In which I realize how little I actually know about art

Wednesday, 10:30pm ish. You know, days like today make me wish I actually knew something about art, so I could appreciate the Hermitage a little better. This GIANT art museum used to be Catherine II’s Winter Palace (or the main building did; it’s actually five buildings), and it’s a hugely ornate building to start with, even before you put a bajillion famous works of art inside it. I took a few select pictures, but as a group, we probably spent two hours inside, oh, a twentieth of the museum. (On the other hand, it’s probably a good thing I don’t appreciate art more, or you’d never get me out.) As it is, it’s a lovely place to just stroll through, especially with friends.

About fifteen of us went in together and lost each other almost immediately; six of us came out together and decided that, since our host moms either wouldn’t be home or weren’t expecting us home for a while, we’d eat out in a café on Nevsky. The Literary Café is supposed to be very famous because of its connection with several writers, including Pushkin (there’s a giant portrait of him outside). I’m not sure we got the full experience of that, because with the exception of Irena, who’s a native speaker, we all had to order dinner by the pointing method. But, hey, the food’s great, and we had an experience to brag about, certainly. :D (I had my first borshch! It looks like tomato soup, until you dig down and find all the beet shreds at the bottom. SO GOOD.)

The group split up for separate destinations afterward, and Zoltan and I trekked around in search of a currency exchange for him, then stopped by the Russian National Library. It’s only open 10-5 on weekdays, but we’ll probably head down there again someday soon after classes. Some Wednesday when we’re not having a tour of the Hermitage, probably. :) We headed our separate ways home shortly after, and I curled up with my book for the night. Thankfully, Anna Karenina is so much more readable than The Brothers Karamazov (despite the protests of several friends to the contrary; my friend Matt will not stop his crusade to get me to try Bratya Karamazova again!). I’ll give the latter another try while I’m here, but the copy I was reading back home was almost impenetrably dense. Tolstoy, thankfully, is making me revise my opinion of Russian literature. :)