess for moderately long distances, or; you know I really don’t know why you do this.Maybe you’re just tired of waiting in the cold for the bus.But anyway, you just stand on the side of the street and put your hand out and eventually a car will stop.You negotiate a price and hop in.There are a lot of retirees that just drive around town acting like taxis.We also had a session in class about how to communicate with the private car drivers, but I’m not inclined to use this mode of transportation.
I got a bit tipsy the other night.As happens when you choose to debauch until 6am.As I stumbled home from the hostel I had crashed at for a few hours, I got that well known feeling; I needed grease.Thankfully the metro dumps out at a Макдоналдз.As I stood in line to order my Биг Теисти (which as I look at this, I realize that anyone with some knowledge of Russian and English could easily be tricked into seeing “big teste”), a Russian woman came up behind me to ask about the menu.Let me point out that at the Mcdonalds, most things have the same name, just transliterated into Cyrillic.For example:Chicken McNuggets = Чикен Макнеггетс or something like that.Well it stands to reason that “chicken” in Russian is not just “chicken” with different letters.So a woman comes up to me and asks me in Russian, “What is Chicken McNuggets?, is it meat?”First of all, that cracks me up.But it only cracks me up now.In my half drunken stupor, I didn’t think it an odd question, somehow, in my half drunken stupor, I realized that this was my chance to use being an American as a positive thing.I could share my knowledge of the great American food, “Chicken McNuggets”….I screwed it up.Michael, you may see where this is going.There is a very small difference between the word for Chicken and the word for Cinnamon, and I do believe I told her that a Чикен Макнеггет was made of cinnamon.A box of fried cinnamon balls.Poor lady.Probably thought she was getting a nice desert.My future as a goodwill ambassador is finished I’m afraid.
Those of you who kept up with me in Belgium will remember my persistent annoyance with the general lack of interest in good coffee.There is no lack of interest in coffee, they drink it all the time, but astronaut coffee is made for astronauts.There are even fewer coffee beans in this country.Nescafe, etc.The Russian favorite- Tchibo.Maybe I’m wrong, maybe in some of the cafes, I’m getting some sort of actual ground bean that is then put through some kind of grinding, boiling, extracting process.But often, this is not the case.Yesterday, I paid 3 dollars for some sort of highly acidic brown muck.And then it dawned on me.Soylent brown is people!You’ll remember that a few weeks ago I saw a dead man at the bus stop.A friend of mine imparted a story on me of his similar experience.Unfortunately for him, he watched the man die, then watched an old babushka actually step on the man to get in the bus.Then while he waited for his bus, he watched a truck pull up, open the back hatch and throw the body in.A garbage truck for bodies.Now his account is from the early 90’s, so perhaps the value of a life has improved.Or perhaps not.All I’m saying is, in a country where the value of life is sometimes marginal; in a country where capitalism struggles under corruption; in a country where there is little regard for the quality of a cup of java:perhaps Soylent Brown is people.
On a rare occasion, the sun comes out and the sky isn't totally grey. The sun seems to prefer Fridays, so do I.
Liberty, sometimes it's two-faced.
Bundling up next to the fish cart.
This is some sort of business center, but it looks pretty menacing.
The new with the old.
It seems as though this ship sailed in through the ice, because the anchor, which i believe is perhaps an old oil drum full of concrete, is half above "water".
And my favorite, "The Devil's little red...er I mean pink...corvette...er I mean bug"
So I suppose that at the moment I live a pretty charmed life. Yesterday after school, two friends and I went to a really rad restaurant. The name means Attic, and it looked a bit attic-like. They had more ties than I myself own, and I was a little jealous. I had the most amazing beef stroganov, one of my favorite dishes of all time, and an amazing fruit salad, with more fruits mixed than I saw even in asia. It had a sweet cinnamon sour cream sauce over it. Maybe its just because there are so many terrible places to eat, but I do believe this restaurant makes it into my top 5 in the world. Great atmosphere, great food, strong drinks. We got a bit lost walking back to my apartment, but found it eventually. Those who know St Pete, will know Nevsky Prospect. Its a very touristy street with mostly shops and restaurants. I live on what I've been told is the second biggest street for shopping. But not really any tourists. Its kind of nice. While its sometimes difficult to find a little locally owned store, or any shop with clothes I can afford, its nice to live in a nice section of town. After my friends left, I headed to the Irish pub I frequent. Its not cheap, and there's nothing really Irish about it. They do have a great selection of Scotch, but its outrageously expensive. Anyway, I sat and chatted with the employees, as I do about once a week, had a few White Russians, a few beers, one bought for me by a man on his way out (the best kind of free beer, no obligation to talk!) It was a good time. If it were possible for me to be in a lower tax bracket, I could probably write these drinking sessions off as "tutoring sessions".
This morning I of course woke with a massive headache. But its Friday, and I got no job, I ain't got no money, and I ain't got shit to do! So I head to the cafe for an americano. And then I head to a little Italian joint for lunch and some reading. Here is where it occurred to me that life is pretty good right now. I go to school 4 days a week, and I do what I want the rest of the time. I don't have too much money, but I don't have to work, and what little money I have was free. Things aren't perfect, but for the amount of effort I'm putting into life right now, I'm getting a lot more out of it.
But then it occurred to me, while I'm having a blast, and making memories, what I'm not doing is getting anywhere towards having a career. A real job. Something with some sort of opportunity for, what? upward mobility? I'm not in high school anymore. I'm closer to 30 than I am to 20 and that scares the shit out of me. What do I have to show for it besides a photo album and few interesting stories? And I feel completely incapable of getting any direction.
Well, this has been a fairly pointless diatribe. I took some pictures today, I'll go work on those.
So I've been handing out this blog address left and right. With that comes new readership that may or may not understand my perspective, or for that matter, my general disposition. I generally write only when I think I have either, something interesting to say, or an interesting way to say something. Often this comes from a very cynical place. So while it may seem that I'm having a terrible time, quite the opposite. I'm loving this. Here's another quote from the same Chekov story:
Bitter as my mood was, I remember I seemed to try make myself gloomier and sadder. Shallow, self-centered people, you know, have moments when the consciousness that they are unhappy gives them a certain pleasure, and they will even coquet with their own sufferings.
So I had to go back to the clinic today to find out if I had inadvertently inhaled some hiv while I’ve been here, although I did have a bit of fun in Thailand…
Anyway, this clinic, people stay there, so its really more like a hospital.It’s so old.I’ll have to go take pictures one day when I have nothing to do.There are cats living in it.Really?Cats?The place is full of pregnant women and cats.I’m allergic to cats, so I hope I don’t get pregnant in Russia!
I would also like to comment on M & Ms. There is zero quality control here where this delicious candy is concerned. I do feel that they deserve more respect. In one bag of M & Ms, I counted perhaps 5 that were in fact some what round. The rest were mutated. Too big, too small. Many looked like Nerds. Obviously they taste the same, but for any musicians who want to picky about M & Ms on their riders, they may have to have them imported.
I'm going to start with something positive, and then of course immediately change streams. The weather/temperature outside has no bearing on my need for ice cream. Honestly, when its hot, the last thing I want to put in my mouth is a milk product. Russians will eat ice cream no matter what. In the freezing rain there will be an ice cream cart sitting by the metro, in the park, etc. I love it.
I've been told its a full moon. I could check, but it makes my day make sense, so I choose to believe it. I went to bed at a decent hour last night. No alcohol. My alarm went off and I wanted to die. I forced myself up and out of bed. Forced myself to school. Forced myself to stay awake. Worst day ever. Teacher of course goes over ass-hard concepts today, one after another. I wanted to shoot myself. Then the last thing is watching this disturbing video of some 13 year old girl bitching about her boyfriend breaking up with her. Anyone who holds a baby doll for comfort is not old enough for a boyfriend. At times I thought she was possessed. Irrelevant really, just added to my general malaise today.
After class I went for visa pictures. That went so-so. Jumped a bus for the university clinic for yet another hiv test for my visa. The first one wasn't soviet enough I suppose. So you walk in the clinic, and like everywhere in Russia, the first thing you come to is a coat check. In addition to checking your coat, you must pay 5 rubles for little booties to cover your shoes. I had the forethought to have a Russian write down that I needed a hiv test and the results certificate. I can't imagine how this would have gone down had I not done that. First I show it to the coatcheck lady, "Blah blah blagovich blavnaya registrator" and a finger pointing left. So I head that way and find the "Registrator" closed for coffee break. I show the paper to another employee and apparently I was in the wrong place anyway because she says something that I understood to mean "Straight, straight, blahbloneechesky first clinic." I begin to head that direction and end up in some sort of Silent Hill scene. Run down hospital with a few pregnant women smoking cigarrettes. A saviour comes up, I show her and say I don't understand Russian and she smiles (no small feat here, though I run into it more often than you would think) and walks me to the clinic, which I never would have found with the previous directions. She directs me to the "Registrator" of this wing. I show her my paper, she takes my passport and documents my existence and points and says something that involves cashier so I go to that window. Here's where things get messy. First of all, I'm dealing with my health. Secondly I'm dealing with money. Thirdly, I'm dealing with a visa. Fourthly, I'm dealing with Russians.
So the lady quotes me a price that is much lower than what I was told I would need to pay. I was specifically told that I had to pay one amount for the test and one amount for the results certificate (go figure, I want you to know if I have the hiv, but I don't really need to know, so just the test please). So I ask if that amount is for the tests and the certificate, of course in the most broken Russian that ever existed. She can clearly hear that I don't speak Russian, yet she chooses to speak ultra fast and with an attitude brimming with sulfur. Before I know it, I've lost my shit. Now I'll lose my shit on people I know, but I am almost always overly polite to people in the service industry, even when they are being rude. Honestly, I don't know what happened. I kind of blacked out. Which is no good when trying to understand a foreign language. She basically told me to go somewhere else, but I couldn't understand where. The place I thought she meant, a small office behind me, was empty. So I went to the first window, where she chooses to act like she has no clue what I want. And they both keep saying something to that effect. What the hell?! Its written on paper in your language! How difficult is this situation? So this young pregnant girl comes to my rescue, maybe I've been reading too much Russian literature, but I do believe her baby will be blessed especially for his mother being so kind. Anyway, she tries to understand what I need and goes to the cashier to explain this. At this point, I don't care if I pay for the certificate now, just take my blood and I'll bring back one of my "guys" to figure out where my certificate is later. Then the cashier says something about the number eight. Thats the only word I understand, and I see the young woman trying to count out in English on her fingers, so I say "8?" and I hear the cashier say in Russian, "She understands." Bitch. Maybe I should take it as a compliment that she thinks my skills are more than they are, but seriously, if I understood would I have had a complete meltdown?
So the question is, am I getting fed up with Russian processes, or am I just taking on Russian attitudes. Jesus. It occurred to me today, and again, I'm probably reading too much, that maybe there's something to my love of gypsy music. Maybe the music calls some ethnic puzzle piece long lost or perhaps buried in my family tree. Maybe in fact, I am genetically predisposed to be an irate Russian. I tell you, I have adapted well more than I thought I would. Bitching aside, because god knows I just like to bitch, and it really has bearing on my current location. Maybe I'll take on a new name. Esmerelda?
I read an article by a Russian in an English language paper here in St. Pete. The author attempts to write an article commenting simultaneously on the ineffectiveness of Russian politicians and the joy Russian drivers get from running over pedestrians in crosswalks. She also makes an interesting commentary on the recent extension of presidential terms in Russia. She points out that in the 90's, when these terms were being, well determined, that a "year would last so long that a person could hardly survive it." And now you blink and a year has gone. So due to "Time Inflation", we must lengthen the terms. It almost makes sense. And I've always thought we should lengthen our terms. Its just a matter of how the powers that be managed to make this constitutional change happen.
But that wasn't really my point. Really I just wanted to share a quote from the article about the crosswalks. "The Zebra (crosswalk) is just where people get run over. It's a tradition, a national sport-the pedestrians are run over in their own space for crossing. You have to agree that it is stylish, somewhat logical, and definitely an expression of the national character."
What? I'll let you ponder that for a bit.
What I found to be perhaps a better "expression of national character", was a tagline on the front of the magazine. In big letters it says, "Nothing changes on New Year's Day" And in smaller letters below it says, "But still we can celebrate."
And on a different note entirely, I was reading a short story by Chekov called "Champagne." I pulled this from it:
It sometimes happens that during an arithmetic lesson, when the very atmosphere seems heavy with tedium, a butterfly will flutter into the classroom from out-of-doors. Then the urchins will all crane their necks and follow its flilght with curiosity, as if they saw before them something strange and new and not simply a butterfly.
When I checked the weather this morning, it said 40 percent chance of precipitation. What does that mean? In WNC it means that there is a 40 percent chance something will fall from the sky. Perhaps here it means there is a 40 percent chance of mass accumulation, or a 40 percent chance that said precipitation will last longer than 50 percent of the day. We're getting into some crazy algebra now. An easy equation to stand by though, there is a 100 percent chance that something will fall from the sky. I will attempt to sort out the weather mans math.
So life is wet to say the least. My housing is, well a constant source of annoyance at the moment. Should I stay or should I go. Pros, dinner is included, Russian is spoken in the house (although they have zero ability to slow down. They seem to speed up when I ask them to slow down, or they speak in broken English.) Around the corner is a nice pub. Its sickly expensive, but the barkeeps are decidedly less "Russian" than a lot of the people I meet. They are super friendly and put up with my fantastic ability to butcher the hell out of their language. But unfortunately, I have to fold my bed up every day and other minor annoyances, like not being able to cook my own food, and therefore eating meat paddy products nearly every day. The other place would be own apartment, but on the ass end of town. Full of students, but that leads to the trap of speaking English all the time. I think I've pretty much decided to stay where I am and just buy a transport card so I can go out to the ass end of town to visit friends.
School is going pretty well. I have one teacher most of the time and she is fantastic. The other teacher we have for only one session. I think I'm older than her, and slightly less bitchy. She seems to enjoy confusing us and then acting put out. She's quite talented with making the Asians feel like assholes for not understanding her. Its kind of sad really, both teachers give them a harder time. But then sometimes just let them say things completely wrong. I don't know if they get fed up, or just realize that it is fairly impossible for tongues trained certain ways to unwind and redirect themselves.
A few nights ago we had a bonfire by the "sea". Crazy? Yes. But we had a blast. You know when your alcoholic beverage, that was room temperature when you left, starts to form ice crystals, it may be too cold to be covorting outside. At some point I said something about bringing Richard Simmons videos next time to keep warm. While the most useful method would be to use them for firewood, I did mean to do excercises. A guy from China asks me who Richard Simmons is. I explain that he is a raging homosexual that does excercise videos. Later we were discussing rock music. After explaining that Avril Lavigne does not qualify as punk and that in fact Rock is dead, and pop has sadly taken over as some sort of Hermaphroditic Tsar of Music; I made the comment that a gay man (Freddie Mercury) rocked harder than Chad Kroeger could ever hope to even after drinking a bottle of jack daniels and snorting 2 bags of coke. (Unfortuneately, this was sad much less colorfully, one must speak stiltedly when in these International soirees.) After I made this comment, he accused me of being obsessed with gay men. I'm not sure that was warranted. I got to the point of frost bite and bid my adieus, because, if you were not aware, "adieu" means "to god", and at that moment, I wasn't sure that I wasn't on my way to a meeting with the big guy. I frigidly, and completely stiffly, walked to a bus stop and jumped on the first one to the metro. I did not die. I did however take pictures in the metro station, which I found out today is completely illegal and had the police seen me, they probably would have taken my camera.
So death and camera removal avoided, I am safe and thawed in St. Pete.
I saw the sun for the first time in a week today. I hadn't really missed it, but it was odd. I walked outside and thought something was wrong. Blue sky with grey instead of all grey. I hopped on the metro and rode the line to the end, just outside the city. That's where they keep the big wal-mart type place and the mall. I got off the metro, crossed the street to the bus stop. As I walked toward the bus stop, I saw a man lying under it. Covered in a blanket. Except it was covering his face too. And he was laying on his back with his arms by his sides. He wasn't sleeping. Apparently they hadn't had time to pick up the body yet.
Getcher hair did and a brew at the "Hairdressing Saloon"
