First weekend

It's sunny again! And my feet hurt. I walk much more here than I did in Ithaca, on the scale of miles every day. Public transportation is great, but it never gets you to get exactly where you're going, and considering that I haven't found a gym or other means of exercise, the walking is good for me. And there's no better way to see the city than roaming its streets making wrong turns.

It's hard for me to believe that I just lived this past weekend. It turns out that I know the same people as a few kids on this trip. A boy from my Russian class (Jake/Fedya) went to high school with Sarah, with whom I hit it off pretty quickly. We decided almost on a whim to room together in a triple (with Rebecca--just throwing names out because it feels wrong not to), a situation that's working out really well so far. No sooner had I dropped my bags in my room than I found myself trotting along the canal with Sarah on our way to a documentary film festival at Klub Arktika to see a film that her friend Karina made for class. I met her "Russian friend" (wink wink) André, another film student who speaks only a little bit of English. The way the two of them communicate is beautiful to watch and listen to, a playful compromise between her broken Russian and his broken English. If language is a barrier, then they're Pyramus and Thisbe learning to kiss through a hole in the wall. She's been here for two summers already, so she understands most of what she hears and speaks very good, practical, rudimentary Russian. Between my jagged conversational skills, André's English, and Sarah sweetly acting as interpreter, we managed to pleasantly pass several hours together. On our way back towards the dorm (past one particularly menacing residential building that took close to 10 minutes to walk by--it spanned the length of the canal), she turned from André, with whom she'd been conversing in incomprehensible Russian, and said, "I know you're jet-lagged and must be very tired, so you may not want to, but we're going out to visit his family in Kamenka for the night, and if you'd like to come, you're welcome to." I briefly considered the pro's and con's--going back to the dorm for a much-needed 13 hours of sleep or so, or braving the depths of sleep deprivation in Soviet Kamenka.

Well. In about an hour we were on the train out to Kamenka, about 200 km (I'm practicing!) of St. Petersburg, a 1 hr 40 min ride. When I asked Sarah how much train tickets cost she laughed a little and explained that it's no more expensive to pay the "fine" (bribe) if they catch you without a ticket than it is to just buy one, and it's far cheaper if they don't come through and check (which is most of the time).

That's another thing: bribing is natural here. It's expected. The police often stop people who've done nothing and either hassle them until they hand over a wad of cash or just downright rob them. If you refuse to give them money they can conjure up on the spot some crime you're not guilty of. Most people don't fight it, and most people in official positions expect bribes. So, when the train conductor did come through the compartments, André wordlessly handed over 100 rubles (like, $3?) and she moved on without a comment.

Night had fallen when we got to the Kamenka station, and as the train pulled to a stop and we walked forward through the cars (like running down the down escalator), Sarah casually threw over her shoulder--to my deliriously fatigued delight--"Oh, so...we might have to hitchhike a little." We followed the crowd onto the platform and André secured us a ride the 20 minutes into town with two young men who blasted factory-direct hi-tempo industrial techno and sipped Baltika 7 (think Keystone Light, in large glass bottles), which the driver held between his knees as he steered. Uhhhh....sometimes I forget I'm in Russia.

As I'd been warned, André's mother was cooking when we got there, even though it was 11:00. Everything they've taught you about Russian mothers is true. Every time I'd put down my fork, Natalya would say "Kushe, kushe!" ("Eat, eat!"). If I refused something her face fell into an awful expression of affront and genuine concern and she'd quietly say "No Pochemu?" ("But why?"). The next morning she cooked us a gigantic breakfast and, even though I was still full from the night before, I swallowed my refusals along with her delicious fried squash pancakes and rice porridge. After breakfast we took a walk down to the lake with Alyosha, André's 6-year-old brother (So as not to eat anymore, I whispered to Sarah, and she laughed).

The language barrier was difficult, but fun. Natalya made jokes or argued with her son, and after everyone finished laughing Sarah would translate. "What she said, was..." I understood bits of it, and talked a little, and when we ran out of things to talk about I just pointed to things and they taught me the names.

We returned to Petersburg exhausted, sleeping on the train with our backpacks as pillows, and André bid us goodbye on the metro. The two of us walked around Nevsky Prospekt until 5:30 when we met the group for a boat tour of the city. But I was still so tired, the guide's commentary melted into the buzz of the motor in a vaguely Slavic drone that hit the ear slightly like language. I slipped in and out of sleep, happily drinking in the sun and feeling grounded, present, and unhurried.

And that night we bought Baltika and walked along the beach on the Gulf of Finland, me, Joe, Lila, Rebecca, Alisa, and Joe's roommate Matio--celebrating our Last Day of Summer with our feet dangling off the pier, our mouths full of laughter and cheap beer.