In which Amanda waxes philosophical about physiognomy

Saturday, 10:00 pm. Negative twenty-eight degrees Celsius. -28°C. Nearly negative twenty Fahrenheit, for those of you stateside. That’s how bloody cold it is outside tonight. Since I’ve been here, it’s constantly been cold enough to see your breath; tonight, it was cold enough to freeze my breath to my glasses. Anyone who’s still out in this weather is either suicidal or really, really brave.

I’ve stayed home this weekend because Lyudmila Afanasyevna finally laid down the law about whatever this chest cold is I’ve been fighting: no going anywhere by myself until I can speak more than four sentences without coughing. :P Plus, who really wants to go exploring museums this weekend when walking to the apteka at the corner of my building was painfully cold? In any case, I’ve been enjoying the warmth of my bed and probably a dozen cups of tea in the past two days, not to mention a pack of cough drops. This situation is not likely to change tomorrow, either, so at least I’ll be able to get large amounts of laundry done and some extra vocabulary reviewed.

My host mother and I did make plans earlier in the week to attend a concert this evening, though, so that’s how I realized just how piercingly cold it is outside. At the State Polytechnic University, there was a performance by a small symphony orchestra and a guest pianist, playing Chopin and Schubert. I’m sure my translation isn’t quite up to par, but I believe the name of the orchestra is the Concert Society of St. Petersburg’s Orchestra. If I am to express my honest opinion, I’ve heard better orchestras, but rarely have I heard a better pianist than the one they were accompanying for the Chopin concerto. Miroslav Kultishev is all of twenty-four, but he’s already won a slew of international honors, including second place in the Tchaikovsky Piano Competition in 2007. (As I understand it, this is like the Grand Mastership of piano-ness.)

I had the chance to watch Mr. Kultishev (oh, heck, I can’t think of him as Mr. Kultishev, the man’s five years older than I am) and then to meet him briefly after the concert, and he left quite the impression. As soon as he walked onstage, I thought, there’s the type of guy I would see on the street and pin down as a concert pianist. With some musicians, you’d never guess that’s their day job; take Mr. Phil Hosford, who I could easily see as a high school math teacher (the cool kind). Miroslav, who’s tall, very skinny, long-haired, and looks like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands until he sits down at the keyboard, couldn’t possibly be anything else…except possibly a painter in an attic apartment. He’s quite shy in person, and understands just enough English to accept a compliment, which he does with his hair sort of falling into his face and a bit of a blush. In different circumstances, I can’t help but think he’d be an interesting person to get to know over a pizza with a few friends. :)

I also had the chance this evening to meet two good friends of Lyudmila Afanasyevna’s: one Adolf Ivanovich, a doctor and former med school colleague of hers, and Larisa, my host mom’s best friend and my friend Kim’s host mother. Thoroughly nice people, who understand about as much English as my host mom does, so we were all able to communicate somehow. I also met an American violin student at the local conservatory whose father was just recently transferred to the consulate here, from DC, of all places. (All three of the adults I had come with kept hinting about this Alexei on the ride back, somewhat to my chagrin. No, I did not get his number. Please. I really try not to date musicians.)

And now, a spy novel from the CIEE library and a bottle of warm water. I have yet to figure out what channel the Olympics are on, and I think all the interesting events are shown after I’ve fallen asleep anyway…so, I’ll just have to follow the updates from my friends. Stay warm, everyone.