To My Family and Friends Back Home

In less than two weeks from today I will be flying home.

I did once look at the huge number of things I need to pack and the size of my suitcases but I just ended up frightening myself. Since then I’ve been supressing the fact that, at some point, I won’t just be able to lounge around listening to Eurovision songs in Icelandic and will actually have to do something productive like packing.

Anyway, today is not about Tetris games or how Icelandic would actually be a really cool language to learn.

Instead, I would like to publically thank my family and friends back home for everything.  So, here it is:      

Dear Family and Friends,

This year was totally self-inflicted. I knew it was coming and still whinged, cried and went on and on at you about it.

Yet, you’ve all been more than patient when I’ve woken you up at 7am your time because, well, I’d been up for at least 4 hours and fancied a chat. You’ve searched for that scrap of paper with my internet password written on it because I was an idiot and forgot it. You’ve kept me in Digestive biscuits and Earl Grey. You have commiserated with me when I, for the hundredth time, complain about how massive a cultural divide there is between Britain and Russia. You’ve visited me, kept me in the loop back home and made sure I still feel a part of things.

You have, in short, been the best family and friends ever. I don’t deserve a bit of how patient and supportive you’ve been, but somehow that didn’t matter to you.

So, THANKYOU all so much. I can’t wait to see you and I promise not to say the ‘R’ word too often.

With Love From Russia (That time doesn't count!)

Me x

Leave Whilst The Going's Good!

        Today is the 21^st of April, which makes it one and a half months until I can drink water from the tap and walk across Waterloo Bridge. Words such as ‘Year Abroad Project’ are now really bad words and ones which inspire nothing but fear. Well, those words and ‘Delayed Student Loan’.

The local temperature has recently reached 13°C. I know I complained about the Arctic winter conditions, but all my summer clothes are in various bin bags in London, Sussex and Kent…So, Russia, I’m sorry! Let me wear my jumpers and thermals again!

Somehow I have also melted the button on the kettle with the thousands of cups of coffee I’ve been drinking to try and get work done. I have definitely spent too much of my (currently seriously depleted) student loan on ‘Calming Music’ on iTunes to off-set the stress caused by said (non-completed) work.

My attempts at speaking Russian are becoming more and more ridiculous as my brain revolts against me in a fruitless bid to speed up the remaining month and a half left here in Piter. Oh, and the death-stare the shop assistant gave me when I asked where I could buy a kettle could have boiled the entire Neva.

So, with a month and a half to go I’m getting pretty desperate to be back in London. Saint Petersburg is fantastic – it’s full of museums, cathedrals, bridges and wonderful experiences to be had, But, I think it’s about time I thought about going home and reclaiming the possessions I left scattered around the South East. Besides, it’s only fair to leave whilst my landlady still has some kitchen appliances that still work...

A Successful Slavic Shrovetide by Sadovaya

It is now three days since the Maslenitsa celebrations and, coincidentally, St. Patrick’s Day. All of us have recovered from pancake-induced comas and the ‘irish’ among us from hangovers.

Now I shall tell you the tale of Maslenitsa in Saint Petersburg.

It was Iuspovoskii park (m. Sennaya Ploshad’/Spasskaya/Sadovaya) whither ‘Team-Let’s-Get-Cultured’ ventured to uphold their erudite name. A rather spectacular slip on the ice upon first arriving in the park might have given the Russians the impression the Team was combining two celebrations. However, upon seeing that we were merely too foreign to remain vertical in such frozen, icy conditions, our reputation remained intact.  

Onwards we moved, past brave Russian children sledging at break-neck speed down a treacherous-looking hill. The lake which formerly dominated the park was, naturally, a frozen white death-trap. In order to prove our foreign-ness does not extend to lack of courage, we took on such a mammoth task and succeeded. [Cue: ‘Why did the students cross the pond?’ jokes]

Smugly enjoying our success we were met by a Tsar and Tsarina singing traditional Russian songs, men taking turns in climbing up a tall pole and shirtless-in-the-snow young lads ‘wrestling’. Fascinated by the pluck of the latter, we resolved that we will never be quite as daring as the Russians.

After standing for fifteen more minutes transfixed by an improvised Ice-Skating Show, we left to warm ourselves in the stolovaya. Unfortunately our ability to stand the cold was not as finely-tuned as that of many Russians, and so we missed the burning of ‘Lady Maslenitsa’, who symbolizes winter. 

Nevertheless, culture was experienced and our mission was accomplished.  Excellent. 

Literally 'we congratulate'. A better translation would be 'Happy Shrovetide!'

A typical example of Maslenitsa dolls and ginger biscuits

Another take on the Maslenitsa doll, with breadstick-like 'sushki' rings

The Maslenitsa doll ready for burning Guy-Fawkes-style

A modern take on Russian fist-fighting

A Very International Shrovetide

Shrovetide officially began on Monday. However, things don’t really kick off until Saturday, since most people have school/University/jobs which means the inevitable pancake-induced food-coma has to wait until then.

Nevertheless, I have my own pancake party to share with you. This was a perfect example of Russian hospitality and tradition. The samovar was cleaned to shiny centre-piece perfection. There were mushroom pancakes, pancakes with caviar, garlic-mayonnaise pancakes and, just for the desperately English among us, pancakes with Golden Syrup. (Yes. I did.)

The Pancake Party also coincided with International Women’s Day (not so international since England doesn’t celebrate it?) This is a day when women are given flowers, chocolates and other presents and their existence is generally celebrated by all, themselves included. This is also a day when the men are supposed to do ‘women’s work’. I have learnt that it is unwise to bring up the word ‘feminism’ with my Russian friends, and so did not ask for them to expand on the definition of ‘women’s work’. (That is another story altogether.)

The students among us knew our place and so set up camp on cushions on the floor (after all, we all know you will become infertile if you sit on the cold floor). Since we (the students) hailed from all over Europe, English was the easier common-language than Russian. However, Russia was still in presence en masse, and so English was only used to summarize our long, convoluted Russian conversations. But, I do think we succeeded in not giving the impression we were rude or cunningly plotting Maslenitsa fist-fights all over the city. Excellent.

So, perhaps the only Russian part of our Shrovetide celebrations to date has been the presence of a samovar and some Russian friends? However, this weekend will surely correct our experience of Russian Orthodox Shrovetide and, hopefully, not involve too many hospitalizations from fist-fight injuries or pancakes. 

The Pancake Table

A few of us still-standing after the celebrations!

Apparently It's Spring In Russia

 ‘Spring’ is sunshine, bright yellow daffodils and fluffy white lambs. It is a cheery cheerfulness that, oh happy days, I can leave my cumbersome scarf, winter boots and coat at home today as the outside temperature is no longer sub-arctic.

Russia doesn’t know this yet.

Either that, or spring here really is -13°C temperatures, sleeping in gloves because the State-controlled central heating has been switched off and spending the majority of one’s student loan on medication for winter weather-related illnesses.

On the plus side of things, ‘Maslenitsa’ or Pancake Week begins on the 11^th of March. This is a week of Shrove Tuesdays, singing, dancing, visiting family/friends and having family/friends to visit, all the while eating an enormous number of pancakes (pancakes represent the sun, which is good because Piter currently has no sun).

The celebrations would not be complete without the straw effigy of ‘Lady Maslenitsa’. At the end of Pancake Week this effigy is burnt Guy-Fawkes style, signifying the beginning of spring and, of course, Lent. Back in the day it was also common practice for mass fist-fights to take place (very well depicted in the 1998 Russian-language film ‘The Barber of Siberia’). Such fights were banned then allowed then banned again. It is said that Peter the Great himself encouraged such fights in order to ‘show the strength of the Russian people’. Hmm…

These fights would (naturally) always be before ‘Forgiveness Sunday’, the final day of the celebrations. Then begins the ‘Fast’. I mentioned to a Russian friend the possibility of giving up meat and was met with an incredulous stare reserved only for ridiculous foreigners. Silly me.

So, spring may not have really started yet, but I’m sure the Pancake Week celebrations will be diverting enough that we can hold out a bit longer. Soon the majority of one’s student loan might even be spent on sun-cream. Imagine that. 

Modern Russian Art

So much influences what we say, how we say it or even if we say anything at all.

Fatigue, anger, fear, hunger and sadness all wreak havoc on our ability to control what comes out of our mouths, or what doesn’t. So much of our time is occupied by trying to fit in, to behave in an acceptable manner, to oppress uncomfortable, painful emotions because to express them would be inappropriate or seemingly useless.

Yesterday I went to the Erarta Gallery of Modern Russian Art on 29^th Line of Vasilevskii Island. There is bizarre art, hilarious art, touching art and rather-loosely-interpreted-concept-of-art by Russian painters, sculptors and mavericks.

I would like to say, ‘Visit Erarta, it’s fantastic!’, but it’s hard to recommend an art gallery. We project our own emotions and experiences on to that which we see. A piece of art that makes me laugh may provoke an entirely different reaction in someone else. Neither reaction is right or wrong, but appropriate for our separate experiences.

Perhaps this is why galleries can be so freeing; It is as if you are being allowed to feel, to look inwards. Introversion and self-reflection is, for however brief a moment, not a bad habit or a luxury.

You can learn a lot about yourself by your reaction to a piece of art. Some pieces of art made me recoil in disgust, others made me cry, others made me laugh so hard I thought I might have to be escorted from the building.

So, here’s sharing the artistic expression and some of my favourite pieces…

Sharafiev Gleb In A World Of Beauty

Maria Okyneva's contribution to the Fashion Wedding VI exhibit

Dmitriy Shorin Lorenz

Aleksei Gaidin's contribution to the Fashion Wedding VI exhibit

Nikolai Sazhin Shrovetide

Puzzlement in Piter

I am slowly convincing myself that I have multiple-personality disorder. There’s a Russian-me and English-me. Whilst in English I can talk for England (yes, I wrote it), in Russian I’m so tragically silent.

Being unable to voice your thoughts because you can’t translate them is extremely frustrating and also rather depressing. It is as though your brain is waging war against you, finally having been given the chance to control what’s in your head and what comes out of your mouth.

This, apart from being creatively stifling, also brings with it a huge amount of guilt. Maybe it’s just me, but I feel as though I’m lying to all my Russian friends by not saying things I might otherwise have said in English. Let’s not be under the assumption any of these things are important or profound, for that would definitely be lying. But, they are thoughts that I would consider perfectly acceptable to voice and are indicative of my character. Am I, therefore, lying by omission?

Further to this point, I’m far shyer in Russian than in English because of the language barrier.  If I don’t know exactly how to translate something, I won’t say it. This is from experience; What is initially intended to be a flippant comment can spark whole hours of discussion as you desperately try to explain exactly what you meant or the way in which the comment was meant to be interpreted. By the end of the discussion both parties are left in a state of confusion, awkwardness and the original subject of conversation has been long forgotten. This. Is. Exhausting.

So perhaps, such tacit behaviour in Russian is a mixture of both inability and laziness.

Or, put in a way with which I am comfortable; It is a mélange of being a language student and supporting social harmony. I mean, God forbid I have a flaw in my personalities. 

Winter Wanderlust

Piter is grey and unforgiving this time of year. Every pavement is awash with slush and black ice and neither is preferable to the other. It is certainly a time when moody self-reflection triumphs and recurring dreams of sprawling across a green lawn under the hot summer sun in Sussex torment.

The other day I went to the far-western side of Vasilevskii Island to the Gulf of Finland. The view was one of hostile wintry whiteness, a harsh and frosty landscape looking out into the frozen nothingness between Russia and Finland. This certainly offered some respite from worries and heartache for your mind becomes as blank as the scenery.

It is hard to remain positive and cheerful when the weather is so brutally set against you. Crippling Wanderlust turns the inner monologue of even the most determined Year Abroad student into a tornado of negative emotions and guilt. “You should be enjoying yourself”, “How many other people get such a wonderful opportunity?”

However, thinking this way will get me nowhere. June will come quickly and then I’ll want to stay in Piter, such is the schizophrenic nature of my Wanderlust.

So, I suppose I must take comfort in the fact that the sun will again rise over Piter and this ‘skyka’, ‘toska’ or whatever the appropriate Russian word for this type of unhappiness is (for there are many..) will be short-lived.

Either that, or I’ll just obsess about this coming Summer when the only ice around me will be that floating in my glass of Pimms.