Wow. Hard to believe that I've already been in St. Petersburg for a week, yet it didn't take very long to fall into a routine. Latalia and I get up between 7 and 7:30 in order to have breakfast at 8, which is always the same: cornflakes, orange juice, yogurt, and bread (sometimes with jam, sometimes with cheese) and I always drink a cup of tea, too, because it is still rather chilly in the mornings. We leave for the Nevsky Institute at 8:30 because classes start at 9 and it's a 20-minute walk to the institute (we could take the metro, but it's only one stop, so it's really not worth the crowds and hassle). We've also fallen into a schedule with our classes: we have grammar every morning Monday thru Thursday and conversation every afternoon except Wednesdays. Wednesday afternoons and Friday mornings we have reading class. Every class is actually two 50-minute periods (which is normal for Russian education. Each class is called a para because it consists of the two sessions). We have lunch between morning and afternoon classes, for which we are given an hour. I like the food in the Nevsky cafeteria, because it's better than even the dining halls at Princeton (which is really, saying something) as well as being convenient and cheap. If I buy just rice and potatoes, it only costs 32 rubles, which is just about exactly $1. Lunch for $1? Not a bad deal, if I do say so myself. Classes end at 2, and every day this week we've stayed after so that I can catch up on my blog, which has definitely taken more time than I thought it would (although I should have known that I rarely do anything concisely). However, in the coming weeks we should be able to go right home after class on most days. When we do stay after, we get home between 5:30 and 6:30, and supper is usually ready around 6:30. Fortunately, our dinner fare is a bit more varied than breakfast: so far we've had a couple different kinds of soups, the pelmeni (meat-filled dumplings), and macaroni. Over meals are really the only times when Latalia and I interact with Tatyana Trofimovna, and I can actually see my improvement every day. At this point, the conversation still centers around Latalia's amazingly tiny appetite and our schedule at school (and T.T. also always asks how our friends are doing, and how they live compared to us, which questions we usually have to answer with Я не знаю "Ya ne znayu" - I don't know) but every day we are learning more vocabulary words, and T.T. is always willing to help us with our grammar and pronunciation. She's also very good at speaking slowly and clearly and repeating herself whenever she can see that we don't understand. Both before and after supper Latalia and I busy ourselves with our homework, which takes up an alarming amount of time. Last night I wasn't able to go to bed until midnight because I was so busy studying, although it usually isn't quite that bad. But they weren't lying when they told us that this would be an intensive course. I'm able to sleep better and better every night - I must be getting used to the light. I also notice a definite difference in the amount of natural light starting at about 10pm; I even have to turn the light on in my room to work comfortably after that time. It still gets light very early, however, and I'm trying to train myself not to start waking up until my alarm goes off in the morning (to avoid getting myself up only to find that it is only 4:30 or 5 in the morning, which happened the first few days :P).
At this point Latalia and I haven't done a great deal of exploring; mostly we walk to and from the institute and spend the rest of our free time studying. However, after we get into a better routine (and we aren't staying after in the computer lab for 4 hours after school) we will probably find that we have more free time and we may start to explore the neighborhood, as T.T. keeps encouraging us to do. I'm especially interested in visiting the zoo that is just down the street :] but I also plan to go see the many museums and parks that dot St. Petersburg at some point. Today, in fact, we have a bus tour of the city, so after that I will have much more to tell about the city in general. But, as I am trying to get myself into the habit of writing fewer and shorter blog entries, I will leave you for now. I'll try hard to have some good adventures this weekend so that I'll have a lot to tell when I return on Monday ;]. As we say in Russia, До свидания!!! (Until I see you again!)
Friday, June 11, 2010
Thursday, June 10, 2010
"Does it sound British in Russian, too?"
Monday. Our first day of classes at the Nevsky Institute of Language and Culture.
We didn't have to be at the Institute this day until 10:00, so we told Jenya (who stayed overnight, although she lives and works - in a hotel - in the suburbs) that we would have breakfast at 9. I got up at 8 and took a shower, relishing the use of conditioner once again (it seems like a small, silly thing, but if you're a girl, you probably understand). Breakfast was cereal, once again (I'm wondering when I can tell T.T. that we would be more than fine with a more traditional Russian breakfast, whatever that means) and something called a "sirok". I thought it would be something cheesy (seer means cheese) but it turned out to be something very sweet and covered in chocolate. It was the consistency of cheesecake, and I can't pin down the flavor. (We later found out that it is tvorek, a kind of very sweet, thick cream or cottage cheese) Neither I nor Latalia liked it very much, and we told Jenya that in the nicest way possible.
We left for Nevsky at 9:30 to give us plenty of time. The first thing we had was an orientation, and I was perhaps inordinately happy to see my friends from Princeton and my Russian professor, Stas, again. It had been so long since I had seen so many familiar faces (who all spoke English!) that I couldn't stop beaming from ear to ear and chattering (although, some would tell you that that is my natural state of being :P). Things were rather chaotic, but we were handed schedules and sundry pieces of important information before being marched down to a room where we could have our pictures taken for our ID cards (so that we could get in to the institute).
Here, for the general information of those of you who don't know (which would probably be everyone reading this blog), I will describe the Princeton in Petersburg program. I'm assuming that much of what I say will be equally applicable to the many such summer programs offered by Princeton University in the different corners of the globe. The program is 8 weeks long and covers the equivalent of 2 semesters of study of Intermediate Russian at Princeton University. Since it is 8 weeks instead of 2 semesters (24 weeks), and since it is Princeton, and since it takes place in St. Petersburg, it is necessarily quite intense. We have to cover the entire second-year textbook (10 chapters) in the 8 weeks we are here - you do the math, that's more than a chapter a week of grammar, in addition to the two books (M.Y. Lermontov's "Hero of our Times" and Dostoyevsky's "Crime and Punishment") from which we'll be reading exerpts. Classes are divided into three subjects: grammar, conversation, and reading. After four weeks, we'll have a "final exam" for our "first semester" in each subject, after which Stas will return to the US :'[ and another professor from Princeton, Ksana Blank, will come to teach us reading instead of the teacher we have now. At the end of the second four weeks, we will have another round of "final exams" and we will receive a grade for both the first and second part of the course. Although this program is officially associated with Princeton University, the grading is not nearly as "draconian" (to use Stas's word) as it is for most Princeton courses - A's aren't limited to 10 or 15% of the group (since there are only 17 of us, I'm very glad).
The participants of the Princeton-in-Petersburg program are split into two groups (so that we can learn in a more personal setting, and also to maximize the teachers' efficiency). This first day we had two hours of grammar with Stas (it was just like being back at Princeton, for which I was very glad) and an hour of conversation with Natalia, a new teacher. Unfortunately for us, Natalia, like most of the faculty here at the Institute, speaks little English. (How one is supposed to teach a language to speakers of another language one does not oneself speak, I am not entirely sure.) Most importantly, this means that whenever we don't understand a word she uses, she is forced to try and explain it another way in Russian, which, more often than not, only confuses us more. Oh boy, more adventures...
After our three hours of class, we had time for lunch (good thing, too, since it was 2 pm - I was HUNGRY!) but usually we would begin classes at 9, have two hours of lessons, then have an hour for lunch before two more hours of class in the afternoon. We all ate in the Nevsky cafeteria, which worked much the same way as Frikadelki the day before. I had a piece of unspecified meat and some coleslaw, which cost 85 rubles. Feeding myself for under $3 every day? I could get used to this!!
After lunch, we had yet another orientation, where we were shown the important places in the Nevsky Institute (such as the computer lab, which is my new best friend, at least until I get caught up on my blog, which might never happen) as well as in the surrounding neighborhood. We were shown where we could exchange money or use an ATM as well as an Internet cafe (for the weekends when the computer lab isn't open) and Pyatyorochka (the department store Latalia and I had found the day before). Then Latalia and I headed home, but on the way we checked out the "Internet Klub" that was just around the corner from our apartment. It was an only somewhat sketchy internet cafe, but I hope to use mostly the computer lab at the Institute (besides, the computers here are free :]). Since our lessons are moving so quickly, Latalia and I were able to busy ourselves with homework from 3:45 (when we got home) until supper at 6.
Supper was macaroni and hot dogs again - I'm really starting to get tired of imitation American food. Although, even fake American food here is better than real American food in the States, I have to admit...
We hadn't seen T.T. all day and Jenya left at 6:45, which was fine with us since we both had more to study. What wasn't quite so fine was when T.T.'s husband came home at 7:30. Neither Latalia nor I had any idea that there was still a man in the picture, although we had both wondered whether T.T. was perhaps divorced or a widow. But when the door opened, I expected T.T., not the scruffy older man who appeared in my doorway (the door to my room is right beside the door to the apartment). He obviously had a key and knew about me, because he asked my name but not why I was there or anything. However, it was still a rather unsettling experience, and I wondered how many other unexpected visitors we would be having before we had met the entire family (T.T. had told me that she had two daughters and a grandchild - she had never said anything about a husband). I was a little disconcerted, but not too much so - I'm a pretty easygoing person, as a general rule, and I don't get flustered easily. Nevertheless, I texted one of my friends in the program, asking what I should do, and he advised me to just stay in my room and study, and not worry about it if the man didn't bother Latalia or me. Which I did (and I've since found out that Vascelli is really a harmless character, and quite jovial - it was merely the circumstances of our first meeting that were less than ideal). I heard T.T. come home at 9:30, and ended up going to bed at 10. It's getting easier to sleep every night, although it's still less than ideal - I hope that within a week I'll be back to a normal sleep schedule, not waking up as often in the morning. Again, I'm thankful for my detour to Serbia, because now I only have to adjust to a 2-hour time difference instead of 8 hours. Thank God for small blessings.
In the spirit of learning (and to pretend to myself that blogging isn't totally detracting from my progress in Russian), I'll try to add a new Russian "word of the day" to each blog entry. Today we learned the word ybui "uvwee" (which, like all things Russian, looks much cooler in Cyrillic, if I could figure out how to change the language settings on this computer where EVERYTHING ELSE except the keyboard is in Russian...). It is a rather antiquated word, and it means "woe". As in, woe is me. (which would be ybui mne "uvwee mnyeh"). Stas, our professor, was explaining to us that it is a very antiquated and outdated expression, when one of my classmates piped up, "Does it sound British in Russian, too?" He spoke in complete seriousness. I'll leave it at that ;]
We didn't have to be at the Institute this day until 10:00, so we told Jenya (who stayed overnight, although she lives and works - in a hotel - in the suburbs) that we would have breakfast at 9. I got up at 8 and took a shower, relishing the use of conditioner once again (it seems like a small, silly thing, but if you're a girl, you probably understand). Breakfast was cereal, once again (I'm wondering when I can tell T.T. that we would be more than fine with a more traditional Russian breakfast, whatever that means) and something called a "sirok". I thought it would be something cheesy (seer means cheese) but it turned out to be something very sweet and covered in chocolate. It was the consistency of cheesecake, and I can't pin down the flavor. (We later found out that it is tvorek, a kind of very sweet, thick cream or cottage cheese) Neither I nor Latalia liked it very much, and we told Jenya that in the nicest way possible.
We left for Nevsky at 9:30 to give us plenty of time. The first thing we had was an orientation, and I was perhaps inordinately happy to see my friends from Princeton and my Russian professor, Stas, again. It had been so long since I had seen so many familiar faces (who all spoke English!) that I couldn't stop beaming from ear to ear and chattering (although, some would tell you that that is my natural state of being :P). Things were rather chaotic, but we were handed schedules and sundry pieces of important information before being marched down to a room where we could have our pictures taken for our ID cards (so that we could get in to the institute).
Here, for the general information of those of you who don't know (which would probably be everyone reading this blog), I will describe the Princeton in Petersburg program. I'm assuming that much of what I say will be equally applicable to the many such summer programs offered by Princeton University in the different corners of the globe. The program is 8 weeks long and covers the equivalent of 2 semesters of study of Intermediate Russian at Princeton University. Since it is 8 weeks instead of 2 semesters (24 weeks), and since it is Princeton, and since it takes place in St. Petersburg, it is necessarily quite intense. We have to cover the entire second-year textbook (10 chapters) in the 8 weeks we are here - you do the math, that's more than a chapter a week of grammar, in addition to the two books (M.Y. Lermontov's "Hero of our Times" and Dostoyevsky's "Crime and Punishment") from which we'll be reading exerpts. Classes are divided into three subjects: grammar, conversation, and reading. After four weeks, we'll have a "final exam" for our "first semester" in each subject, after which Stas will return to the US :'[ and another professor from Princeton, Ksana Blank, will come to teach us reading instead of the teacher we have now. At the end of the second four weeks, we will have another round of "final exams" and we will receive a grade for both the first and second part of the course. Although this program is officially associated with Princeton University, the grading is not nearly as "draconian" (to use Stas's word) as it is for most Princeton courses - A's aren't limited to 10 or 15% of the group (since there are only 17 of us, I'm very glad).
The participants of the Princeton-in-Petersburg program are split into two groups (so that we can learn in a more personal setting, and also to maximize the teachers' efficiency). This first day we had two hours of grammar with Stas (it was just like being back at Princeton, for which I was very glad) and an hour of conversation with Natalia, a new teacher. Unfortunately for us, Natalia, like most of the faculty here at the Institute, speaks little English. (How one is supposed to teach a language to speakers of another language one does not oneself speak, I am not entirely sure.) Most importantly, this means that whenever we don't understand a word she uses, she is forced to try and explain it another way in Russian, which, more often than not, only confuses us more. Oh boy, more adventures...
After our three hours of class, we had time for lunch (good thing, too, since it was 2 pm - I was HUNGRY!) but usually we would begin classes at 9, have two hours of lessons, then have an hour for lunch before two more hours of class in the afternoon. We all ate in the Nevsky cafeteria, which worked much the same way as Frikadelki the day before. I had a piece of unspecified meat and some coleslaw, which cost 85 rubles. Feeding myself for under $3 every day? I could get used to this!!
After lunch, we had yet another orientation, where we were shown the important places in the Nevsky Institute (such as the computer lab, which is my new best friend, at least until I get caught up on my blog, which might never happen) as well as in the surrounding neighborhood. We were shown where we could exchange money or use an ATM as well as an Internet cafe (for the weekends when the computer lab isn't open) and Pyatyorochka (the department store Latalia and I had found the day before). Then Latalia and I headed home, but on the way we checked out the "Internet Klub" that was just around the corner from our apartment. It was an only somewhat sketchy internet cafe, but I hope to use mostly the computer lab at the Institute (besides, the computers here are free :]). Since our lessons are moving so quickly, Latalia and I were able to busy ourselves with homework from 3:45 (when we got home) until supper at 6.
Supper was macaroni and hot dogs again - I'm really starting to get tired of imitation American food. Although, even fake American food here is better than real American food in the States, I have to admit...
We hadn't seen T.T. all day and Jenya left at 6:45, which was fine with us since we both had more to study. What wasn't quite so fine was when T.T.'s husband came home at 7:30. Neither Latalia nor I had any idea that there was still a man in the picture, although we had both wondered whether T.T. was perhaps divorced or a widow. But when the door opened, I expected T.T., not the scruffy older man who appeared in my doorway (the door to my room is right beside the door to the apartment). He obviously had a key and knew about me, because he asked my name but not why I was there or anything. However, it was still a rather unsettling experience, and I wondered how many other unexpected visitors we would be having before we had met the entire family (T.T. had told me that she had two daughters and a grandchild - she had never said anything about a husband). I was a little disconcerted, but not too much so - I'm a pretty easygoing person, as a general rule, and I don't get flustered easily. Nevertheless, I texted one of my friends in the program, asking what I should do, and he advised me to just stay in my room and study, and not worry about it if the man didn't bother Latalia or me. Which I did (and I've since found out that Vascelli is really a harmless character, and quite jovial - it was merely the circumstances of our first meeting that were less than ideal). I heard T.T. come home at 9:30, and ended up going to bed at 10. It's getting easier to sleep every night, although it's still less than ideal - I hope that within a week I'll be back to a normal sleep schedule, not waking up as often in the morning. Again, I'm thankful for my detour to Serbia, because now I only have to adjust to a 2-hour time difference instead of 8 hours. Thank God for small blessings.
In the spirit of learning (and to pretend to myself that blogging isn't totally detracting from my progress in Russian), I'll try to add a new Russian "word of the day" to each blog entry. Today we learned the word ybui "uvwee" (which, like all things Russian, looks much cooler in Cyrillic, if I could figure out how to change the language settings on this computer where EVERYTHING ELSE except the keyboard is in Russian...). It is a rather antiquated word, and it means "woe". As in, woe is me. (which would be ybui mne "uvwee mnyeh"). Stas, our professor, was explaining to us that it is a very antiquated and outdated expression, when one of my classmates piped up, "Does it sound British in Russian, too?" He spoke in complete seriousness. I'll leave it at that ;]
Calvary Chapel
While I hadn't originally thought that I would be ready to attend church on the first Sunday morning I was in St. Petersburg, I didn't really know what else to do with myself, so I figured that I would try to find the Calvary Chapel that I had researched from America. As a matter of fact, in typical me fashion, I had not only found their website but Google Map-ped their address and my own and printed out directions. As it turns out, it's really not very far from my apartment (actually, I don't feel that anything is, especially after walking around Belgrade for a week with Nikola. I would much rather walk places than attempt a bus or the metro). So, I got up at 8 on Sunday morning and got all ready for church, taking care to dress in my nicest clothes and spending extra time on my hair and makeup (girls in Russia actually do look nicer when going out of the house than they do in America, so even though it was a Calvary Chapel I guessed that people would look nicer than back home, so I should too). T.T. came back to the apartment at 8:30 and told me that she had attended the early service at her church (which I assume is Russian Orthodox, but I don't know) at 7am. She said they also have a service at 10am, but I was impressed that she went to the 7am service. Upon learning that I also wanted to attend church (and Latalia too, as I had asked her last night) she asked whether I usually did. When I told her that I was accustomed to attending multiple services per week, she seemed to approve and asked whether most people in America went to church. What a question! I answered that it depended on where you were, but at least in college most people did not, and if they did, it was only Sunday morning. I wonder what she thought beforehand about Americans' church-going habits; what image do we portray to the rest of the world?
Breakfast, served at 9:30, was cornflakes again, this time accompanied by some bread with nuts and berries in it. It was quite good, the berries adding a good flavor to what would otherwise be a rather plain dish. She also gave us orange juice to drink because I had indicated that that was my usual breakfast fare, although she herself complained that most juices were too fake. I'm impressed with how much T.T. is trying to cater to us and get us the food that we want, although I'm more than willing to eat almost anything that crosses my plate and have tried several times to express that to her.
We finally set off for church around 10, in order to give us plenty of time to find the service. I also knew of two other Princetonians who had expressed interest in attending Calvary Chapel with us, but I had no way of getting in contact with them yet (as I later learned, they had gone to the nearest metro stop and waited for a while, hoping to catch us going by - oops, I'll make sure we set a time and place to meet in future weeks). We found the building without too much trouble, although getting to the service was another matter. In typical Calvary Chapel fashion, the church has no building of its own - it instead meets in the upper room of a Lutheran Cathedral. Latalia and I couldn't find anything about Calvary Chapel on the bulletin board outside the cathedral (of course, it didn't help that it was all in Russian) but we eventually ventured inside and upstairs and, after a wrong turn or two, found ourselves in a large room in which were set up pews with plastic chairs behind them. There was a stage at the front of the room on which stood the praise and worship team, rehearsing for the upcoming service. Although I couldn't understand the words they were singing, I recognized the tune - it was Holy, Holy, Holy, a song that we have often sung at Calvary Chapel Central Maine in the last few years!!! It was, not surprisingly, translated into Russian (which, as far as I'm concerned, is even cooler!) and beside the stage was a projector screen onto which I correctly assumed the words would be projected once the service started. Everywhere I looked I saw things that were distinctly Calvary Chapel, from the instruments in the worship band to the drumset in the corner to the symbol of the dove to the communion being prepared in the back, and I was beaming from ear to ear. I had gone all the way across the globe only to find myself at home.
Latalia and I found a Russian-English Bible on a shelf on one side of the room and took our seats, waiting for the service to begin. It was just like home - we sang the same songs with the words up on the screen (my favorite was Heart of Worship) and I was glad that I had studied "Christian" vocabulary in Russian before coming, since I was able to understand the general meaning of most of what we sung (which my knowledge of the English versions of the songs also greatly helped). After worship, we were told to "greet one another in the name of the Lord" (in Russian) before we sat down to listen to the sermon :] As it happened, sitting directly behind us was a Canadian woman, Betty, and Latalia and I were more than relieved to find a native English speaker (as I rather suspected that we would, since Calvary Chapel Central St. Petersburg is a church plant from the US). We introduced ourselves and Betty congratulated us on so soon finding a church to attend, at which I explained that I attend a Calvary Chapel back in the States and was more than happy to find one here. Then the pastor stood up to speak (and, unlike back home in Maine, he actually had to ask people to sit down - I bet that's a cultural thing :]). He preached in Russian, but he had an English translator (to my great relief), and the sermon was on Revelation 11:1-22. Just as it would be at home, the pastor explained that the foundational principle of Calvary Chapel was to read the Word of God, and so that was the priority every time the church gathered. No topical sermons, just readin' and 'splainin' (as Pastor Ken would say :]).
After the service, Betty invited us to lunch, which invitationn we gratefully accepted. We went to Frikadelki (it means meatball in Russian) and the system there was different than anything I've ever seen at a restaurant. It was very similar to an a la carte cafeteria, except that the food was edible: it was all on individual plates or in warming containers, and the customers picked up a tray and silverware from the beginning of the line and then selected what they wanted to eat. At the end, the prices for each item selected were totaled and you paid for whatever you took. Not something completely new, but I had never seen a restaurant set up like this. I selected some mors (a sort of very bitter fruit juice that I didn't end up liking), a piece of chicken, and a roll with ham and cheese in it. The total came to 158 rubles - about $5. That's pretty good for a decent-sized meal. We talked more with Betty over lunch and when she learned that we had a shopping list, she offered to help us find what we were looking for. Latalia needed a bath towel (T.T. didn't give either of us one, but fortunately I can use my travel towel), and we both wanted to find a place to get bottled water and some different tea (I still had high hopes of finding some that I liked). We visited several stores but were unsuccessful, so we bid adieu to Betty after exchanging telephone numbers and telling her that we'd be back in chuch the next week.
On the way home we stopped in a small produkti; these are very common in Russia and are small grocery stores, usually privately owned and many advertise that they are open 24 hours. Here we were successful - we found bottled water for about $.50 and a package of Pickwick assorted fruit teas that looked promising. Before returning to the apartment we decided to find the institute where we would be having classes the next day, to avoid the hassle of getting lost in the morning. It also isn't far from our apartment, about a 20-minute walk, and we found it with no trouble. On the way back we found a good-sized department store and looked around inside it, but didn't see any bath towels; however, it was still good to know, since we could buy most other things there. When we finally came back to the apartment, it was 4:00, and we were the only ones home. We talked together for a while (in English) about various things, mostly comparing backgrounds and preferences. We're remarkably similar, since she grew up in a small town in West Virginia and this is also her first time outside the country. At 6, Jenya returned home and made us supper; a different soup this time with potatoes, onions, and carrots. I liked it reasonably well, although I've never been much of a soup person (when I was younger, it was the one meal I would refuse to eat). Latalia, however, has a more sensitive stomach and so she must be careful about consuming new and different foods (and she is also much more petite than I am, so her appetite is smaller) and this has become a constant source of teasing at the dinner table, as I always eat at least twice as much as her. Russians pride themselves on their hospitality, and they especially like to display this by cooking, so refusing food at a Russian house or not eating very much risks offending the host. T.T. constantly asks whether Latalia usually eats this little, which she insists that she does; this seems to placate T.T. a bit, although she still constantly encourages her to eat more.
When, after supper, Jenya inquired as to whether we would be having tea (literally translated, this is how Russians ask if you want to eat or drink something. They say budesh? or budete? depending on their relationship to their interlocutor (budete is more formal) which just means "you will?") and we gave enthusiastic assent. Latalia isn't very partial to tea either, but we had high hopes for the fruit tea. I selected "Juicy Strawberry" and Latalia decided to try "Sweet Raspberry" (we happened to only find english packaging, so I don't even know the Russian equivalents). To my great delight and relief, I found that I genuinely enjoyed the tea! It didn't even taste like tea, just vaguely fruity, which was fine with me as it meant that I wouldn't have to be buying bottled water everyday or risking my health by drinking the tap water (although, as Jenya told us later, they boil any water that they'll be drinking, because they also know that it isn't very clean). This was really my first great triumph in Russia, and it made my prospects for the next two months seem much brighter.
After supper, Latalia and I went back to her room and talked for several more hours, about our educational plans, what we expected Russia to be like, my time in Serbia and how it compared - we get along splendidly, and we think in much the same way. I'm so glad; it could have been really awful if I had been rooming with someone that I didn't like. Although, I had already known that I liked Latalia and we had actually requested to be placed together. At one point, T.T. inquired as to whether all of the students roomed in pairs, and told us that she thought that was a better way to do things, since we could help each other and speak in English together if communicating in Russian became too difficult. Finally, at 10:30, we each called it a night (although it was anything but night outside :P). However, it was noticeably darker, and I sincerely hope that I will eventually get used to the semi-dusk of the White Nights. I tried sleeping on one pillow and putting another over my face to make it darker - hopefully it helps.
Breakfast, served at 9:30, was cornflakes again, this time accompanied by some bread with nuts and berries in it. It was quite good, the berries adding a good flavor to what would otherwise be a rather plain dish. She also gave us orange juice to drink because I had indicated that that was my usual breakfast fare, although she herself complained that most juices were too fake. I'm impressed with how much T.T. is trying to cater to us and get us the food that we want, although I'm more than willing to eat almost anything that crosses my plate and have tried several times to express that to her.
We finally set off for church around 10, in order to give us plenty of time to find the service. I also knew of two other Princetonians who had expressed interest in attending Calvary Chapel with us, but I had no way of getting in contact with them yet (as I later learned, they had gone to the nearest metro stop and waited for a while, hoping to catch us going by - oops, I'll make sure we set a time and place to meet in future weeks). We found the building without too much trouble, although getting to the service was another matter. In typical Calvary Chapel fashion, the church has no building of its own - it instead meets in the upper room of a Lutheran Cathedral. Latalia and I couldn't find anything about Calvary Chapel on the bulletin board outside the cathedral (of course, it didn't help that it was all in Russian) but we eventually ventured inside and upstairs and, after a wrong turn or two, found ourselves in a large room in which were set up pews with plastic chairs behind them. There was a stage at the front of the room on which stood the praise and worship team, rehearsing for the upcoming service. Although I couldn't understand the words they were singing, I recognized the tune - it was Holy, Holy, Holy, a song that we have often sung at Calvary Chapel Central Maine in the last few years!!! It was, not surprisingly, translated into Russian (which, as far as I'm concerned, is even cooler!) and beside the stage was a projector screen onto which I correctly assumed the words would be projected once the service started. Everywhere I looked I saw things that were distinctly Calvary Chapel, from the instruments in the worship band to the drumset in the corner to the symbol of the dove to the communion being prepared in the back, and I was beaming from ear to ear. I had gone all the way across the globe only to find myself at home.
Latalia and I found a Russian-English Bible on a shelf on one side of the room and took our seats, waiting for the service to begin. It was just like home - we sang the same songs with the words up on the screen (my favorite was Heart of Worship) and I was glad that I had studied "Christian" vocabulary in Russian before coming, since I was able to understand the general meaning of most of what we sung (which my knowledge of the English versions of the songs also greatly helped). After worship, we were told to "greet one another in the name of the Lord" (in Russian) before we sat down to listen to the sermon :] As it happened, sitting directly behind us was a Canadian woman, Betty, and Latalia and I were more than relieved to find a native English speaker (as I rather suspected that we would, since Calvary Chapel Central St. Petersburg is a church plant from the US). We introduced ourselves and Betty congratulated us on so soon finding a church to attend, at which I explained that I attend a Calvary Chapel back in the States and was more than happy to find one here. Then the pastor stood up to speak (and, unlike back home in Maine, he actually had to ask people to sit down - I bet that's a cultural thing :]). He preached in Russian, but he had an English translator (to my great relief), and the sermon was on Revelation 11:1-22. Just as it would be at home, the pastor explained that the foundational principle of Calvary Chapel was to read the Word of God, and so that was the priority every time the church gathered. No topical sermons, just readin' and 'splainin' (as Pastor Ken would say :]).
After the service, Betty invited us to lunch, which invitationn we gratefully accepted. We went to Frikadelki (it means meatball in Russian) and the system there was different than anything I've ever seen at a restaurant. It was very similar to an a la carte cafeteria, except that the food was edible: it was all on individual plates or in warming containers, and the customers picked up a tray and silverware from the beginning of the line and then selected what they wanted to eat. At the end, the prices for each item selected were totaled and you paid for whatever you took. Not something completely new, but I had never seen a restaurant set up like this. I selected some mors (a sort of very bitter fruit juice that I didn't end up liking), a piece of chicken, and a roll with ham and cheese in it. The total came to 158 rubles - about $5. That's pretty good for a decent-sized meal. We talked more with Betty over lunch and when she learned that we had a shopping list, she offered to help us find what we were looking for. Latalia needed a bath towel (T.T. didn't give either of us one, but fortunately I can use my travel towel), and we both wanted to find a place to get bottled water and some different tea (I still had high hopes of finding some that I liked). We visited several stores but were unsuccessful, so we bid adieu to Betty after exchanging telephone numbers and telling her that we'd be back in chuch the next week.
On the way home we stopped in a small produkti; these are very common in Russia and are small grocery stores, usually privately owned and many advertise that they are open 24 hours. Here we were successful - we found bottled water for about $.50 and a package of Pickwick assorted fruit teas that looked promising. Before returning to the apartment we decided to find the institute where we would be having classes the next day, to avoid the hassle of getting lost in the morning. It also isn't far from our apartment, about a 20-minute walk, and we found it with no trouble. On the way back we found a good-sized department store and looked around inside it, but didn't see any bath towels; however, it was still good to know, since we could buy most other things there. When we finally came back to the apartment, it was 4:00, and we were the only ones home. We talked together for a while (in English) about various things, mostly comparing backgrounds and preferences. We're remarkably similar, since she grew up in a small town in West Virginia and this is also her first time outside the country. At 6, Jenya returned home and made us supper; a different soup this time with potatoes, onions, and carrots. I liked it reasonably well, although I've never been much of a soup person (when I was younger, it was the one meal I would refuse to eat). Latalia, however, has a more sensitive stomach and so she must be careful about consuming new and different foods (and she is also much more petite than I am, so her appetite is smaller) and this has become a constant source of teasing at the dinner table, as I always eat at least twice as much as her. Russians pride themselves on their hospitality, and they especially like to display this by cooking, so refusing food at a Russian house or not eating very much risks offending the host. T.T. constantly asks whether Latalia usually eats this little, which she insists that she does; this seems to placate T.T. a bit, although she still constantly encourages her to eat more.
When, after supper, Jenya inquired as to whether we would be having tea (literally translated, this is how Russians ask if you want to eat or drink something. They say budesh? or budete? depending on their relationship to their interlocutor (budete is more formal) which just means "you will?") and we gave enthusiastic assent. Latalia isn't very partial to tea either, but we had high hopes for the fruit tea. I selected "Juicy Strawberry" and Latalia decided to try "Sweet Raspberry" (we happened to only find english packaging, so I don't even know the Russian equivalents). To my great delight and relief, I found that I genuinely enjoyed the tea! It didn't even taste like tea, just vaguely fruity, which was fine with me as it meant that I wouldn't have to be buying bottled water everyday or risking my health by drinking the tap water (although, as Jenya told us later, they boil any water that they'll be drinking, because they also know that it isn't very clean). This was really my first great triumph in Russia, and it made my prospects for the next two months seem much brighter.
After supper, Latalia and I went back to her room and talked for several more hours, about our educational plans, what we expected Russia to be like, my time in Serbia and how it compared - we get along splendidly, and we think in much the same way. I'm so glad; it could have been really awful if I had been rooming with someone that I didn't like. Although, I had already known that I liked Latalia and we had actually requested to be placed together. At one point, T.T. inquired as to whether all of the students roomed in pairs, and told us that she thought that was a better way to do things, since we could help each other and speak in English together if communicating in Russian became too difficult. Finally, at 10:30, we each called it a night (although it was anything but night outside :P). However, it was noticeably darker, and I sincerely hope that I will eventually get used to the semi-dusk of the White Nights. I tried sleeping on one pillow and putting another over my face to make it darker - hopefully it helps.
Emilia
Needless to say, I didn't sleep nearly as well in St. Petersburg as I had in Belgrade. I was tired enough, certainly, but I'm very sensitive to light and so the fact that my room never got dark made it difficult for me to get a good night's sleep. I would wake up, see how light it was, and think, "Oh, well, it must be morning." I would then check my watch to find that it was, indeed, morning... 4am. And so it went. It probably didn't help that my bed consisted of a couch with a blanket and a sheet on it. The couch actually does fold out into a double bed (the cushions are on wheels and the back of the couch folds down), but since I'm just one person T.T. just moves the decorative pillows and lays a sheet down for me to sleep on. The good thing about it being a foldout couch, at least, is that I can store my bedding and pajamas inside the couch during the day.
I finally decided to get up at 8:15, although I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do until T.T. got up and made me breakfast. I had assured her the night before that part of the reason for my pathetic Russian was that I was so tired from traveling (which I only half-believed, myself). So, after putting away my bedding and readying myself for the day, I set out to better explore my room. I was particularly intrigued by the bookshelf, which I found mostly taken up by the myriad volumes of "The Official Soviet Encyclopedia", in Russian. As far as I can tell, there are at least 40 volumes, but they are all out of order (my OCD tendencies compel me to rearrange them. Thus far, I've been able to resist, but there's no telling how long that will last...) There was also a Russian dictionary of several more volumes, but what really caught my eye were the books on the topmost shelf. There were many Russian novels, some of which I recognized (including "Fathers and Sons" by Ivan Turgenev and a couple of Tolstoy novels). But what really caught my attention is when I noticed a couple of titles in English. I looked again: there was "English Grammar for Students of Russian", "501 Russian Verbs", and a good-sized English-Russian dictionary. I was so shocked and pleased that I literally fell to my knees, thanking the Lord for this find. Perhaps there was hope after all! I am convinced that these reference books will prove invaluable to my ability to communicate with T.T. (as they already have several times). It's amazing how much I am still surprised when the Lord answers my prayers, even though He does it so often. The night before, my situation had weighed heavily upon me: I could barely communicate with the only other person in the house, and things didn't look much better for Latalia. I was even beginning to doubt myself: why had I thought that I could handle coming to a new country and immersing myself after only a year of study? Why hadn't I just waited until I knew more? But with the new day (I can't say sunrise, since it didn't set, but the metaphor still works) came new hope. I was determined to try my best, even if that meant looking up every other word and communicating mostly by gesture.
I was, once again, very glad that I had made my visit to Serbia before coming here. Many of the little things were the same - the light switches, the doors, the toilet (in T.T.'s apartment it is almost exactly like an American toilet, except the button to flush is on the top of the tank and the water level in the bowl is extremely low - sorry if it's vulgar to talk about, but I thought it was interesting), the windows. The windows are actually very interesting. Instead of sliding open upwards, as most do in America, they consist of two vertical panes, one of which has a handle on it. If the handle is horizontal, it unlocks the window and one panel is free to swing open (the other panel doesn't move). If it points down, the window is locked. But if it points upwards, the window tilts open from the bottom, creating an openin of about 6 inches at the top. I think this is an ingenious way to open the window just a little bit, to let some air in without opening it all the way. Nikola's door out on to his balcony also worked in the same manner. I smiled every time I found such a similarity - it wasn't so strange to me this time around. It was also interesting to note that some of the things which I found so strange in Serbia (like the doors and windows) were characteristic of Europe, not just Belgrade.
T.T. finally got up at 10, by which time I had begun my long list of vocabulary I thought I would need, as well as looking through my textbook for the summer. Breakfast consisted of cornflakes and toasted sandwiches (buterbrodi) with, once again, tea. I was pleasantly surprised, although T.T. had asked me the night before what I usually ate for breakfast as well as my typical schedule of when I went to bed, got up, ate breakfast, etc. (Side note: she also thought my schedule of going to bed at 10 or 11 and getting up at 7 or 8 was quite odd. She seemed to think that was for small children. For the record, I explained that my entire family followed this schedule, and I still firmly believe that it makes sense. Get up when the sun does, and go to bed once it's dark. Of course, if your city gets 20 hours of light in the summer and 4 in the winter, that might not be practical :]). I choked down the green tea once again, but resolved to find and purchase some fruit or peppermint tea as soon as possible - something that I would find more palatable.
In broken Russian, I managed to convey to T.T. that I needed to go out and meet a friend of mine, who would give me a cell phone. One of the graduate students with the Princeton in Petersburg program had bought cell phones and SIM cards for whoever needed them, and we had arranged to meet in the city center at 12:30 so that I could have it as soon as possible. I don't know how much she actually understood what I was going to do, but she knew that I would leave at 11:00 and try to be back by 1:30, since Latalia was supposed to arrive around that time. So that I could get back into the apartment, she gave me a set of keys and showed me how to use them - it's quite a process. There is one key for each of the double doors into the apartment itself (the one for the inside door is like nothing I had ever seen before Belgrade - it resembles the medieval skeleton keys, with a long, narrow shaft and some strange shapes at the end), and a magnetic key that unlocks the keypad on the outside door. Once T.T. was satisfied that I would be able to regain entry to the apartment, I set off on my first big adventure in St. Petersburg.
The place where we were meeting to exchange phones was just outside the metro stop at the very center of the city. Not being especially streetwise (and more importantly, having no Russian currency on me), I was loathe to attempt the metro, so I decided to walk. I hoped this would accomplish several things: it would allow me to explore the neighborhood a bit, get me some exercise, and I hoped to also find a place to exchange my currency and buy some shampoo and conditioner (apparently conditioner isn't big in Europe yet because the Stojanovics didn't have any, much to the dismay of my frizz-prone hair). I pride myself on being relatively good with maps, as well as having an excellent memory for places and a pretty decent sense of direction. So I was actually much more comfortable walking the 3 or 4 miles to the meeting place rather than attempting to ride the metro, though it was only one stop. I carefully inspected my route on the map, memorized the turns I would have to make, and set out.
It was a pleasant day, although quite windy, and I was glad for my cardigan. I walked across multiple bridges and tried to take in the sights as much as possible while still making decent time. I found Nevsky Prospect (the main street of the city) with relatively little trouble and soon located the meeting-place. I had, for once, left myself adequate time to get there, so I still had around 45 minutes before I had to meet Anna. On my way, I had been watching for places to exchange money, and had taken note of the one with the best rate. So I backtracked a bit and, after hesitating outside for a moment or two, entered the office. I was (fortunately) able to exchange my money without saying anything, and the woman who made the transaction didn't even ask for my passport, as I had been warned she might (I was glad, because it was under my clothing and would have been difficult to extract). The exchange rate was 30.95 rubles to the dollar, so I ended up with something more than 4500 rubles, which I promptly stowed in several places on my person before leaving the exchange office (I knew to do that much, at least). My next task was to find shampoo and conditioner, which I soon did at a large apteka (pharmacy). None of the merchandise was out on shelves, accessible to the customers - it was all behind glass windows, and you went up to a cashier and indicated what you wanted. They then retrieved it for you and you paid for it. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to pronounce the name of the product that I wanted, but when the cashier saw that I spoke very little Russian, she indicated for me to point to what I wanted (I knew enough at least to be able to tell her the color of the bottle and indicate when she had selected the correct one). I bought Herbal Essences shampoo and conditioner for a total of 255 rubles (about $8, but at least I knew what I was buying). All of the writing on the bottles was in Cyrillic, not English, so I had to spend several minutes staring up at the different shampoos and looking up the words on the bottle before I could even determine which kind I wanted to buy :P
These two adventures took the entire 45 minutes, so after successfully procuring my hair care products I headed back to the meeting place, where I found Anna and several of the other students in the program who had also ordered phones. I was so excited to see native English speakers again that I couldn't stop chattering (which I'm sure you can't possibly imagine for me :]]) (It had occurred to me, the day previous, that before meeting the other members of my group in the airport I hadn't spoken to a native English speaker for five days, which was definitely a new experience for me [I don't consider Nikola to be a native English speaker, although he may tell you otherwise]. Exciting, and a little bit disconcerting). We went to a nearby park to make the transaction and activate the phones so we wouldn't be in the way, and for the second time in my life I fought with new technology, and lost. (Give me a laptop and I'll figure it out in a day. Give me a phone, and it'll take me at least a week to figure out how to add people to my address book :P). Then, it was time to hurry back to T.T.'s apartment in anticipation of Latalia's impending arrival. I took a slightly different way back, because it seemed to be shorter, and by walking quickly I was able to get there in only 30 minutes. I timed it well, for I had been back at the apartment for no more than 10 minutes when T.T.'s phone rang and she called, "Emilia! Latalia!!" and we rushed down to the street to greet her.
Perhaps I should pause here to explain. Somehow, in all of the introductions, my name came across to T.T. as Emilia instead of Erin. This, of course, would make more sense to a Russian speaker who is accustomed to feminine names that end in either an a or ya/ia. (Natalia, Aleksandra, Victoria...) Erin, being a name of Irish origin, seems like it should be masculine (and is, in fact, indeclinable in Russian, which means that it never changes regardless of its function in the sentence. Normal, Russian names change their ending based on what part of speech they function as). However, I certainly didn't feel confident enough with my Russian to be able to inform her of her mistake, and, after all, she had the correct beginning sound... Actually, I'm quite used to being called Emily, since that's my sister's name and even my parents can't always keep us straight. Especially at church, since Emily attends the school associated with it and I had always attended public school, I was ofted addressed as Emily by the pastors and elders. Even my friends do it sometimes - apparently, I just look like an Emily. So when T.T. decided that my name was Emilia, I decided to let it be. (I do think it is a quite pretty name and I've always been a bit disappointed that I've never landed a nickname. Unless you count Justin Patterson, who in elementary school used to call me E, or Erminkapinka, or Ernesty Milko, or whatever struck his fancy at the moment.)
Fortunately for me (and unfortunately for T.T.), we soon found out that Latalia didn't know Russian any better than I do (and she is also a naturally quieter person than I am). T.T. showed Latalia to her room, another long and empty space that I hadn't noticed before. She also had a couch, and a shkaf, and a desk - with a computer sitting on it! When I pointed this out, T.T. told us that it doesn't work (which is why I'm blogging from here at the Nevsky Institute, and why I'm so behind - I can only work on it after school). Latalia began unpacking and I went back to my room until lunch, which happened around 2:30. Today it consisted of pirojki (meat-filled dumplings), which is a much more traditionally Russian food than either pasta or cold cereal :] Latalia was extremely tired and understood very few of T.T.'s questions, just as I had been the day before. Fortunately she asked many of the same questions of Latalia that she had asked me, so I was able to translate for Latalia and help her with her answers. (As you can tell, I'm already regaining my confidence - but I'll try not to let my ego get overinflated this time.) Late in the afternoon, T.T.'s daughter came over, and she speaks English fairly well, and understands even better. Nonetheless, I tried to speak Russian to her as much as possible and only asked for English when I encountered too many words I didn't know. She was also interested in getting to know us (where we were from, where we study, how old we are, our families, etc) and especially in my time in Serbia. I showed her my pictures, at which point T.T. came over and once again exclaimed over how much Nikola and I look alike. Jenya (T.T.'s daughter, short for Yevgenia) told me that she didn't really see the resemblance, and I was glad. Jenya was, however, surprised whenever I told her the ages of the people in the pictures - she thought Nikola looked much older than 19 and couldn't believe it when I told her that Aca was only 15. I guess they grow up fast in Serbia? XD
Supper that night was lentil soup, and Jenya explained that they eat lentils very often, although it's not very popular across Russia. They're too closely related to beans for me, and I somewhat explained that to Jenya with the help of quite a few English words. After supper T.T. got out the syrup (real, Maine maple syrup) that I had brought her as a housewarming present, which reminded Latalia who brought out some black raspberry jam that her aunt had made. I tried to explain that in America we generally put maple syrup on pancakes or french toast or waffles, but T.T. and Jenya preferred to eat it by the spoonful with tea. T.T. kept remarking on how much it tasted like sugar or honey, and I tried to explain that it basically was sugar, taken from trees. I'm not sure how much of it I got across. :P
Latalia did well to stay up until 9:30, at which point I was also ready for bed. I tried to compensate for the brightness of the room by screwing my eyes tightly shut and burying my face in the pillow, but it was somewhat of a lost cause. Latalia, thinking ahead, had brought a sleep mask and I dearly wished I had one. Oh, well, I'll have to either get used to this or find some way to block out the light. Hmm... sounds like a job for an engineer!! :D
I finally decided to get up at 8:15, although I wasn't sure what I was supposed to do until T.T. got up and made me breakfast. I had assured her the night before that part of the reason for my pathetic Russian was that I was so tired from traveling (which I only half-believed, myself). So, after putting away my bedding and readying myself for the day, I set out to better explore my room. I was particularly intrigued by the bookshelf, which I found mostly taken up by the myriad volumes of "The Official Soviet Encyclopedia", in Russian. As far as I can tell, there are at least 40 volumes, but they are all out of order (my OCD tendencies compel me to rearrange them. Thus far, I've been able to resist, but there's no telling how long that will last...) There was also a Russian dictionary of several more volumes, but what really caught my eye were the books on the topmost shelf. There were many Russian novels, some of which I recognized (including "Fathers and Sons" by Ivan Turgenev and a couple of Tolstoy novels). But what really caught my attention is when I noticed a couple of titles in English. I looked again: there was "English Grammar for Students of Russian", "501 Russian Verbs", and a good-sized English-Russian dictionary. I was so shocked and pleased that I literally fell to my knees, thanking the Lord for this find. Perhaps there was hope after all! I am convinced that these reference books will prove invaluable to my ability to communicate with T.T. (as they already have several times). It's amazing how much I am still surprised when the Lord answers my prayers, even though He does it so often. The night before, my situation had weighed heavily upon me: I could barely communicate with the only other person in the house, and things didn't look much better for Latalia. I was even beginning to doubt myself: why had I thought that I could handle coming to a new country and immersing myself after only a year of study? Why hadn't I just waited until I knew more? But with the new day (I can't say sunrise, since it didn't set, but the metaphor still works) came new hope. I was determined to try my best, even if that meant looking up every other word and communicating mostly by gesture.
I was, once again, very glad that I had made my visit to Serbia before coming here. Many of the little things were the same - the light switches, the doors, the toilet (in T.T.'s apartment it is almost exactly like an American toilet, except the button to flush is on the top of the tank and the water level in the bowl is extremely low - sorry if it's vulgar to talk about, but I thought it was interesting), the windows. The windows are actually very interesting. Instead of sliding open upwards, as most do in America, they consist of two vertical panes, one of which has a handle on it. If the handle is horizontal, it unlocks the window and one panel is free to swing open (the other panel doesn't move). If it points down, the window is locked. But if it points upwards, the window tilts open from the bottom, creating an openin of about 6 inches at the top. I think this is an ingenious way to open the window just a little bit, to let some air in without opening it all the way. Nikola's door out on to his balcony also worked in the same manner. I smiled every time I found such a similarity - it wasn't so strange to me this time around. It was also interesting to note that some of the things which I found so strange in Serbia (like the doors and windows) were characteristic of Europe, not just Belgrade.
T.T. finally got up at 10, by which time I had begun my long list of vocabulary I thought I would need, as well as looking through my textbook for the summer. Breakfast consisted of cornflakes and toasted sandwiches (buterbrodi) with, once again, tea. I was pleasantly surprised, although T.T. had asked me the night before what I usually ate for breakfast as well as my typical schedule of when I went to bed, got up, ate breakfast, etc. (Side note: she also thought my schedule of going to bed at 10 or 11 and getting up at 7 or 8 was quite odd. She seemed to think that was for small children. For the record, I explained that my entire family followed this schedule, and I still firmly believe that it makes sense. Get up when the sun does, and go to bed once it's dark. Of course, if your city gets 20 hours of light in the summer and 4 in the winter, that might not be practical :]). I choked down the green tea once again, but resolved to find and purchase some fruit or peppermint tea as soon as possible - something that I would find more palatable.
In broken Russian, I managed to convey to T.T. that I needed to go out and meet a friend of mine, who would give me a cell phone. One of the graduate students with the Princeton in Petersburg program had bought cell phones and SIM cards for whoever needed them, and we had arranged to meet in the city center at 12:30 so that I could have it as soon as possible. I don't know how much she actually understood what I was going to do, but she knew that I would leave at 11:00 and try to be back by 1:30, since Latalia was supposed to arrive around that time. So that I could get back into the apartment, she gave me a set of keys and showed me how to use them - it's quite a process. There is one key for each of the double doors into the apartment itself (the one for the inside door is like nothing I had ever seen before Belgrade - it resembles the medieval skeleton keys, with a long, narrow shaft and some strange shapes at the end), and a magnetic key that unlocks the keypad on the outside door. Once T.T. was satisfied that I would be able to regain entry to the apartment, I set off on my first big adventure in St. Petersburg.
The place where we were meeting to exchange phones was just outside the metro stop at the very center of the city. Not being especially streetwise (and more importantly, having no Russian currency on me), I was loathe to attempt the metro, so I decided to walk. I hoped this would accomplish several things: it would allow me to explore the neighborhood a bit, get me some exercise, and I hoped to also find a place to exchange my currency and buy some shampoo and conditioner (apparently conditioner isn't big in Europe yet because the Stojanovics didn't have any, much to the dismay of my frizz-prone hair). I pride myself on being relatively good with maps, as well as having an excellent memory for places and a pretty decent sense of direction. So I was actually much more comfortable walking the 3 or 4 miles to the meeting place rather than attempting to ride the metro, though it was only one stop. I carefully inspected my route on the map, memorized the turns I would have to make, and set out.
It was a pleasant day, although quite windy, and I was glad for my cardigan. I walked across multiple bridges and tried to take in the sights as much as possible while still making decent time. I found Nevsky Prospect (the main street of the city) with relatively little trouble and soon located the meeting-place. I had, for once, left myself adequate time to get there, so I still had around 45 minutes before I had to meet Anna. On my way, I had been watching for places to exchange money, and had taken note of the one with the best rate. So I backtracked a bit and, after hesitating outside for a moment or two, entered the office. I was (fortunately) able to exchange my money without saying anything, and the woman who made the transaction didn't even ask for my passport, as I had been warned she might (I was glad, because it was under my clothing and would have been difficult to extract). The exchange rate was 30.95 rubles to the dollar, so I ended up with something more than 4500 rubles, which I promptly stowed in several places on my person before leaving the exchange office (I knew to do that much, at least). My next task was to find shampoo and conditioner, which I soon did at a large apteka (pharmacy). None of the merchandise was out on shelves, accessible to the customers - it was all behind glass windows, and you went up to a cashier and indicated what you wanted. They then retrieved it for you and you paid for it. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to pronounce the name of the product that I wanted, but when the cashier saw that I spoke very little Russian, she indicated for me to point to what I wanted (I knew enough at least to be able to tell her the color of the bottle and indicate when she had selected the correct one). I bought Herbal Essences shampoo and conditioner for a total of 255 rubles (about $8, but at least I knew what I was buying). All of the writing on the bottles was in Cyrillic, not English, so I had to spend several minutes staring up at the different shampoos and looking up the words on the bottle before I could even determine which kind I wanted to buy :P
These two adventures took the entire 45 minutes, so after successfully procuring my hair care products I headed back to the meeting place, where I found Anna and several of the other students in the program who had also ordered phones. I was so excited to see native English speakers again that I couldn't stop chattering (which I'm sure you can't possibly imagine for me :]]) (It had occurred to me, the day previous, that before meeting the other members of my group in the airport I hadn't spoken to a native English speaker for five days, which was definitely a new experience for me [I don't consider Nikola to be a native English speaker, although he may tell you otherwise]. Exciting, and a little bit disconcerting). We went to a nearby park to make the transaction and activate the phones so we wouldn't be in the way, and for the second time in my life I fought with new technology, and lost. (Give me a laptop and I'll figure it out in a day. Give me a phone, and it'll take me at least a week to figure out how to add people to my address book :P). Then, it was time to hurry back to T.T.'s apartment in anticipation of Latalia's impending arrival. I took a slightly different way back, because it seemed to be shorter, and by walking quickly I was able to get there in only 30 minutes. I timed it well, for I had been back at the apartment for no more than 10 minutes when T.T.'s phone rang and she called, "Emilia! Latalia!!" and we rushed down to the street to greet her.
Perhaps I should pause here to explain. Somehow, in all of the introductions, my name came across to T.T. as Emilia instead of Erin. This, of course, would make more sense to a Russian speaker who is accustomed to feminine names that end in either an a or ya/ia. (Natalia, Aleksandra, Victoria...) Erin, being a name of Irish origin, seems like it should be masculine (and is, in fact, indeclinable in Russian, which means that it never changes regardless of its function in the sentence. Normal, Russian names change their ending based on what part of speech they function as). However, I certainly didn't feel confident enough with my Russian to be able to inform her of her mistake, and, after all, she had the correct beginning sound... Actually, I'm quite used to being called Emily, since that's my sister's name and even my parents can't always keep us straight. Especially at church, since Emily attends the school associated with it and I had always attended public school, I was ofted addressed as Emily by the pastors and elders. Even my friends do it sometimes - apparently, I just look like an Emily. So when T.T. decided that my name was Emilia, I decided to let it be. (I do think it is a quite pretty name and I've always been a bit disappointed that I've never landed a nickname. Unless you count Justin Patterson, who in elementary school used to call me E, or Erminkapinka, or Ernesty Milko, or whatever struck his fancy at the moment.)
Fortunately for me (and unfortunately for T.T.), we soon found out that Latalia didn't know Russian any better than I do (and she is also a naturally quieter person than I am). T.T. showed Latalia to her room, another long and empty space that I hadn't noticed before. She also had a couch, and a shkaf, and a desk - with a computer sitting on it! When I pointed this out, T.T. told us that it doesn't work (which is why I'm blogging from here at the Nevsky Institute, and why I'm so behind - I can only work on it after school). Latalia began unpacking and I went back to my room until lunch, which happened around 2:30. Today it consisted of pirojki (meat-filled dumplings), which is a much more traditionally Russian food than either pasta or cold cereal :] Latalia was extremely tired and understood very few of T.T.'s questions, just as I had been the day before. Fortunately she asked many of the same questions of Latalia that she had asked me, so I was able to translate for Latalia and help her with her answers. (As you can tell, I'm already regaining my confidence - but I'll try not to let my ego get overinflated this time.) Late in the afternoon, T.T.'s daughter came over, and she speaks English fairly well, and understands even better. Nonetheless, I tried to speak Russian to her as much as possible and only asked for English when I encountered too many words I didn't know. She was also interested in getting to know us (where we were from, where we study, how old we are, our families, etc) and especially in my time in Serbia. I showed her my pictures, at which point T.T. came over and once again exclaimed over how much Nikola and I look alike. Jenya (T.T.'s daughter, short for Yevgenia) told me that she didn't really see the resemblance, and I was glad. Jenya was, however, surprised whenever I told her the ages of the people in the pictures - she thought Nikola looked much older than 19 and couldn't believe it when I told her that Aca was only 15. I guess they grow up fast in Serbia? XD
Supper that night was lentil soup, and Jenya explained that they eat lentils very often, although it's not very popular across Russia. They're too closely related to beans for me, and I somewhat explained that to Jenya with the help of quite a few English words. After supper T.T. got out the syrup (real, Maine maple syrup) that I had brought her as a housewarming present, which reminded Latalia who brought out some black raspberry jam that her aunt had made. I tried to explain that in America we generally put maple syrup on pancakes or french toast or waffles, but T.T. and Jenya preferred to eat it by the spoonful with tea. T.T. kept remarking on how much it tasted like sugar or honey, and I tried to explain that it basically was sugar, taken from trees. I'm not sure how much of it I got across. :P
Latalia did well to stay up until 9:30, at which point I was also ready for bed. I tried to compensate for the brightness of the room by screwing my eyes tightly shut and burying my face in the pillow, but it was somewhat of a lost cause. Latalia, thinking ahead, had brought a sleep mask and I dearly wished I had one. Oh, well, I'll have to either get used to this or find some way to block out the light. Hmm... sounds like a job for an engineer!! :D
First Impressions
My first view of St. Petersburg was from the back of a minibus that was transporting a group of my friends and I to our respective host residences. The city seemed vibrant and teeming with life, a place caught between the traditions of all of its history and the press of new technology. The first to be let off were Molly and Salina, whose host mother was waiting for them on the sidewalk to lead them up to their new home. The next place we stopped was on a rather narrow street where the apartments loomed high above us on either side. It looked Soviet. Phil said, "Wow, whoever lives here is really lucky." I wasn't so sure - I hadn't been paying close attention to where we were, but this place didn't exactly look welcoming to me. Suddenly, our escort who was sitting in the front seat turned around and called "Erin? This is you." I took another good look around and tried to think the best of the place which would be my home for the next two months before clambering out of the bus, suitcases in tow. Our escort had already gotten out of the bus and was standing on the sidewalk, speaking with an older woman of medium stature and strawberry-red hair. The woman looked at me and smiled before taking the larger of my suitcases. So this was my host mother, Tatyana Trofimovna Gonmarova. (The name looks much prettier in Cyrillic.) I gave her a weak smile and a shy "Zdravstueyte" (Hello, very formal) before following her across the street to an imposing wooden door beside which was a keypad. T.T. (it's easier for me to refer to her here this way, but I would never presume to use an address so informal when speaking to her) punched a passcode on the keypad and opened the door, beckoning for me to follow. We walked up a flight of stairs to her apartment, at which she began a complex process of turning keys and sliding bolts in order to open the double door (Nikola's apartment in Belgrade had also had a double door, but it was much less formidable or difficult to open). When she had finally gained us entry to the apartment, she proceeded to take off her shoes in the doorway, which was my first real taste of Russian culture. In Russia, shoes are never worn indoors, and for good reason, since the streets are often slushy in the winter and springtime. Instead, people are expected to have tapochki (slippers) that they wear at all times inside, since bare or stockinged feet are also considered quite rude. Having been adequately forewarned of this, I had packed the comfortable slippers that I had received as a Christmas present the previous year (and I was more glad than ever to have asked for them), which I promptly removed from my carry-on and placed on my feet. T.T. smiled at this, and I fervently hoped that I was making a good impression.
T.T. indicated to me which room was to be mine: directly to one side of the doorway, it contained a large shkaf (free-standing closet) connected to a cabinet-bookshelf, a spacious couch, and an antique-looking desk and chair on which stood a solitary lamp. The room was probably 8 feet wide and 25 long, and with the sparse furnishings it seemed very empty. T.T. showed me that I could hang some of my clothes in the shkaf and that she had also cleared off one of the shelves for my use. There were also a couple of shelves above the closet part of the shkaf, but since the ceilings are nearly 15 feet high, these were too high for me to access. I promptly fell to unpacking and making myself as much at home as possible, taking care to put things away in a neat and orderly fashion (although I would not be capable of doing it any other way). In this way I passed the time until supper (and since I did not arrive at the apartment until nearly 6:30, this wasn't a long time). When T.T. called me for supper, I saw more of the apartment and noticed how large it was, especially for someone who as far as I could tell, lived alone. I saw T.T.'s bedroom (or at least, a room with a bed) on the other side of the main door, a large living room with a TV, couch, and large standing mirror (but otherwise almost no furniture) across the hall from a sort of study, in between which stood yet another couch. There doesn't seem to be very much furniture in T.T.'s apartment, but she certainly has a plethora of couches. I believe I've counted four so far, and I've never been in the study (she usually keeps the door closed). The floor in the main part of the apartment is tiled with beautiful brown tile (not cheap laminate) although the floors in most of the side rooms are wooden. There's a step up between the bedrooms and living room and the kitchen and bathroom which I keep having to remind myself about. I'm just waiting for some evening or early morning when I forget and go sprawling across the floor, but so far, so good. :P As in many Russian residences, there are two "bathroom"s. One is called the twalet and is a very small room containing only a toilet and a sink. The other, called a vannaya, is more what we would consider a bathroom, containing a toilet, sink, mirror, shower, and washing machine. The hot water pipes in the apartment (like the heating, both hot and cold water are centralized and come from a single place in the middle of the city) are not working right now, so there is very little hot water, only what they can heat with a small boiler. It makes taking showers interesting, although it's still better than in Honduras (where we had a platform outside surrounded by tarps and a 50-gallon bucket of cold water). The last room in the apartment is the kitchen, (kyxnya in Russian). It is surprisingly tiny, especially considering the spaciousness of the other rooms in the apartment. It contains a refrigerator, a table with four chairs (which barely fit around it), and counters and cabinets along three walls at the far end. All in all, the kitchen can't be more than 8 by 15 feet or so. T.T.'s apartment is currently undergoing renovations, as I later learned, so there is no sink or stove in the kitchen: dishes are washed in the vannaya and cooking is done on a 2-burner portable electric stovetop (I'm sure there's a better word for that, but it escapes me right now :P). However, there isn't very much counter space as it is - I can't imagine the kitchen with a sink and stove.
Supper consisted of cooked pasta with cheese sprinkled over it and a couple of small hot dogs (I think T.T. was trying to be as American as possible). I gladly ate it, but was a little bit disappointed that it wasn't any traditional Russian food. Supper is also where my difficulties began - as is only natural, T.T. began politely inquiring as to my home state, how old I was, what I would be doing for the summer, etc. Although I know all of this vocabulary in theory, I quickly discovered that knowing a word on a test or a flashcard does not mean that you will be able to recognize it when it is spoken or that it will come to mind when trying to respond to a question. As a result, communication was very limited and consisted mostly of T.T. repeating questions three or four times while I stared at her blankly and strove to understand what was being asked of me. T.T. often stopped and inquired "Ti ponimaesh?" (Do you understand?) to which I usually had to reply "Ne ponimayoo" (I don't understand). Unfortunately, T.T. speaks only a few words of English, so if she couldn't get the meaning across to me in Russian, that was it. As the meal wore on, I began to see how little a single year of language study prepares one for even basic communication with a native speaker, and I began to despair a little. However, not being someone prone to despair, this only strengthened my resolve to learn the language as quickly and as well as possible, if only for my personal comfort and well-being. (I did, however, begin to doubt at this point the practicality of studying abroad in Germany during my junior year after only studying German for a year...) At one point, T.T. lamented "It's really too bad that I don't speak English!" (In Russian, of course. Whenever I tell you that she said something, you can safely assume that she said it in Russian and it has been translated for your benefit, courtesy of me. :]) To which I quickly replied, "No, it's really a good thing, because I need to learn Russian!" (Whenever I tell you that I said anything which you can infer was in Russian, you can safely assume that it was not communicated to my interlocutor nearly as elegantly or precicely as I would have said it in English. I'll let you know if that ever changes. :P) Dreading the worst, T.T. asked me whether Latalia (my roommate for the summer) spoke Russian any better than I. I informed her that, though I could not speak to Latalia's exact proficiency level, she shouldn't expect her to speak much more fluently (case in point: that is what I meant. What I said, literally translated, was "I don't know. Maybe. Probably not." Not so pretty, but it gets the job done). Despite all of these difficulties, I was able to communicate that I hailed from the great state of Maine, I studied at Princeton University and had just finished my first year of studies there, as had most of the other members of my group, that there were around 15 of us and that we would be having classes every weekday starting Monday. Pretty impressive, if I do say so myself (although this was over the course of about an hour, which much "umm..."ing, looking up words in a dictionary, finding rudimentary substitues, and staring blankly).
After supper came the next dreaded Russian ritual. T.T. asked me "zhelyonee chai ili chornee chai?" I had known this was coming, but I was no more prepared for it. Tea. Now, I have nothing against the beverage in and of itself, but I've never been a big tea drinker, even after my mother picked up the habit. The fact is, I think tea is disgusting, or at least most varieties that I have ever tried. And I've tried it several times. But in Russia tea is the drink of choice: hot or cold, with breakfast, lunch, supper and several times in between. This is partially a practical matter: the tap water in St. Petersburg is not potable, and the climate is cold. Thus, a warm drink made from boiled water serves the dual function of keeping one warm and sterilizing the drinking water. But that doesn't mean that I was any more ready to start drinking tea with every meal. But, I "screwed my courage to the sticking-point" (Macbeth, Act II, Scene 5... or something like that ;]) and asked for green tea, with sugar. At which T.T. promptly gave me a strange look and told me that green tea wasn't taken with sugar. How would I know that? I bravely sipped the tea as she watched me (and tried very hard not to make a face). I still don't like tea. It's like when I went to Honduras. I hate baked beans, and always have. Unfortunately, rice and beans are the staple of the Central American diet, and I ate beans for the entire twelve days that I was there, every meal. But that doesn't mean that I like beans any more now (if anything, I have an even greater dislike for them). I figured it would be the same way with tea: I would drink it because that is what is available, and though I didn't like it, I would survive. I would "soldier on", as my Russian professor would say. (Don't feel too bad for me at this point. It gets better later ;])
After supper I resumed unpacking, meticulously emptying my suitcases and stowing them in an empty corner. T.T. came in when I was nearly finished to give me my bedding, and she continued her attempts at conversing with me. When I happened to mention that I had been in Serbia for the past week, she was very interested and I had to go through the usual barrage of questions (this time in Russian, so I was glad that I had had adequate practice in English ;]). Somehow (I don't recall how) the fact that I had pictures from Serbia came up, and T.T. asked to see them (they're from the wedding we went to on Saturday, from the professional photographer, and they're quite good). When she saw the picture of Nikola and I, she exclaimed "You guys look so much alike! You could be brother and sister!" The thought of Nikola being my brother made me laugh, and she asked, "You don't think so?" When I took a closer look, I told her that I could see the resemblance, although I didn't think we looked all that much alike. She looked through the remainder of the pictures and picked out three: a closeup of Nikola and I, one of me with Aca, and a close-up that the photographer had snapped of me watching everyone dance with a smile on my face. She especially liked the photo of me, remarking "What a pretty photo. Don't you think?" I agree - it is a remarkably good photograph (especially since I don't consider myself particularly photogenic). She set up these pictures on my desk and then smiled at me - I guess I have my room decorated now. It is nice to have those constant reminders of my time in Serbia; I love pictures. I only wish now that I had brought a few pictures of my family and friends, like I did for college - they don't take up much room and it would be nice to have some pieces of my life in the States around. Oh well, live and learn, I guess :[
Although I had only traveled from Belgrade (a 2-hour time difference), since I had gotten so little sleep the night before I was more than ready for bed by 10:00. However, something that I failed to take entirely into account about St. Petersburg is the fact that, since the city is so far north, the sun literally almost never sets in June. They're called "White Nights" and it's a cause for celebration and festivity, but not when I'm trying to catch up on sleep... :P Although it was 10 pm local time, it looked to be no later than 4:00. And, like Aca's room in Belgrade, the window in my bedroom was only covered by lacy, transparent curtains instead of proper blinds or window shades. Here we go again...
T.T. indicated to me which room was to be mine: directly to one side of the doorway, it contained a large shkaf (free-standing closet) connected to a cabinet-bookshelf, a spacious couch, and an antique-looking desk and chair on which stood a solitary lamp. The room was probably 8 feet wide and 25 long, and with the sparse furnishings it seemed very empty. T.T. showed me that I could hang some of my clothes in the shkaf and that she had also cleared off one of the shelves for my use. There were also a couple of shelves above the closet part of the shkaf, but since the ceilings are nearly 15 feet high, these were too high for me to access. I promptly fell to unpacking and making myself as much at home as possible, taking care to put things away in a neat and orderly fashion (although I would not be capable of doing it any other way). In this way I passed the time until supper (and since I did not arrive at the apartment until nearly 6:30, this wasn't a long time). When T.T. called me for supper, I saw more of the apartment and noticed how large it was, especially for someone who as far as I could tell, lived alone. I saw T.T.'s bedroom (or at least, a room with a bed) on the other side of the main door, a large living room with a TV, couch, and large standing mirror (but otherwise almost no furniture) across the hall from a sort of study, in between which stood yet another couch. There doesn't seem to be very much furniture in T.T.'s apartment, but she certainly has a plethora of couches. I believe I've counted four so far, and I've never been in the study (she usually keeps the door closed). The floor in the main part of the apartment is tiled with beautiful brown tile (not cheap laminate) although the floors in most of the side rooms are wooden. There's a step up between the bedrooms and living room and the kitchen and bathroom which I keep having to remind myself about. I'm just waiting for some evening or early morning when I forget and go sprawling across the floor, but so far, so good. :P As in many Russian residences, there are two "bathroom"s. One is called the twalet and is a very small room containing only a toilet and a sink. The other, called a vannaya, is more what we would consider a bathroom, containing a toilet, sink, mirror, shower, and washing machine. The hot water pipes in the apartment (like the heating, both hot and cold water are centralized and come from a single place in the middle of the city) are not working right now, so there is very little hot water, only what they can heat with a small boiler. It makes taking showers interesting, although it's still better than in Honduras (where we had a platform outside surrounded by tarps and a 50-gallon bucket of cold water). The last room in the apartment is the kitchen, (kyxnya in Russian). It is surprisingly tiny, especially considering the spaciousness of the other rooms in the apartment. It contains a refrigerator, a table with four chairs (which barely fit around it), and counters and cabinets along three walls at the far end. All in all, the kitchen can't be more than 8 by 15 feet or so. T.T.'s apartment is currently undergoing renovations, as I later learned, so there is no sink or stove in the kitchen: dishes are washed in the vannaya and cooking is done on a 2-burner portable electric stovetop (I'm sure there's a better word for that, but it escapes me right now :P). However, there isn't very much counter space as it is - I can't imagine the kitchen with a sink and stove.
Supper consisted of cooked pasta with cheese sprinkled over it and a couple of small hot dogs (I think T.T. was trying to be as American as possible). I gladly ate it, but was a little bit disappointed that it wasn't any traditional Russian food. Supper is also where my difficulties began - as is only natural, T.T. began politely inquiring as to my home state, how old I was, what I would be doing for the summer, etc. Although I know all of this vocabulary in theory, I quickly discovered that knowing a word on a test or a flashcard does not mean that you will be able to recognize it when it is spoken or that it will come to mind when trying to respond to a question. As a result, communication was very limited and consisted mostly of T.T. repeating questions three or four times while I stared at her blankly and strove to understand what was being asked of me. T.T. often stopped and inquired "Ti ponimaesh?" (Do you understand?) to which I usually had to reply "Ne ponimayoo" (I don't understand). Unfortunately, T.T. speaks only a few words of English, so if she couldn't get the meaning across to me in Russian, that was it. As the meal wore on, I began to see how little a single year of language study prepares one for even basic communication with a native speaker, and I began to despair a little. However, not being someone prone to despair, this only strengthened my resolve to learn the language as quickly and as well as possible, if only for my personal comfort and well-being. (I did, however, begin to doubt at this point the practicality of studying abroad in Germany during my junior year after only studying German for a year...) At one point, T.T. lamented "It's really too bad that I don't speak English!" (In Russian, of course. Whenever I tell you that she said something, you can safely assume that she said it in Russian and it has been translated for your benefit, courtesy of me. :]) To which I quickly replied, "No, it's really a good thing, because I need to learn Russian!" (Whenever I tell you that I said anything which you can infer was in Russian, you can safely assume that it was not communicated to my interlocutor nearly as elegantly or precicely as I would have said it in English. I'll let you know if that ever changes. :P) Dreading the worst, T.T. asked me whether Latalia (my roommate for the summer) spoke Russian any better than I. I informed her that, though I could not speak to Latalia's exact proficiency level, she shouldn't expect her to speak much more fluently (case in point: that is what I meant. What I said, literally translated, was "I don't know. Maybe. Probably not." Not so pretty, but it gets the job done). Despite all of these difficulties, I was able to communicate that I hailed from the great state of Maine, I studied at Princeton University and had just finished my first year of studies there, as had most of the other members of my group, that there were around 15 of us and that we would be having classes every weekday starting Monday. Pretty impressive, if I do say so myself (although this was over the course of about an hour, which much "umm..."ing, looking up words in a dictionary, finding rudimentary substitues, and staring blankly).
After supper came the next dreaded Russian ritual. T.T. asked me "zhelyonee chai ili chornee chai?" I had known this was coming, but I was no more prepared for it. Tea. Now, I have nothing against the beverage in and of itself, but I've never been a big tea drinker, even after my mother picked up the habit. The fact is, I think tea is disgusting, or at least most varieties that I have ever tried. And I've tried it several times. But in Russia tea is the drink of choice: hot or cold, with breakfast, lunch, supper and several times in between. This is partially a practical matter: the tap water in St. Petersburg is not potable, and the climate is cold. Thus, a warm drink made from boiled water serves the dual function of keeping one warm and sterilizing the drinking water. But that doesn't mean that I was any more ready to start drinking tea with every meal. But, I "screwed my courage to the sticking-point" (Macbeth, Act II, Scene 5... or something like that ;]) and asked for green tea, with sugar. At which T.T. promptly gave me a strange look and told me that green tea wasn't taken with sugar. How would I know that? I bravely sipped the tea as she watched me (and tried very hard not to make a face). I still don't like tea. It's like when I went to Honduras. I hate baked beans, and always have. Unfortunately, rice and beans are the staple of the Central American diet, and I ate beans for the entire twelve days that I was there, every meal. But that doesn't mean that I like beans any more now (if anything, I have an even greater dislike for them). I figured it would be the same way with tea: I would drink it because that is what is available, and though I didn't like it, I would survive. I would "soldier on", as my Russian professor would say. (Don't feel too bad for me at this point. It gets better later ;])
After supper I resumed unpacking, meticulously emptying my suitcases and stowing them in an empty corner. T.T. came in when I was nearly finished to give me my bedding, and she continued her attempts at conversing with me. When I happened to mention that I had been in Serbia for the past week, she was very interested and I had to go through the usual barrage of questions (this time in Russian, so I was glad that I had had adequate practice in English ;]). Somehow (I don't recall how) the fact that I had pictures from Serbia came up, and T.T. asked to see them (they're from the wedding we went to on Saturday, from the professional photographer, and they're quite good). When she saw the picture of Nikola and I, she exclaimed "You guys look so much alike! You could be brother and sister!" The thought of Nikola being my brother made me laugh, and she asked, "You don't think so?" When I took a closer look, I told her that I could see the resemblance, although I didn't think we looked all that much alike. She looked through the remainder of the pictures and picked out three: a closeup of Nikola and I, one of me with Aca, and a close-up that the photographer had snapped of me watching everyone dance with a smile on my face. She especially liked the photo of me, remarking "What a pretty photo. Don't you think?" I agree - it is a remarkably good photograph (especially since I don't consider myself particularly photogenic). She set up these pictures on my desk and then smiled at me - I guess I have my room decorated now. It is nice to have those constant reminders of my time in Serbia; I love pictures. I only wish now that I had brought a few pictures of my family and friends, like I did for college - they don't take up much room and it would be nice to have some pieces of my life in the States around. Oh well, live and learn, I guess :[
Although I had only traveled from Belgrade (a 2-hour time difference), since I had gotten so little sleep the night before I was more than ready for bed by 10:00. However, something that I failed to take entirely into account about St. Petersburg is the fact that, since the city is so far north, the sun literally almost never sets in June. They're called "White Nights" and it's a cause for celebration and festivity, but not when I'm trying to catch up on sleep... :P Although it was 10 pm local time, it looked to be no later than 4:00. And, like Aca's room in Belgrade, the window in my bedroom was only covered by lacy, transparent curtains instead of proper blinds or window shades. Here we go again...
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
You meet such interesting people traveling...
My flight from Belgrade to Prague, in the Czech Republic, was only two hours long, so I wasn't too surprised when I walked out onto the tarmac and saw my plane: a tiny pond-hopper (as we would say back at home) with propellors in lieu of jet engines. The cabin was only four seats wide, two on each side of a narrow aisle which didn't look nearly wide enough for the drink cart. Sitting beside me was a middle-aged Russian woman who spoke excellent English and who, I learned, was traveling to Paris with her husband and son for the seven-year-old's international music competition. Her pianist son (whose name I failed to catch) would be the youngest competitor there, she proudly informed me, having just turned seven within the month. I could see that the entire family was very well-off, which was explained when she informed me that her husband had been a doctor in the States for many years before they moved to Belgrade, where they now resided. She confided to me that she natively spoke Russian but could barely communicate in Serbian (apparently they're not as close as I thought) but that her son was fluent in Russian, English, and Serbian. Truly a wonder child (insert slightly sarcastic tone here). This woman, upon learning that my final destination was St. Petersburg, politely inquired as to my reason for going there, as well as my occasion for being in Belgrade, since I obviously wasn't Serbian myself. When I told her that I had been visiting a friend, I was obliged to continue through the usual barrage of questions: no, he isn't my boyfriend; no, he's not American; he was an exchange student at my school; no, I don't speak Serbian; etc. It is by now a familiar routine, since I receive the same reaction from everyone (whether American, Russian or Serbian) who learns about my journey to Belgrade. Not that I mind answering these questions. I am, evidently, an anomaly. It is merely interesting to note the astounding consistency of the reaction I get. After I had sufficiently explained the reasons for my point of departure, the conversation turned to my destination and became instantly more interesting. It turns out that this lady had, when she was in school, had a job as a tour guide at the Hermitage, so she could give me insider's tips on the best exhibits to visit and those which weren't worth the admission fee. When we had fully exhausted that topic of conversation as well, I was finally left in peace to press my nose to the window and experience Central Europe from the air, which had been my original intent. :]
This flight, from Belgrade to Prague, was the first place in which I noticed that communication occured primarily in a language other than English. Every announcement was given in Czech before being repeated in English. I listened to the Czech language and decided that it sounds like the ugly child of Russian and French (in case anyone's wondering). On the flight, although it was only two hours long, we were given the standard array of drinks and a breakfast pastry. If anyone's flying in Europe and wants a fairly cheap airline with decent service, I recommend Czech.
Upon reaching the airport in Prague, we were bussed from the tarmac to the terminal (as it has been for all of my shorter flights: Zurich-Belgrade, Belgrade-Prague, and Prague-St. Pete). The Prague airport was clean but not too large, and everything was quite expensive. It didn't take me long to find my gate for the next leg of my flight, but since I had heard so many horror stories about flights being delayed on both ends and travelers racing across the airport to catch their next flight, I had given myself a 90-minute layover in Prague, and so I had plenty of time to wander and explore. I found the obligatory cheesy souvenir shop (no knives this time, thankfully) and spent a long time deciding between a thoroughly useless magnet, an overpriced keychain, or some nice-looking matroshka dolls and painted eggs. I finally decided that the stacking dolls and eggs looked too Russian and settled on a small carabiner with an etching of some famous building in Prague on it. There are about 25 Czech Korunas to the euro, which means 21 to the dollar; a pretty good rate. However, I had also been warned against exchanging money in Prague (because of the ridiculous rates) and didn't want to go through the hassle, so I was glad when the cashier told me that the souvenir shop took American dollars.
Finally, it was time to go to my gate (unlike American airports, all of the airports I was in abroad have individual security checkpoints for each gate or group of gates, and one is free to roam the rest of the airport). I went through security and discovered, to my delight, that the agent was speaking in Russian to the woman in front of me, and that I could understand her! The woman, unfortunately, had bought some shampoo in the airport which hadn't been bagged properly and the security agent was informing her that she would not be able to bring the bottle aboard the plane, at which she was understandably upset. Now I can see that these sorts of interactions erroneously boosted my confidence level, but at the time I was quite excited and proud to be able to understand natural spoken Russian. :P
While waiting to board my plane in Prague for the final leg of my journey, I met yet another interesting person. Somewhat unfortunately, the only people I feel comfortable initiating conversations with are young women around my age, but perhaps this is only wisdom. In any case, I ended up sitting beside a young lady just a few years older than me, and I noticed that she was reading a French newspaper. Gathering my courage, I remarked (once she had finished with the paper) that I had noticed this, and asked whether she was French? When she replied in the affirmative, I continued introducing myself to her and inquiring as to her reason for traveling to St. Petersburg, and we fell into friendly conversation. I learned that Aude (as I believe her name is spelled) had just finished her studies at university in France and was traveling to Novgorod for the summer to volunteer in an orphanage, and that she spoke no Russian. Oh, and I should probably mention that this entire exchange took place in French. Mr. Girodet (and Nikola) would have been proud, I think. :] (Although I should add, by way of a disclaimer, that my pronunciation was less than perfect and we hardly said more than could have been managed by a typical second-year French student). But I was determined, since I could speak her language (or rather, since I had studied her language) that I would not be the arrogant American who insisted that all exchanges take place in English. Call it stubborn pride.
Once on the airplane, I was given yet another opportunity to test my foreign-language skills. The young woman in the seat beside me was a Russian teen flying home to St. Petersburg, and I did my best to converse in Russian with her (but as I found even then, and which should have been an early warning sign for me, it wasn't as easy for me to carry on a conversation in Russian as it had been in French...). I did, however, manage to learn that her name was Ekaterina, and was able to solicit her help with my migration card (which all foreign visitors to Russia are required to fill out before arrival, and which can be requested at any time by the local law enforcement officials).
When I finally reached St. Petersburg, I found to my delight that I was not the only member of my group to have arrived on Friday. Waiting in the lobby of the airport were several of my fellow PiP-ers: Matthias (a graduate student studying German literature), Anna (spunky little ball of fire), Molly (who is never afraid to speak her mind), Salina (a quiet Asian girl who is - ironically - Molly's roommate for the summer), and Phil (a sophomore chemical engineering student who, since his intense schedule prevented him from taking Russian 101 in the fall semester, audited the class and did all of the work on his own so that he could take Russian 102 in the spring and participate in the program with us). Several of them had coordinated their flights so that they could travel together from America, which would have been a wise move had I been able to (though not nearly as adventurous ;]). We were then driven across the city and dropped off at our various summer residences. We (or should I say rather, I) chattered excitedly the entire way, in English, about our travel experiences, what was going by outside the windows, and what we expected the summer to be like. At one point Phil remarked, "We know nothing in Russian," which sentiment Matthias promptly agreed with. I (somewhat conceitedly, to my shame) responded, "Well, sure I do - I got an A in Russian 102." To which Phil replied, "Yeah, so did I, but that doesn't mean we actually know how to communicate in Russian." Had I been wise, I would have taken him seriously - as I was about to find out, he was closer to the truth than I would have liked to believe.
This flight, from Belgrade to Prague, was the first place in which I noticed that communication occured primarily in a language other than English. Every announcement was given in Czech before being repeated in English. I listened to the Czech language and decided that it sounds like the ugly child of Russian and French (in case anyone's wondering). On the flight, although it was only two hours long, we were given the standard array of drinks and a breakfast pastry. If anyone's flying in Europe and wants a fairly cheap airline with decent service, I recommend Czech.
Upon reaching the airport in Prague, we were bussed from the tarmac to the terminal (as it has been for all of my shorter flights: Zurich-Belgrade, Belgrade-Prague, and Prague-St. Pete). The Prague airport was clean but not too large, and everything was quite expensive. It didn't take me long to find my gate for the next leg of my flight, but since I had heard so many horror stories about flights being delayed on both ends and travelers racing across the airport to catch their next flight, I had given myself a 90-minute layover in Prague, and so I had plenty of time to wander and explore. I found the obligatory cheesy souvenir shop (no knives this time, thankfully) and spent a long time deciding between a thoroughly useless magnet, an overpriced keychain, or some nice-looking matroshka dolls and painted eggs. I finally decided that the stacking dolls and eggs looked too Russian and settled on a small carabiner with an etching of some famous building in Prague on it. There are about 25 Czech Korunas to the euro, which means 21 to the dollar; a pretty good rate. However, I had also been warned against exchanging money in Prague (because of the ridiculous rates) and didn't want to go through the hassle, so I was glad when the cashier told me that the souvenir shop took American dollars.
Finally, it was time to go to my gate (unlike American airports, all of the airports I was in abroad have individual security checkpoints for each gate or group of gates, and one is free to roam the rest of the airport). I went through security and discovered, to my delight, that the agent was speaking in Russian to the woman in front of me, and that I could understand her! The woman, unfortunately, had bought some shampoo in the airport which hadn't been bagged properly and the security agent was informing her that she would not be able to bring the bottle aboard the plane, at which she was understandably upset. Now I can see that these sorts of interactions erroneously boosted my confidence level, but at the time I was quite excited and proud to be able to understand natural spoken Russian. :P
While waiting to board my plane in Prague for the final leg of my journey, I met yet another interesting person. Somewhat unfortunately, the only people I feel comfortable initiating conversations with are young women around my age, but perhaps this is only wisdom. In any case, I ended up sitting beside a young lady just a few years older than me, and I noticed that she was reading a French newspaper. Gathering my courage, I remarked (once she had finished with the paper) that I had noticed this, and asked whether she was French? When she replied in the affirmative, I continued introducing myself to her and inquiring as to her reason for traveling to St. Petersburg, and we fell into friendly conversation. I learned that Aude (as I believe her name is spelled) had just finished her studies at university in France and was traveling to Novgorod for the summer to volunteer in an orphanage, and that she spoke no Russian. Oh, and I should probably mention that this entire exchange took place in French. Mr. Girodet (and Nikola) would have been proud, I think. :] (Although I should add, by way of a disclaimer, that my pronunciation was less than perfect and we hardly said more than could have been managed by a typical second-year French student). But I was determined, since I could speak her language (or rather, since I had studied her language) that I would not be the arrogant American who insisted that all exchanges take place in English. Call it stubborn pride.
Once on the airplane, I was given yet another opportunity to test my foreign-language skills. The young woman in the seat beside me was a Russian teen flying home to St. Petersburg, and I did my best to converse in Russian with her (but as I found even then, and which should have been an early warning sign for me, it wasn't as easy for me to carry on a conversation in Russian as it had been in French...). I did, however, manage to learn that her name was Ekaterina, and was able to solicit her help with my migration card (which all foreign visitors to Russia are required to fill out before arrival, and which can be requested at any time by the local law enforcement officials).
When I finally reached St. Petersburg, I found to my delight that I was not the only member of my group to have arrived on Friday. Waiting in the lobby of the airport were several of my fellow PiP-ers: Matthias (a graduate student studying German literature), Anna (spunky little ball of fire), Molly (who is never afraid to speak her mind), Salina (a quiet Asian girl who is - ironically - Molly's roommate for the summer), and Phil (a sophomore chemical engineering student who, since his intense schedule prevented him from taking Russian 101 in the fall semester, audited the class and did all of the work on his own so that he could take Russian 102 in the spring and participate in the program with us). Several of them had coordinated their flights so that they could travel together from America, which would have been a wise move had I been able to (though not nearly as adventurous ;]). We were then driven across the city and dropped off at our various summer residences. We (or should I say rather, I) chattered excitedly the entire way, in English, about our travel experiences, what was going by outside the windows, and what we expected the summer to be like. At one point Phil remarked, "We know nothing in Russian," which sentiment Matthias promptly agreed with. I (somewhat conceitedly, to my shame) responded, "Well, sure I do - I got an A in Russian 102." To which Phil replied, "Yeah, so did I, but that doesn't mean we actually know how to communicate in Russian." Had I been wise, I would have taken him seriously - as I was about to find out, he was closer to the truth than I would have liked to believe.
The Other Side of the Rainbow
So, Serbia. Unfortunately, since I traveled straight from Belgrade to St. Petersburg, it may have diminished my ability to reflect on everything that happened to me there, but I will try to do so while the experiences are still relatively fresh in my mind. If you're curious as to how Serbia is different from America, or at least my impressions of Serbia, and aren't really interested in all of my silly personal musings or ridiculous adventures, this is the one post you ought to read. Of course, my limited experience in no way permits me to make general statements with any sort of authority, but I can at least describe my impressions from the short week in which I wandered the city, wide-eyed and observant. And so - the differences we think we see.
- Public transportation - although many of these differences stem from Belgrade being a city, whereas I am used to small-town Maine, it was amazing how well it worked here. There were many options: buses, trolleybuses (wheeled vehicles that ran off of the overhead electric lines), and trams. Belgrade, interestingly enough, has no subway system: perhaps because it is built on two rivers, perhaps because it is too old (by the time that technology came around, the city was much the same size as it is today, and it would have been too much hassle to try and install a subway system into an already thriving metropolis).
- As opposed to America (and whenever I say "America", I'm thinking of New York, which is the closest thing to a large European city that I have experienced in the States) where there are a plethora of taxis, transportation in Belgrade is much more communal (which, I think, stems from the American individualist mindset). There are plenty of cars in Belgrade, but many of them are old European models from the 70s and 80s (I saw especially many Yugos, some with the "go" part of the name removed so that it read "Yu", the abbreviation for "Yugoslavia", as this country was known for many years).
- People seem more willing to walk to places (at least it felt like Nikola and I walked everywhere) but things aren't necessarily closer than in the States.
- The poverty is there, as it is in any big city, but it isn't necessarily any more or less glaring than I've seen in NYC, or Philadelphia, or Boston - but the people begging are more noticeably of a different ethnicity than the other inhabitants of the city.
- Perhaps it was because it was rainy for most of the week that I was in Belgrade, but it did seem to me that people wore fewer bright colors than in America (of course, I've never specifically noticed the clothing people tend to wear in big cities in America. Perhaps it isn't that different after all). I saw a lot of neutral colors - black, brown, beige - and very few people had the cutesy rain boots or umbrellas that are all the rage now in the US. I think things like that start in the Far East (i.e. Japan and Korea) and move East, not West - in many ways, going to Belgrade was like entering a time machine and going back to the 80s.
- Girls tend to wear flats or heels (and when I say heels, I mean 6-inch stilettos) but they still walk everywhere. It's impressive. I also saw quite a few shoe stores that had ridiculously impractical footwear on display - I'm not sure if it's a cultural thing or what. But the large, colorful, bulky-looking Nike shoes that are making a comeback here in the States are also popular over there, especially with younger teenage girls. The boys don't seem to be as much into fashion, although I was mostly looking at the girls.
- I've never been inside an apartment in a big city (when I was younger, I visited relatives in Boston, but that's the closest I've come) but I think the Stojanovic's apartment was nice by any standards, and especially for Belgrade. Mr. Stojanovic explained to me that his grandfather used to own the entire building and the one behind it, but when the socialists gained control everything was de-privatized and now they only own the apartment they live in.
- There were many small, but interesting, differences in the details and furnishings of the apartment: the light switches were large and flat and pushing on the upper side of the button turned the light on, and pushing on the lower side turned it off (it's difficult to describe, but they're the same in Russia - I'll make sure to take a picture).
- The doors were even different in Serbia - at least the ones in Nikola's apartment. Instead of fitting securely into the doorframe, most have a small lip on one side which ensures that when closed, they entirely seal off the doorway. When I pointed it out to Nikola, he said he had never noticed the difference in America, but that the lip on the door was called a jesik, or tongue. I speculate that it works to better maintain the temperature in the individual rooms, since heat is a more precious commodity over here than in the States (and it's all centralized, so most tenants don't have the option of controlling their own environs).
- Trash in Belgrade also works much differently than in the States (or at least, differently than in Maine). Instead of having several trash cans of various sizes throughout the house, there is a single, small trash receptacle in the kitchen, in which is placed a plastic shopping bag for trash. Nikola and Aca also have small trash cans in their rooms, but I didn't see any others, not even in the bathroom. Since the trash can is so small, the trash must be taken out much more frequently than in America; at least every day. All along the streets of Belgrade there are large bins on the edge of the sidewalk, which function just like dumpsters here in the US. Whenever the trash from an apartment is taken out, it is deposited in these bins, which are emptied rather frequently by public works. It is certainly a less unsightly system than having dozens of black trash bags stacked on the sidewalk on trash day, as they do in NYC.
- The food. As you can probably tell from my having described my meals every day, Serbians eat a lot of bread and a lot of dairy products, especially for breakfast. Turkish food is also quite prevalant, as a result of the several centuries of Ottoman rule. They often drink water or nothing at all with their meals (fortunately, the tap water in Belgrade is potable, as far as I know). Alcohol is prevalant but not as much so as in Russia.
- Education. Serbia follows much of the rest of Europe in that the first eight years of schooling are completed together, by everyone. After this, there is a cumulative and comprehensive exam which all students take which covers everything that they have learned in "primary school." This is the exam which Aca is studying for and will take on the 21st of June. The results of this test determine the student's options for the next step of his schooling. They can go to a three-year technical school and learn a practical skill like automotive mechanics or plumbing or electrician, and after that enter the workforce. Some of these specialized schools are also four years, and they occur in almost every flavor: from architecture to politics to medical school to law school to art school or an acting academy. There are also more general four-year institutes (which are called "gymnasiums" which probably derives from the Ancient Greek use of the word) in which the students study many subjects as they do in our high schools. These schools are specifically geared towards students planning to enter university after graduating. The universities are much more specialized than in America where we tend to have liberal arts schools, and are called "Fakultet"s (which could probably best be rendered in English as "division"). Post-graduate education is relatively uncommon in Serbia and almost all students who study at university enter the workforce immediately afterwards. There are special universities for those students who wish to become doctors or lawyers, and after finishing a four-year course of study at such a specialized university the students are certified to hold these jobs, as opposed to America where these occupations require an additional four years of study after a general university education. At least, that is my impression of the Serbian (and European in general) educational system, as gathered from conversations with Nikola, Mrs. Stojanovic, and sundry other foreign exchange students throughout the years. Please excuse me (and feel free to correct me in a comment) for any errors in my understanding.
- In general, students live with their parents and attend school nearby, especially if they live right in a large city such as Belgrade and they have this option (all of Nikola's friends that I met live in Belgrade, at home). However, students from outlying areas often come in to the city and rent apartments (there are no college campuses in Belgrade as we would think of them) - on my trip through the city upon my arrival, Mr. Stojanovic pointed out a few high-rise buildings that were mostly populated by students.
- Serbian people are friendly and hospitable (or at least the few that I met). The first time I met one of Nikola's friends, they would offer their hand, but by the second or third time I came across them they greeted me with a hug and a friendly kiss on the cheek. When I inquired as to the customs behind interactions and greetings in Serbia, Nikola was only able to tell me that it depended upon the people and the relationship they had between them, more than gender or age, but you wouldn't find people in America (or at least, in New England) hugging you on the second or third meeting, so I suspect it is largely a cultural thing. He also told me that the traditional Serbian greeting is three kisses, alternating cheeks, but the only time I saw that was between adults at the Orthodox wedding the first day. Nikola and all of his friends greeted each other with a hug and a single kiss (which is occasionally only a noisy smooch into the air beside the person's cheek, depending on their relationship). Serbians also tend to be loud, and they love to joke and tease. It is common, when running into an acquaintance or friend on the street (which happens often in a city where everyone walks) to stop and chat for a minute or two. Overall, I think I may have been born into the wrong ethnicity. I've never been to England, Ireland or Scotland, but it's still hard for me to believe that these people's cold Northern-European blood flows in my veins, as any of you who know me can testify.
Perhaps now you can see why I am so eager to return to this place. There are so many things that I still want to do (and then there's all the touristy stuff too ;]). Nikola and I kept saying "Next time, next time." I can only hope that that isn't too far in the future.
Circle of Life
Traveling. Eventually, it may lose its novelty as I do more and more of it (and I certainly plan to). However, that won't be for a long time yet, and, knowing me, I may very well always remain The Wide-Eyed Wanderer. :]
My flight left Belgrade at 7:50, and I thought I had to be at the airport two hours beforehand, just in case. When Mr. Stojanovic informed me that one hour would be more than sufficient time, I was greatly relieved that I would only have to wake up at 5:30 (only???). However, I still maintain that the time I spent with Nikola's friends finally enjoying myself in Belgrade was worth getting only 4 hours of sleep :].
Breakfast was, for the final time, xleb, kaimek, and jogurt. I could definitely get used to Serbian food - I hope the fare in Russia is as agreeable :]. After packing up my few remaining belongings (including the clothes that Mrs. Stojanovic had so generously washed for me the night before) I prepared to depart from the place that had so quickly begun to feel like home to me. Nikola was awake and ready to accompany me to the airport, which shocked and pleased me very much. When I expressed my gratitude to him, he was quick to assure me that as soon as he had finished seeing me off, he would return to finish a good night's sleep. Yep, he's still Nikola. :D Aca, who had earlier in the week asserted that he, too, would go with me to the airport, was less dedicated - and I didn't blame him :] I think he was just glad to be getting his bed back, although I'm sure his temporary place within sight of the television wasn't entirely disagreeable to him ;]. At the apartment, I bid adieu to Mrs. Stojanovic and Aca, and there were hugs and kisses all around (most Serbs are very affectionate people :]).
On the way to the airport, I looked for the last time (for now, at least) at the sights which had already begun to become familiar to me - Belgrajenka (for a long time the tallest structure in Belgrade at 24 stories), St. Markos' cathedral where the wedding had been, the bridge over the Sava... and I was more than glad that I had come. Owl City's "Fireflies" played on the radio - a song that I had always considered inane (and still do), but that will now hold special meaning for me. Suddenly Nikola handed me something, saying, "Be careful - it's not quite dry." It was a CD from the Serbian band Bajaga, entitled "Sa druge strane jastuka" (On the other side of the pillow). The still-drying ink on the CD cover read "To: Erin, From: Nikola" and on the back it said "born to... sleep", a reference to the most famous song of the first artist Nikola had inspired me to start listening to. With a smile, Nikola said, "Well, you wanted Serbian music... this will be the beginning." I can't wait to get somewhere with a computer or CD player so that I can listen to the CD. :]
Nikola intentionally (I'm pretty sure he does most things intentionally) wore his MAINE sweatshirt, which made me smile. When we were almost to the airport, an Elton John song came on to the radio, and Nikola said, "Oh yes, he was here in Belgrade yesterday." I didn't think any more of it until I suddenly caught the lyrics of the song: it was "Circle of Life." The irony of the entire thing was almost too much. The Lion King is both my and Nikola's favorite movie; one of the few that we watched together in America. And things had really come full circle for us; Nikola had spent a year in my world and I had spent a week in his. Music truly speaks in a language deeper than English, or Serbian, or any other, and I know that I will never again hear that song in the same way.
We got to the airport around 6:40 and checking in presented no problems (and almost made me feel like an experienced traveler.. almost. I can't kid myself quite that much ;]). Then, it was time to part. Nikola and I looked at each other and smiled, remembering all the adventures of the past week. Looking him in the eye, I said, "Vidichemo se posle," which means "I will definitely see you later." And this time, I meant it. I had had a taste of Serbia, and I was hooked. I loved the atmosphere of Belgrade, the hospitality of its people, and I still have much more to explore in the White City. I also knew that, whether here in Belgrade, back in Maine, or in some other corner of the world, Nikola and I would meet again. We are friends. And that's what friends do.
After a hug and kiss on the cheek from Nikola and his dad, I was ready to go. Getting through security presented to problems and after I got my passport checked and stamped, I turned and blew a parting kiss to Serbia before setting off on my next grand adventure. However, I couldn't resist finding a window on the jetway from which to watch Nikola and his father as they walked from the terminal to their car and drove away, in order to say my own, private goodbye. I didn't want this to end, in a way, but I knew that what was ahead was even more exciting than what lay behind.
My flight left Belgrade at 7:50, and I thought I had to be at the airport two hours beforehand, just in case. When Mr. Stojanovic informed me that one hour would be more than sufficient time, I was greatly relieved that I would only have to wake up at 5:30 (only???). However, I still maintain that the time I spent with Nikola's friends finally enjoying myself in Belgrade was worth getting only 4 hours of sleep :].
Breakfast was, for the final time, xleb, kaimek, and jogurt. I could definitely get used to Serbian food - I hope the fare in Russia is as agreeable :]. After packing up my few remaining belongings (including the clothes that Mrs. Stojanovic had so generously washed for me the night before) I prepared to depart from the place that had so quickly begun to feel like home to me. Nikola was awake and ready to accompany me to the airport, which shocked and pleased me very much. When I expressed my gratitude to him, he was quick to assure me that as soon as he had finished seeing me off, he would return to finish a good night's sleep. Yep, he's still Nikola. :D Aca, who had earlier in the week asserted that he, too, would go with me to the airport, was less dedicated - and I didn't blame him :] I think he was just glad to be getting his bed back, although I'm sure his temporary place within sight of the television wasn't entirely disagreeable to him ;]. At the apartment, I bid adieu to Mrs. Stojanovic and Aca, and there were hugs and kisses all around (most Serbs are very affectionate people :]).
On the way to the airport, I looked for the last time (for now, at least) at the sights which had already begun to become familiar to me - Belgrajenka (for a long time the tallest structure in Belgrade at 24 stories), St. Markos' cathedral where the wedding had been, the bridge over the Sava... and I was more than glad that I had come. Owl City's "Fireflies" played on the radio - a song that I had always considered inane (and still do), but that will now hold special meaning for me. Suddenly Nikola handed me something, saying, "Be careful - it's not quite dry." It was a CD from the Serbian band Bajaga, entitled "Sa druge strane jastuka" (On the other side of the pillow). The still-drying ink on the CD cover read "To: Erin, From: Nikola" and on the back it said "born to... sleep", a reference to the most famous song of the first artist Nikola had inspired me to start listening to. With a smile, Nikola said, "Well, you wanted Serbian music... this will be the beginning." I can't wait to get somewhere with a computer or CD player so that I can listen to the CD. :]
Nikola intentionally (I'm pretty sure he does most things intentionally) wore his MAINE sweatshirt, which made me smile. When we were almost to the airport, an Elton John song came on to the radio, and Nikola said, "Oh yes, he was here in Belgrade yesterday." I didn't think any more of it until I suddenly caught the lyrics of the song: it was "Circle of Life." The irony of the entire thing was almost too much. The Lion King is both my and Nikola's favorite movie; one of the few that we watched together in America. And things had really come full circle for us; Nikola had spent a year in my world and I had spent a week in his. Music truly speaks in a language deeper than English, or Serbian, or any other, and I know that I will never again hear that song in the same way.
We got to the airport around 6:40 and checking in presented no problems (and almost made me feel like an experienced traveler.. almost. I can't kid myself quite that much ;]). Then, it was time to part. Nikola and I looked at each other and smiled, remembering all the adventures of the past week. Looking him in the eye, I said, "Vidichemo se posle," which means "I will definitely see you later." And this time, I meant it. I had had a taste of Serbia, and I was hooked. I loved the atmosphere of Belgrade, the hospitality of its people, and I still have much more to explore in the White City. I also knew that, whether here in Belgrade, back in Maine, or in some other corner of the world, Nikola and I would meet again. We are friends. And that's what friends do.
After a hug and kiss on the cheek from Nikola and his dad, I was ready to go. Getting through security presented to problems and after I got my passport checked and stamped, I turned and blew a parting kiss to Serbia before setting off on my next grand adventure. However, I couldn't resist finding a window on the jetway from which to watch Nikola and his father as they walked from the terminal to their car and drove away, in order to say my own, private goodbye. I didn't want this to end, in a way, but I knew that what was ahead was even more exciting than what lay behind.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
"Random snippets of people's lives"
My last day in Serbia. It was a bittersweet experience for me. I got up at 8:00 (but didn't want to, even after getting 8 hours of sleep :P) because Nikola had his exam and we were going to meet Masha right afterwards, and since his college was very close to the square where we would meet Masha, it was decided that I should go with him when he took his test and we would walk over to meet her afterwards. Nikola was kind of stressed about his test (I was glad that wasn't just a Princeton thing, or even an American thing :]) but when he told me how much the other people he knew had studied, I assured him that he had done far more than any of them and should be fine. Breakfast was cereal (much like cream of wheat) which I ate with cold milk and cranberry tea. I like the cranberry tea and sincerely hoped that I could find something like it when I got to St. Petersburg - knowing how fond Russians are of the drink, I knew that I would have to either get accustomed to the taste or find myself a suitable alternative (unfortunately, I don't like tea or coffee :P).
We took a tram to Nikola's college, which turned out to be an adventure in itself as the routes were all changed on account of there being construction on the street where his college was located. So, the tram that we got on turned out to be going the wrong way, and we ended up hopping off and walking most of the way there. Fortunately the weather had cleared up significantly and it was quite a pleasant morning. However, as I did not discover until we were almost at his college, I had forgotten to bring anything to do while he took his test, and so I was forced to sit and wait for him in the cafe downstairs. Apart from being exceedingly boring, this was the first public place where I had been for an extended amount of time without Nikola, and as I still only knew a few words of Serbian, it was a bit of a nerve-wracking experience. I sat quietly at a table in the corner, and it wasn't long before the proprietor of the cafe (who also doubled as the waiter) came over and asked me something, which I took to be whether I wanted something to eat or drink. I shook my head and said, "Nishta, hvala", (nothing, thank you) and he moved on and didn't speak to me again, so I think I guessed correctly. However, I hadn't been sitting there long before a woman in her early 30s approached me and asked a rapid-fire question in Serbian. Once I recovered from the small shock of being spoken to, I looked at her apologetically and explained, "Ne govorim srpski" (I don't speak Serbian) at which she replied, "Izvinite" (sorry) and moved on to ask someone else for directions (for that is what seemed to be the purpose of her question). After surviving these two encounters, my courage was somewhat bolstered and I began to look around with more interest. A television along one wall was tuned to the Discovery channel, so while I waited for Nikola to finish his exam I watched "How Stuff Works" followed by "How Things are Made" (Kako se pravi in Serbian), all muted with Serbian subtitles, which made my experience only slightly less enjoyable :P. Finally, after what seemed like much longer than 90 minutes, Nikola finished his exam and came down to the cafe to rescue me. He wasn't very happy with how he did, but I can testify that he studied for quite some time and I hope he'll be pleasantly surprised by his grade.
One interesting feature of the Serbian higher education system, which I think might be abused if we implemented it here in the States, was the ability for the students to push back their exams to another deadline if they don't feel ready for them. The students are given something like 6 deadlines for each class, and various individual projects and exams are assigned to each deadline. However, if a student feels that as the deadline approaches he or she is not ready to hand in the assignment or take the exam, they have the option of pushing it back to the next deadline, which may be a week or several months. For instance, some of Nikola's friends who are in the same semantics class as he took the exam for on this day chose to push it back to the next deadline, which was in September. Additionally, at the beginning of the exam period, Nikola told me that the teacher announced that there would also be an opportunity to take this particular exam the next week (at which about half of the students walked out of the exam room, much to the instructor's dismay). The only danger with this system, as Nikola explained it to me, is that if a student pushes back too many exams or assignments, they can become overloaded at the next deadline (or forget everything they had learned in the class, as I would imagine it would be easy to do when not taking the exam for a spring semester class until the following September).
After Nikola's exam, we walked to the nearby square to meet Masha. I had heard a lot about her, and seen many of her pictures (she is an excellent photographer of everyday and sometimes unconventional subjects), and I was very excited at this chance to finally meet her (and I hope I can say that she was looking forward to meeting me as well). She was smaller than I imagined (her head probably came up to my chin) but otherwise what I expected. She is quite nice but a little on the quiet side and she has the air of someone who thinks a lot before saying anything. I was very much impressed with her and I am very glad to have had the chance to finally meet her face-to-face. Her English is good, and although Nikola warned me about her British accent, I can't say that I noticed one. We bought coffee at a local cafe and were about to begin walking around (in Kalemegdan, the park that is next to the fortress we had gone to on Monday) when we met another significant person.
When Nikola had returned from choir practice the night before, he had told me enthusiastically about the guest conductor for his choir (they had a concert yesterday, Monday the 7th). His name is Gilad and it turns out that he is a graduate student studying music at - where else - PRINCETON!! I laughed when he told me - it seems that now that I'm a Princetonian I can't get away from it, even halfway around the world :]]. Anway, Gilad was also at the cafe wheter we stopped to get drinks and I promptly introduced myself to him. Nikola had told me that he didn't speak very much Serbian (as it turns out, I never heard him speak any - I think I know more than he does :P) but that he did speak English (which I would hope, since he studies at Princeton :]). As it turns out, he is from Israel (which makes sense, since Nikola's choir is part of the Jewish community in Belgrade) and he has quite a strong accent. When I told him that I am also a student at Princeton he exclaimed, "Why haven't we met!? There are only 7,000 students there!!" (I thought, "That would be precisely my explanation for why we haven't met...") He was surprised at my excellent English until I explained that I wasn't actually Serbian, just there visiting Nikola (why is everyone surprised that I am in Serbia? Do Americans not visit Serbia ever? Perhaps that's a question I don't really want the answer to... ;]) It turns out that Gilad has been the music director for several theater productions at Princeton, including a couple that I tried out for (but as I haven't been casted for anything yet, I hadn't actually crossed paths with him). He told me which shows he would be involved with in the fall, however, and encouraged me to try out for them (who knows, maybe knowing the music director will help me get a role? I don't dare to hope). I assured him that I would come to the choir practice that night, and we parted for the time being. Not having actually inquired of him myself, I asked Nikola, "Is he American? He doesn't sound it..." To which Nikola promptly replied, "No, he's Jewish." At the look Masha and I gave him simultaneously, he realized his mistake and informed us that Gilad was, in fact, Israeli, but his slip-up allowed both Masha and I a few laughs at his expense (sorry, Nikola, I had to include that. It was too funny to leave out :] <3).
After meeting Gilad, Masha, Nikola and I wandered around Kalemegdan park for a while. When we reached the other side, we were opposite the Belgrade zoo. When I expressed interest in the zoo, Masha candidly suggested that we go in, which met with delighted squeals from me and a roll of the eyes from Nikola. However, he finally consented and to my endless delight, we took a tour through the zoo. (I took about 240 pictures in Belgrade. 140 of them are of the zoo animals, if that gives you any idea ;]). The zoo was somewhat run-down and the cages were small, and Masha, who had been coming to the zoo nearly her entire life, could remember some of the animals being there when she was a small child. It was also interesting how in one exibit would be a lion, and across the path, a pen of donkeys. (The lioness was pacing her cage, eyeing the donkeys.) There were giraffes and an elephant in the zoo, but also black bears, racoons, a couple of crows, and several breeds of dog. The zoo didn't smell very nice, either :P After an hour or two of wandering around, we had seen everything worth seeing in the zoo (although Nikola would probably tell you that that happened much earlier ;]) and we left again. On the way back to Nikola's apartment, we all had to use the bathroom, so we stopped in to a MacDonalds. You had to pay (not very much, just a few dinars) to get into the bathroom!! There was an attendant outside waiting to collect the money before you could enter either bathroom (but the bathroom itself looked much like those in America). However, I suppose that it is an effective way to ensure the cleanliness of public restrooms, since not just anyone will be able to stop in and use it at will.
Back at Nikola's apartment, I began the sad task of reconstraining all of my belongings to my two suitcases in order to be ready to leave early the next morning. Nikola kindly volunteered his mother to wash my laundry (although I would have been happy to do it myself) and since I had been careful not to spread my belongings too much, it wasn't difficult to gather everything and repack it.
We skipped lunch this day because we were waiting to have a very special supper - chevapi. It is, again, a food of Turkish origin, and very delicious. It consists of a large fried pastry in which is placed meat (sausage) and onions, also fried. Not so healthy, perhaps, but quite satisfying. In addition, we were going to meet Nikola's best childhood friend Lazar and have dinner together with him. So at 6:00 we set out, stomachs grumbling, for the square in which we would meet Lazar and walk together to the cafe. However, Lazar was late and we were just about to head to the cafe without him when yet another adventure found us. A young woman about our age approached us, speaking in Serbian (she was evidently selling something). By this point, I had learned to be silent and let Nikola handle any interaction of this sort, but to my surprise he gave her a blank stare and said, in English, "Um, we don't... speak a language." At my quizzical and somewhat exasperated glance, he silently indicated for me to play along, which I did with a roll of my eyes. In broken English, the lady then explained to us her purpose - she was selling cards to benefit some sort of charity, and wondered whether we would want to buy one. Nikola said, "Well, I don't know, what do you think?" and looked at me, but I was not going to let him force this decision on me, since it was his idea to play dumb. I said, "I don't know, you're the one with the money" and he told the girl that we weren't interested, at which she moved off to bother another group of tourists. I could have smacked Nikola right then, but he turned to me with an impish grin on his face and said, "Her English is getting better. Next time, I might even buy a card if she keeps improving like this." Horrified, I exclaimed, "You've done this before!?!?" at which he just laughed and told me that it was fun to play the part of a dumb tourist. With a reprimanding look I informed him that it was fun as long as you were only acting and could actually speak the language, at which he looked a little more sheepish and we continued on our way.
Since it was nearing the end of my time in Belgrade, I was beginning to search for a souvenir, something cheap and preferably cheesy that would help me remember my time here with a smile. We searched at several street booths and tourist shops, but everything we found was either too cheesy (or useless), too fragile, or too expensive. I also didn't really know what I wanted - perhaps a magnet, perhaps a small figurine... but then we saw the buttons. Nikola, when he had been in the States, had been an avid button collector (when I say button I mean the small round pins that have some silly (or crude) message, or a picture of a band, or a smiley face on them), and I had a small collection of my own at home. So when I saw a posterboard covered in buttons at one of the street stands, I couldn't resist taking a closer look. Most of them were surprisingly lewd or in bad taste, or too American to remind me of Serbia (South Park? Somehow Belgrade doesn't come to mind :P). But then we found one - a simple white button with black cyrillic lettering which spelled "long live chirillitsi". I got the "long live" part, but had to ask "what's 'chi-ri-li-tsi?'" Nikola replied, "This." I was confused. "The button?" I guessed. Rolling his eyes, Nikola said, "No, this. The letters." I had a sudden epiphany. CYRILLIC!!! We both had a good laugh at my foolishness, and I knew that I had found the perfect souvenir.
After chevapi, we met Danilo also walking to choir and headed over in a group. However (as I should have known) the adventures were far from over for the night. The building where Nikola has choir also contains a police station, and walking past the officers at the entrance had always made me a little nervous (I think I was supposed to register with the local police station on arrival, and as far as I know I never did O.o). On this day, there were more men in uniform around than usual, and Danilo (in jest) said, "Ooh, Secret Service. Gentlemen, deport this woman!" Which I promptly informed him was not in the least entertaining. However, when we went to enter the building, we were stopped by the guard who asked our names. Nikola and Danilo explained that they were with the choir and going to rehearsal, but when he came to me, after hearing that I was Nikola's friend visiting from America, he informed me that I would not be allowed to enter the building (apparently some hot-shot ambassador was visiting and he was afraid that I would assassinate him or something??). This news terrified me - if I couldn't go in with Nikola and Danilo, what was I supposed to do? The guard informed me that I could sit in the lobby or outside and wait for them to finish, but sitting alone within sight of the police officers for two and a half hours appealed to me about as much as sitting in a pit of tarantulas for the same amount of time. I began frantically trying to recall the way back to Nikola's apartment - if only I had paid more attention during the week!!! If Nikola walked me home, he would be unforgiveably late to choir, but I still had no working cell phone in Belgrade, so if I got lost trying to find my way back, I would have no idea how to even get help. I had no Serbian currency in my wallet and no inclination to try and find the proper bus that would take me back to Kralja Aleksandar (Nikola's street, which also happens to be the largest street in Belgrade). However, in the midst of my panic, I was saved by a Secret Service agent who happened to come by at that moment. The guard had a hurried conversation with him in which he inquired as to what to do with me: the agent gave me a cursory glance and told the guard with a look that said "You're taking yourself too seriously" that I didn't look like I would pose a problem (at least, that's what I imagine he said. He could have said any number of things, since he was speaking Serbian). The guard told me that I would, in fact, be allowed to accompany Nikola and Danilo and then, turning to Danilo and with a serious look on his face, said "Take care of her." I was too relieved that I wouldn't have to find my way through Belgrade at 7:30 at night to wonder what exactly he meant by that. O.o
Choir practice was uneventful, except that Gilad (who was conducting) couldn't speak Serbian and only about half of the choir could understand his heavily-accented English and American colloquialisms, and even less could communicate back to him. He continued on with fortitude, however, seemingly somewhat oblivious to the trouble he was putting the singers through. He also faced a great deal of difficulty in getting them to be quiet, much more so than with an American choir (I think that's a cultural thing). It was amusing, to say the least.
After choir practice, although I was quite aware that I would have to get up extremely early the next morning and so was more than willing to go back to the apartment and get a good night's sleep, Nikola had other ideas. We went to a kafana (like a tavern) across the street, in the hotel that Gilad was staying in, and hung out over a few drinks (I had water). Gilad turned out to be quite an amusing character and quite teasable, which we all took advantage of. All of Nikola's friends spoke in English (for the most part) for Gilad's and my sake, and I loved the strong Eastern European or British accents, the bad English, and the rowdy atmosphere. All in all, it was the most fun I had had all week, just hanging out with a bunch of kids my age and being ourselves. That is something that is shared across all cultures, no matter what form it takes.
Finally, around 11:30, a group of us bid Gilad good night and started walking home. Nikola, Danilo, Jelena, Mila and I were all heading the same direction, so we started off together, continuing the conversations from in the kafana. Nikola grabbed my camera and started snapping pictures of us walking and talking together - they are some of my favorite from Belgrade. As each member of the group peeled off, they each expressed their disappointment that I was leaving the next day and made me promise to keep in touch through Facebook or Skype. They also begged me to return someday (perhaps at a time of year less stressful for the students, when they didn't have to study for finals). It was amazing how friendly Nikola's friends were, and how much we bonded in only one short week. I do sincerely hope that this won't be my only visit to The White City.
When we finally arrived back at Nikola's apartment, it was already midnight, but the time spent at the kafana and walking home was infinitely more valuable than another hour or two of sleep. On our way home, we had walked past a statue of the only Serbian to ever win a Nobel Prize, and Nikola told me that I would need to remember that. I didn't know what he meant until we arrived at his apartment and his mother informed me that she had a present for me: the book for which Ivo Andric won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1961, The Bridge on the Drina. (Thank you, Wikipedia ;]) I was touched by the gesture, especially since I had been the one imposing on the Stojanovics all week and if anything, I should be giving them gifts (I had brought a housewarming present of some European chocolate, but it could hardly be appropriate for everything they had done for me :\). I went to bed that night happy about everything that I had had the chance to experience, but sad and disbelieving that my time in Belgrade was nearly over.
We took a tram to Nikola's college, which turned out to be an adventure in itself as the routes were all changed on account of there being construction on the street where his college was located. So, the tram that we got on turned out to be going the wrong way, and we ended up hopping off and walking most of the way there. Fortunately the weather had cleared up significantly and it was quite a pleasant morning. However, as I did not discover until we were almost at his college, I had forgotten to bring anything to do while he took his test, and so I was forced to sit and wait for him in the cafe downstairs. Apart from being exceedingly boring, this was the first public place where I had been for an extended amount of time without Nikola, and as I still only knew a few words of Serbian, it was a bit of a nerve-wracking experience. I sat quietly at a table in the corner, and it wasn't long before the proprietor of the cafe (who also doubled as the waiter) came over and asked me something, which I took to be whether I wanted something to eat or drink. I shook my head and said, "Nishta, hvala", (nothing, thank you) and he moved on and didn't speak to me again, so I think I guessed correctly. However, I hadn't been sitting there long before a woman in her early 30s approached me and asked a rapid-fire question in Serbian. Once I recovered from the small shock of being spoken to, I looked at her apologetically and explained, "Ne govorim srpski" (I don't speak Serbian) at which she replied, "Izvinite" (sorry) and moved on to ask someone else for directions (for that is what seemed to be the purpose of her question). After surviving these two encounters, my courage was somewhat bolstered and I began to look around with more interest. A television along one wall was tuned to the Discovery channel, so while I waited for Nikola to finish his exam I watched "How Stuff Works" followed by "How Things are Made" (Kako se pravi in Serbian), all muted with Serbian subtitles, which made my experience only slightly less enjoyable :P. Finally, after what seemed like much longer than 90 minutes, Nikola finished his exam and came down to the cafe to rescue me. He wasn't very happy with how he did, but I can testify that he studied for quite some time and I hope he'll be pleasantly surprised by his grade.
One interesting feature of the Serbian higher education system, which I think might be abused if we implemented it here in the States, was the ability for the students to push back their exams to another deadline if they don't feel ready for them. The students are given something like 6 deadlines for each class, and various individual projects and exams are assigned to each deadline. However, if a student feels that as the deadline approaches he or she is not ready to hand in the assignment or take the exam, they have the option of pushing it back to the next deadline, which may be a week or several months. For instance, some of Nikola's friends who are in the same semantics class as he took the exam for on this day chose to push it back to the next deadline, which was in September. Additionally, at the beginning of the exam period, Nikola told me that the teacher announced that there would also be an opportunity to take this particular exam the next week (at which about half of the students walked out of the exam room, much to the instructor's dismay). The only danger with this system, as Nikola explained it to me, is that if a student pushes back too many exams or assignments, they can become overloaded at the next deadline (or forget everything they had learned in the class, as I would imagine it would be easy to do when not taking the exam for a spring semester class until the following September).
After Nikola's exam, we walked to the nearby square to meet Masha. I had heard a lot about her, and seen many of her pictures (she is an excellent photographer of everyday and sometimes unconventional subjects), and I was very excited at this chance to finally meet her (and I hope I can say that she was looking forward to meeting me as well). She was smaller than I imagined (her head probably came up to my chin) but otherwise what I expected. She is quite nice but a little on the quiet side and she has the air of someone who thinks a lot before saying anything. I was very much impressed with her and I am very glad to have had the chance to finally meet her face-to-face. Her English is good, and although Nikola warned me about her British accent, I can't say that I noticed one. We bought coffee at a local cafe and were about to begin walking around (in Kalemegdan, the park that is next to the fortress we had gone to on Monday) when we met another significant person.
When Nikola had returned from choir practice the night before, he had told me enthusiastically about the guest conductor for his choir (they had a concert yesterday, Monday the 7th). His name is Gilad and it turns out that he is a graduate student studying music at - where else - PRINCETON!! I laughed when he told me - it seems that now that I'm a Princetonian I can't get away from it, even halfway around the world :]]. Anway, Gilad was also at the cafe wheter we stopped to get drinks and I promptly introduced myself to him. Nikola had told me that he didn't speak very much Serbian (as it turns out, I never heard him speak any - I think I know more than he does :P) but that he did speak English (which I would hope, since he studies at Princeton :]). As it turns out, he is from Israel (which makes sense, since Nikola's choir is part of the Jewish community in Belgrade) and he has quite a strong accent. When I told him that I am also a student at Princeton he exclaimed, "Why haven't we met!? There are only 7,000 students there!!" (I thought, "That would be precisely my explanation for why we haven't met...") He was surprised at my excellent English until I explained that I wasn't actually Serbian, just there visiting Nikola (why is everyone surprised that I am in Serbia? Do Americans not visit Serbia ever? Perhaps that's a question I don't really want the answer to... ;]) It turns out that Gilad has been the music director for several theater productions at Princeton, including a couple that I tried out for (but as I haven't been casted for anything yet, I hadn't actually crossed paths with him). He told me which shows he would be involved with in the fall, however, and encouraged me to try out for them (who knows, maybe knowing the music director will help me get a role? I don't dare to hope). I assured him that I would come to the choir practice that night, and we parted for the time being. Not having actually inquired of him myself, I asked Nikola, "Is he American? He doesn't sound it..." To which Nikola promptly replied, "No, he's Jewish." At the look Masha and I gave him simultaneously, he realized his mistake and informed us that Gilad was, in fact, Israeli, but his slip-up allowed both Masha and I a few laughs at his expense (sorry, Nikola, I had to include that. It was too funny to leave out :] <3).
After meeting Gilad, Masha, Nikola and I wandered around Kalemegdan park for a while. When we reached the other side, we were opposite the Belgrade zoo. When I expressed interest in the zoo, Masha candidly suggested that we go in, which met with delighted squeals from me and a roll of the eyes from Nikola. However, he finally consented and to my endless delight, we took a tour through the zoo. (I took about 240 pictures in Belgrade. 140 of them are of the zoo animals, if that gives you any idea ;]). The zoo was somewhat run-down and the cages were small, and Masha, who had been coming to the zoo nearly her entire life, could remember some of the animals being there when she was a small child. It was also interesting how in one exibit would be a lion, and across the path, a pen of donkeys. (The lioness was pacing her cage, eyeing the donkeys.) There were giraffes and an elephant in the zoo, but also black bears, racoons, a couple of crows, and several breeds of dog. The zoo didn't smell very nice, either :P After an hour or two of wandering around, we had seen everything worth seeing in the zoo (although Nikola would probably tell you that that happened much earlier ;]) and we left again. On the way back to Nikola's apartment, we all had to use the bathroom, so we stopped in to a MacDonalds. You had to pay (not very much, just a few dinars) to get into the bathroom!! There was an attendant outside waiting to collect the money before you could enter either bathroom (but the bathroom itself looked much like those in America). However, I suppose that it is an effective way to ensure the cleanliness of public restrooms, since not just anyone will be able to stop in and use it at will.
Back at Nikola's apartment, I began the sad task of reconstraining all of my belongings to my two suitcases in order to be ready to leave early the next morning. Nikola kindly volunteered his mother to wash my laundry (although I would have been happy to do it myself) and since I had been careful not to spread my belongings too much, it wasn't difficult to gather everything and repack it.
We skipped lunch this day because we were waiting to have a very special supper - chevapi. It is, again, a food of Turkish origin, and very delicious. It consists of a large fried pastry in which is placed meat (sausage) and onions, also fried. Not so healthy, perhaps, but quite satisfying. In addition, we were going to meet Nikola's best childhood friend Lazar and have dinner together with him. So at 6:00 we set out, stomachs grumbling, for the square in which we would meet Lazar and walk together to the cafe. However, Lazar was late and we were just about to head to the cafe without him when yet another adventure found us. A young woman about our age approached us, speaking in Serbian (she was evidently selling something). By this point, I had learned to be silent and let Nikola handle any interaction of this sort, but to my surprise he gave her a blank stare and said, in English, "Um, we don't... speak a language." At my quizzical and somewhat exasperated glance, he silently indicated for me to play along, which I did with a roll of my eyes. In broken English, the lady then explained to us her purpose - she was selling cards to benefit some sort of charity, and wondered whether we would want to buy one. Nikola said, "Well, I don't know, what do you think?" and looked at me, but I was not going to let him force this decision on me, since it was his idea to play dumb. I said, "I don't know, you're the one with the money" and he told the girl that we weren't interested, at which she moved off to bother another group of tourists. I could have smacked Nikola right then, but he turned to me with an impish grin on his face and said, "Her English is getting better. Next time, I might even buy a card if she keeps improving like this." Horrified, I exclaimed, "You've done this before!?!?" at which he just laughed and told me that it was fun to play the part of a dumb tourist. With a reprimanding look I informed him that it was fun as long as you were only acting and could actually speak the language, at which he looked a little more sheepish and we continued on our way.
Since it was nearing the end of my time in Belgrade, I was beginning to search for a souvenir, something cheap and preferably cheesy that would help me remember my time here with a smile. We searched at several street booths and tourist shops, but everything we found was either too cheesy (or useless), too fragile, or too expensive. I also didn't really know what I wanted - perhaps a magnet, perhaps a small figurine... but then we saw the buttons. Nikola, when he had been in the States, had been an avid button collector (when I say button I mean the small round pins that have some silly (or crude) message, or a picture of a band, or a smiley face on them), and I had a small collection of my own at home. So when I saw a posterboard covered in buttons at one of the street stands, I couldn't resist taking a closer look. Most of them were surprisingly lewd or in bad taste, or too American to remind me of Serbia (South Park? Somehow Belgrade doesn't come to mind :P). But then we found one - a simple white button with black cyrillic lettering which spelled "long live chirillitsi". I got the "long live" part, but had to ask "what's 'chi-ri-li-tsi?'" Nikola replied, "This." I was confused. "The button?" I guessed. Rolling his eyes, Nikola said, "No, this. The letters." I had a sudden epiphany. CYRILLIC!!! We both had a good laugh at my foolishness, and I knew that I had found the perfect souvenir.
After chevapi, we met Danilo also walking to choir and headed over in a group. However (as I should have known) the adventures were far from over for the night. The building where Nikola has choir also contains a police station, and walking past the officers at the entrance had always made me a little nervous (I think I was supposed to register with the local police station on arrival, and as far as I know I never did O.o). On this day, there were more men in uniform around than usual, and Danilo (in jest) said, "Ooh, Secret Service. Gentlemen, deport this woman!" Which I promptly informed him was not in the least entertaining. However, when we went to enter the building, we were stopped by the guard who asked our names. Nikola and Danilo explained that they were with the choir and going to rehearsal, but when he came to me, after hearing that I was Nikola's friend visiting from America, he informed me that I would not be allowed to enter the building (apparently some hot-shot ambassador was visiting and he was afraid that I would assassinate him or something??). This news terrified me - if I couldn't go in with Nikola and Danilo, what was I supposed to do? The guard informed me that I could sit in the lobby or outside and wait for them to finish, but sitting alone within sight of the police officers for two and a half hours appealed to me about as much as sitting in a pit of tarantulas for the same amount of time. I began frantically trying to recall the way back to Nikola's apartment - if only I had paid more attention during the week!!! If Nikola walked me home, he would be unforgiveably late to choir, but I still had no working cell phone in Belgrade, so if I got lost trying to find my way back, I would have no idea how to even get help. I had no Serbian currency in my wallet and no inclination to try and find the proper bus that would take me back to Kralja Aleksandar (Nikola's street, which also happens to be the largest street in Belgrade). However, in the midst of my panic, I was saved by a Secret Service agent who happened to come by at that moment. The guard had a hurried conversation with him in which he inquired as to what to do with me: the agent gave me a cursory glance and told the guard with a look that said "You're taking yourself too seriously" that I didn't look like I would pose a problem (at least, that's what I imagine he said. He could have said any number of things, since he was speaking Serbian). The guard told me that I would, in fact, be allowed to accompany Nikola and Danilo and then, turning to Danilo and with a serious look on his face, said "Take care of her." I was too relieved that I wouldn't have to find my way through Belgrade at 7:30 at night to wonder what exactly he meant by that. O.o
Choir practice was uneventful, except that Gilad (who was conducting) couldn't speak Serbian and only about half of the choir could understand his heavily-accented English and American colloquialisms, and even less could communicate back to him. He continued on with fortitude, however, seemingly somewhat oblivious to the trouble he was putting the singers through. He also faced a great deal of difficulty in getting them to be quiet, much more so than with an American choir (I think that's a cultural thing). It was amusing, to say the least.
After choir practice, although I was quite aware that I would have to get up extremely early the next morning and so was more than willing to go back to the apartment and get a good night's sleep, Nikola had other ideas. We went to a kafana (like a tavern) across the street, in the hotel that Gilad was staying in, and hung out over a few drinks (I had water). Gilad turned out to be quite an amusing character and quite teasable, which we all took advantage of. All of Nikola's friends spoke in English (for the most part) for Gilad's and my sake, and I loved the strong Eastern European or British accents, the bad English, and the rowdy atmosphere. All in all, it was the most fun I had had all week, just hanging out with a bunch of kids my age and being ourselves. That is something that is shared across all cultures, no matter what form it takes.
Finally, around 11:30, a group of us bid Gilad good night and started walking home. Nikola, Danilo, Jelena, Mila and I were all heading the same direction, so we started off together, continuing the conversations from in the kafana. Nikola grabbed my camera and started snapping pictures of us walking and talking together - they are some of my favorite from Belgrade. As each member of the group peeled off, they each expressed their disappointment that I was leaving the next day and made me promise to keep in touch through Facebook or Skype. They also begged me to return someday (perhaps at a time of year less stressful for the students, when they didn't have to study for finals). It was amazing how friendly Nikola's friends were, and how much we bonded in only one short week. I do sincerely hope that this won't be my only visit to The White City.
When we finally arrived back at Nikola's apartment, it was already midnight, but the time spent at the kafana and walking home was infinitely more valuable than another hour or two of sleep. On our way home, we had walked past a statue of the only Serbian to ever win a Nobel Prize, and Nikola told me that I would need to remember that. I didn't know what he meant until we arrived at his apartment and his mother informed me that she had a present for me: the book for which Ivo Andric won the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1961, The Bridge on the Drina. (Thank you, Wikipedia ;]) I was touched by the gesture, especially since I had been the one imposing on the Stojanovics all week and if anything, I should be giving them gifts (I had brought a housewarming present of some European chocolate, but it could hardly be appropriate for everything they had done for me :\). I went to bed that night happy about everything that I had had the chance to experience, but sad and disbelieving that my time in Belgrade was nearly over.
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