I left off on Thursday after classes, neglecting to mention the adventure at the Times, which wasn’t very different from previous weeks, but lovely nonetheless. The other copy editing intern, a British university student named Sebastian, and I have developed somewhat of a rhythm, and Shura and Toby, the editors, frequently consult me on minor points of British versus American English. (Was anyone aware that the phrase ‘drunk driving’ becomes ‘drink driving’ in Britain?) Friday was also pretty normal, and I ended up spending the evening in with a headache and a Ken Follett novel.
My motivation to get going Saturday morning was the chance to meet Adam and Melissa at an art museum on Vasilievsky Island; not that art museums are my idea of Saturday morning excitement, but they’re awesome people. Alas, it was not to be, for we apparently wandered around two separate floors of the museum and missed each other entirely (I’m not sure how, because it was a very small museum). I walked further down the Neva embankment to the Church of the Very Shiny Domes, once home to an order of what I think were Ukrainian monks (also with very shiny domes, perhaps?), now really just another pretty church. I’ve grown to really enjoy spending time in these churches, even just to admire the art; this one also had what had to be fifty-gallon drums of holy water (see photo). Unless they did their baptisms right in the tanks, I have no idea what you need THAT much holy water for, especially when there’s a whole river right outside your door. I finally caught up with the duo at dance rehearsal, at which the only bit of dance training I’ve been able to really retain came in extremely useful: Mom teaching me to polka. :D I think we’ve all got the one-two-three-and-one-two-three in our feet now, even if we can’t waltz without crashing into each other. Saturday night was also a quiet evening with a book; if I’m going to go out with friends, I’d rather not start off the adventure with a pressure headache. Bloody weather. I spent Sunday with my delightfully quirky friend Hayley, wandering the city and polka-ing down Nevsky Prospekt. It was so much fun, and definitely worth the stares. :D
Monday rolled around, as it tends to do, and classes began again, as they must. We’ve spent three-quarters of the semester in our grammar class reviewing concepts we’d either already learned or briefly touched upon, and acquiring new vocabulary by osmosis. Now, all of a sudden, Albina Vitalievna springs the genitive case on us (and, more importantly, genitive plural—there are at least twelve different ways to pluralize things in this one case, depending on spelling, pronunciation, and the phase of the moon), and we’re all lost. Not lost to the point where it will be detrimental to my grades, Mom, just lost when we try to do something as radical as form our own sentences with this case. Grr. The beginning of my week ran as follows: three hours of grammar class, orchestra rehearsal (lovely, but disorganized, with nobody able to answer the simple question of ‘so when’s our next concert?’), and three more hours of grammar class the next morning. Vastly exciting, as I’m sure you can tell.
Wednesday was civilization class, Russian chorus, and English class. Russian chorus was spent preparing a number for the ball, which was supposed to be a duet between the gentlemen of the group and the ladies; however, we had one gentleman and eight ladies. God bless Eric for continuing to show up in the face of overwhelming gender discrepancies. In any event, we managed to convert four of our ‘sudarinas’ into ‘sudars,’ split ourselves into two voice parts, and then get completely lost once Irina Gennadyevna left and Katya and Anya tried to teach us a dance to go with the song. Considering that most of the group is going to be holding the lyrics anyway, we’ll see how this goes. After classes, we had the opportunity to tour the rooms where Lenin worked at the Smolny Institute, next door...but I have to admit, the tour was given in very fast Russian and summarized in about four sentences per monologue by Jarlath, so I probably didn't absorb as much as I could have. I mean, sure, seeing Lenin's desk was pretty cool, but the most memorable part of the whole visit was the rather munchkin-like statue of Lenin outside (see photo). Wednesday evening’s English class wrapped up the unit on ‘the mind’, with discussion topics as varied as apartheid and the film Kingdom of Heaven. (Olga Vladimirovna calls it ‘a load of b.s.’ I can’t say that it’s the best film I’ve ever seen, especially in terms of historical accuracy, but I like the fight scenes.)
Thursday was the best part of the week, hands down; I left school right after phonetics (ugh) to go pick up my parents’ package! FINALLY! Two and a half months passed since Mom mailed the bloody thing, but at least it made it here in enough time that I can make use of the contents! I made my way to the Alexander Nevsky Square metro station, clutching my passport and the package slip, and nearly tripped over the post office at the far end of Old Nevsky Prospekt. I waited half an hour with a mixed crowd of rather impatient Russians because the station was closed for its ‘technical break’, which I guess is sort of like a siesta in Spain, except not standardized across anything. Finally, the post office ladies finished their vastly important technological maneuverings and opened the door, and I got in line behind another gentleman holding his passport. I managed to confuse the woman at the desk by signing my name in English letters, even after I’d handed over my American passport, but eventually she dragged out a burlap mail sack, slit the plastic tie, and handed me a box weighing nearly twenty pounds. It seems very American of me to be made so happy by the acquisition of material objects, but then again, this was a slice of home. My familiar Russian textbook (with which I will kick the figurative behind of the genitive case!). A jar of peanut butter. Two of my favorite t-shirts, including one from Brookside Gardens. Real American chocolate. Paul Mitchell shampoo. Even a copy of the latest Redwall book to come out in paperback. I’m rather glad Lyudmila Afanasyevna wasn’t home, because I literally cried for five minutes in a mixture of happiness and homesickness. Thank you once again, Mom, for making my life so much better. :D
Thursday evening at the Times was a very slow process, as Shura and Toby went back and forth on which articles to use and which ones to cut, and Sebastian and I had a paper airplane war and occasionally took a break to do something radical like edit a page. :) I finally left the paper at about ten-fifteen, having finished the novel Doomwyte twice by the time I got home. I polished my heels, had some tea, and lay awake for a long time. The night before the ball, I had a lot to think about…as you’ll see in the next post! ;)
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