Russian spring is...ironic

Tuesday, 7:00 pm. We now return you to your more-or-less regularly scheduled rambling blog post. :) Yesterday was the first Monday evening orchestra rehearsal I’ve attended, and I think I’ve established the structure of my Mondays here: class 11:30 – 5, then walking straight home after class, grabbing something quick for dinner, and leaving after about fifteen minutes to catch the bus to the main campus. Somehow, I was under the impression that Monday’s rehearsals started at 6:30…thankfully, I was wrong, and I was in fact present for the entire rehearsal. There’s a small concert on Wednesday at which those of the orchestra who can make it will be playing three of our pieces, but I teach on Wednesdays, which was accepted with quiet regret. I rather enjoy being a violist…among other reasons, because people actually notice if you’re absent. :) I even ended up making awkward half-understood small talk with Konstantin Fyodorovich, the conductor, on the bus on the way home. His commute makes me grateful for my own, actually; he takes the metro way out to the end of the blue line, then a bus from there. It makes my one-bus route look positively easy!

I had a very pleasant email Monday evening just before leaving. The results of our Russian speed dating two weeks ago have been published, and we’ve been paired with sobesedniki! As I expected, I’ve been matched with Ilya, the classic rock enthusiast. We have very tentative plans to meet this weekend, but so far they haven’t gone further than exchanging phone numbers. I think we’re both pretty psyched. :D

Tuesday’s classes were pretty normal, and this is one of the few nights when I don’t have extracurricular plans, so it’s laundry night. Thankfully, the repairman who woke me up with a drill a few days ago managed to fix the washer, so Amanda can has clean blue jeans. :D Probably the most eventful part of the day was the one-month interview with the CIEE staff, actually. I sat down with Jarlath for fifteen minutes and we talked about extracurriculars, the host family situation, Russian food, and the fact that the group is visiting Tsarskoye Selo the day before our birthday. :D:D:D:D:D:D (Tsarskoye Selo is a palace a couple of hours outside St. Petersburg where Nicholas II moved his family shortly before the revolution. I’ve only read about it in my guidebook, but the photos are GORGEOUS. Happy Amanda!) Jarlath actually sought my opinion on a School of Political Science talent show, which I heartily endorsed. I may have come off as a little overly bubbly during the interview, but I can’t help it. I’m loving it here!

I’ve also started, and gotten about halfway through, Lolita. It’s disturbing, but it’s also fascinating, hard to put down, and the most accessible piece of Russian literature I’ve ever picked up, which is quite nice. I appreciate the classics as much as anyone—heck, I finished the Complete Works of William Shakespeare before graduating high school—but every so often, it’s nice to be able to read a work of serious literature without having to go back and review every page to figure out which Princess So-and-so was having an affair with whom this time around. (Plus, Erica can finally get off my case about not having read it! Now, if Matt finds me a suitable translation of The Brothers Karamazov, I’ll work on that one next. But I’m letting it rest for now.) I may or may not be revisiting Bukvoed, the store where I found Lolita, this weekend. If I do, I’m going in a group again. :)

Lyudmila Afanasyevna has given up meat and eggs for Lent, which is both good and bad (and doesn’t really affect me, as she continues buying meat for me…awkward, but not necessarily something to change). On the one hand, she cooks some amazing vegetarian food; on the other hand, this means fish. Lots of fish. Lots of very STRONG fish. The entire apartment, starting at about two feet outside the door, smells like fish. Welcome to spring, everyone.

…actually, speaking of spring, apparently it’s started already as far as Russia is concerned. As Albina Vitalievna explained to us on Monday, March means spring, period. “Russian spring” is not spring. “Russian spring” means two inches of water (at least) on the sidewalks, slick barely-melted ice, MORE falling icicles, and ‘wintry mix’ that would stupefy a DC weatherman. One minute it’s snow, the next it’s rain, the next your glasses are crusted over. It makes getting anywhere particularly interesting, let me conclude. I sound like I’m complaining, but this whole paragraph reads better if you imagine it with an ironic laugh attached. Just another of the adventures we didn’t truly anticipate when we applied to this program. :) (Also, I am still allowing myself a moment of moral superiority every time one of my program-mates swears she HAS to buy rubber boots like mine.)

I think my jeans are done, so it’s time to break out the drying rack and wrap this up. Tomorrow: Russian Civ, Russian chorus, and English teaching! Tonight, there shall be nothing more eventful than another couple cups of tea, I hope. Stay dry, everyone. :)