такого как путин

Things I Should Be Doing Right Now:
---Writing спасибо (Thank You) cards to all of our professors and office workers. (This would usually be a good procrastination method from having to do real work. However the fact that said notes have to be in Russian and hopefully have minimal mistakes makes me very much not want to do this. At least Megan said that it isn’t that big of a deal if there are grammar mistakes. The professors would definitely not believe we wrote them if they were completely free of mistakes)
---Doing my phonetics homework.
---Proofreading my politics paper – because no matter how many times I read it and reread it, I will still get it back covered in red ink due to my complete inattention/inability to correctly use case declensions.
---Going to bed, as it is now 1:12 a.m.

Things I Am Not Doing Right Now:
---All of the above.

I finished writing my paper though. It is 20 pages long. Well, like 19 and a half. I’m not really sure how this happened. I guess I sort of have been writing it for a month. But still, it’s 20 pages and it’s in Russian and it’s FULL of mistakes!!! But it’s still done (well sort of). There is lots of footnoting and further proofreading that needs to occur. Then there is some sort of oral presentation/defense which has to happen. Ahh.

I told myself I couldn’t write a blog entry until I finished the paper tonight, because as soon as I start functioning in English to write the blog, it would have been impossible to go back to Russian writing mode. I mean more impossible than Russian writing mode is usually (and Russian writing mode is always very impossible and highly unproductive). However the lesson learned is that many nights of highly unproductive-ness can still result in a high overall level of productivity.

It’s like when you’re in high school and you take 6 months to write the 15 page senior paper and then you get to college and you write 10 page papers in a weekend – or if you are Flora, you write them in like 4 hours.

I calmed down off the “throw everything away/give everything away/leave it all in Russia” bandwagon and now tomorrow shall call cab driver to arrange for me to be driven with baggage to Andrei’s house in Moscow where I can leave my stuff for December and January while we with Sonya travel about the country. Also, I wonder why I brought my Chaco’s to Russia. Did that ever sound like a good idea? But I pretend that my excuse is that I wanted to wear them at Laurel’s house and then they just got brought along to Boston and then to New York and then to Moscow. But it’s still sort of highly ridiculous. Plus they’re heavy. Not that there is any way my luggage will ever be under the weight limit to get back to the U.S.

Things That Actually Relate To Russia

The Loko game on Monday: You’re not going to understand my amazing cleverness unless you speak Russian. Oh well. So I was on the marshrytka along with half of the population of Yaroslavl. Now that it’s actually cold and snowy, the marshrytka’s are almost always FULL of people. But my maneuvering/shoving of people skills to reach the door have greatly improved since that culture moment/getting disastrously lost in Bragino. So whenever you go to a Loko game, like half of the marshrytka gets off at the stop for the arena. But on this marshrytka, there were a lot of шуба (dead animal-fur coat) wearing women. Шуба pronounced “shoo-buh” and so I definitely assumed that they would not be exiting for the hockey game. Oh man, was I wrong. There were so many шубы (много шуб) at the hockey game. This is where my cleverness comes in. A hockey puck is called шайба “shai-buh.” And I came to the conclusion that if I was in charge I would make there be a mandatory decision for every woman between шуба and шайба. It’s clever because the two words sound like each other. Like you can’t have the best of both worlds. You can’t get to go to hockey games and get to wear the dead animal (Margarita thinks she has ridded me of my vegetarian habits-Haha. She has not completely. I still call it a dead animal and not a fur coat.) Every woman has to make a choice. You can pick шайба (puck) or you can pick шуба (animal/coat). I think it was a lot more clever when it only existed in my head. It doesn’t sound very clever at all, now that I have typed it.

Today at basketball practice the girls were talking about how their parents forbid them to play sports when they were young. So they secretly had to go to basketball or football practice (remember that when I say football, I am logically referring to the sport played by such people as David Beckham and Mia Hamm, and not the sport played by such people as OJ Simpson). And then I was glad that I had never taken my hockey stick to basketball practice when we used to play hockey on Monday nights. I don’t think they would have understood/been accepting of the idea of me not only playing ice hockey (Margarita has asked me like 800 times if I have ever tried figure skating. Answer: NO), but playing ice hockey on the boys team all the way through high school, plus playing pick up with the men at Arena. So the fact that they were forbidden from playing sports is so like 1950’s or something or earlier, I don’t know. It’s old. Also, mother, thank you for not forbidding me from playing hockey.

I feel like the blog is recently much less “this is what I did,” and more “this is what I think.” I don’t know how I feel about that.

The elections to the State (federal) Dyma are on Sunday. Edinaya Rocciya is going to win. They’re going to get like 60% or more. This is okay with me, I think. Today I decided I wanted to read what English newspapers were saying about the upcoming elections. Oh man. I forgot how much America doesn’t like Putin. Like they just ripped him apart and talked about how its not true democracy and how this European delegation of observers of the voting process (there has to be a better English word to explain this, but I can’t think of it) declined to come because according to them, Russia was being really annoying and only wanted to supply visas for like ¼ of their delegation. But the English-language (i.e. not just British) newspapers wrote that Putin said that the delegation didn’t come because America convinced them not to come so that Russia would look bad and look like we were trying to conduct somehow rigged or unfair elections. And then there were various Putin quotes about Europe and America keeping their noses out of Russia’s business and not meddling in our internal affairs. But the translations were not anything close to something Putin would ever say. He wouldn’t have insulting comments about “America staying out of our business.” I listen to his speeches on the news every day. He doesn’t talk like that. That’s more like Bush quality of speaking. Also I heard Bush’s voice on the news because the dubbing was delayed like 5 seconds after Bush started speaking. And I forgot how much I hate his voice. Like he just sounds like a complete loon. Perhaps even a goon.

So anyways, it was crazy reading what the English-speaking press is saying about the elections on Sunday. Also they keep mentioning the “next president” of Russia which we don’t really talk about in Russia, because everyone just sort of secretly thinks it’s going to be Putin. Maybe not everyone, but a lot of people. I think I agree with them. And since presidential elections are on March 2 (I won’t be here. Ah!!! The misery is overwhelming.) that means he would have to leave the presidency before Dec 23 in order to declare his candidacy. And he is also the only candidate on the Edinaya Rocciya list to the federal Dyma. And elections are on the 2nd (in two days). So there is the possibility that he could then become a deputat in the Dyma for 3 months and then go back to the presidency. But if he does this, he is going to have to resign from the presidency like soon. But he keeps talking about the “next president,” but no one actually believes him. Not that any Russians are really that angry about this. He has a huge popularity rating. I feel like I didn’t know that when I was in the U.S. The population actually incredibly supports him. And there are no other political personality’s in Russia even close to the support that Putin has. So mainly Russians would support him having a third term. I'm pretty sure that didn't make sense that whole thing I just wrote about Putin. But sort of the whole point is that it is really complicated and he might resign really soon in order to be able to have a 3rd term without disrupting the constitution. But he might not. But no one really knows.

Also this is related to earlier comment about the voting observing people from Europe not coming. When we saw this on the news, Margarita had the most awesome comment ever. I don’t actually remember what she said, but it was something that would be translated like “Well, who gives a damn.” Like, if the snotty Europeans and Americans don’t approve of our elections, we don’t really care, at all. And this attitude is awesome. Except of course, Russia gets completely trashed in the international press because of not complying with the election observer people (I really wish I could think of a better word), but America always has the “Fuck the world. We do what we want” attitude. Hey, let’s go invade Afghanistan. And Iraq. And not sign the Kyoto Pollution Treaty Protocol Thing.

Going to write the Thank-You notes. I bet as soon as I have to use some hard case ending, I will think of a really important thing to write about on my blog. I wonder if they’ll know if I write them all the exact same note.

Ugh. There’s 11 cards. I’ve only written 2. Ah. I just used the ты form instead of the вы form.

Also when I was reading about Putin in the U.S. press they referred to the такого как путин song in which the girl sings about how wants a boyfriend like Putin who doesn't drink or run away and is strong. And they used this to show how dominating Putin is and how he brainwashes all of the Russians into being in love with him and not being a true democracy. Except all of the Russians also realize how ridiculous this song is.

выйти из шкафа

A. Today in phonetics we had to listen to the tape recording of us reading a Pushkin poem in early September right when we arrived. In short, I was appalled by my speaking ability (or lack thereof). I was also appalled by what my voice actually sounds like. But that always happens when I have to hear myself on message machines or such. It doesn’t even sound like Russian when I speak. Then we listened to the recording we just recorded today. And there were differences. So that was good. Apparently I discovered in the past 3 months that there are “soft” letters/sounds in Russian language and so it sounds a little better. But it’s still so atrocious. Maybe I should be optimistic. “Look at the process you made in only three months.” “Recognize your ability to tell the difference between good Russian and bad Russian, because that is the first step to reaching a level of good Russian.” Oh god, but it is so bad.

Б. And I feel like the Russian I speak in the university is like 10 times better than any Russian I speak on the street. Like, I can’t try to conjugate a verb correctly or worry about the soft “l” that I am supposed to be articulating because I am too busy trying to not get hit in traffic. I also just feel like I’ve gotten lazy in Russian. Like I never really study that much anymore. And if I do, I don’t spend my time memorizing vocabulary words. I guess it’s not my vocabulary that limits me so much. It’s just like the more “real” Russian I hear, the more aware I become of the little constructions and nuances that I completely understand but never remember when I am trying to formulate my thoughts. And then I try to defend myself that I have reached a functional level in Russia where I can buy train tickets and buy tickets to hockey games and concerts and theatres and reserve hotel rooms and read the newspaper and come away understanding the basic thoughts and etc. and so maybe I should stop worrying about the grammar and awkward constructions and accent. But it’s still really worrisome. And I don’t really know what the answer is. I guess I should just make myself talk more. I know that the answer is not “Go back to Midd and don’t take a Russian class for the spring.” But that’s what I have to do.

В. What is the difference between when we say “I have” and we say “I have got” because Vacilica’s husband Aleksei refuses to believe me that there is really no difference. And that maybe the only difference is that “I have got” is conversational and I would never write that. Plus I feel like I never actually say “I have got.” But that is what he always says, plus that’s what they teach in the English textbook at School Number 4 where I teach, and I don’t want to ruin their whole “I have got…” construction.

Г. This is still related to me complaining about how bad I am at Russian. So at some point in my study of Russian I realized that they don’t use the construction “Me and Sonya” (shout-out to Sonya!), instead Russians would say “We with Sonya.” So I started using this form. And at first I feel like an imposter, like this is some construction only allowed to be used by people who actually speak the language. But then you get over it and you go about explaining how “We with the babyshka watch ‘Dances on the Ice’ every Sunday night.” And you feel like you cracked this code and it is awesome. And then today in grammar, our professor explained that when foreigners use the construction “Me and Sonya” it sounds to a Russian like I actually involved in said activity and was forced to drag Sonya along as like a suitcase that I was pulling behind me. Like Sonya becomes a very unappreciated and insulted participant in said activity. So apparently I didn’t crack any secret code when I began saying “We with Sonya,” I just made it sound like Sonya was an actual person who was equally involved in such activity and she stopped being some large bulky useless item/person which I dragged along behind me.

Д. Also you can’t say “я голодна” “I’m hungry” because that is automatically a foreigner construction and Russians understand what you are saying, but secretly think you are a weirdo. You are supposed to say some huge long verb which I will now be forced to go look up in a dictionary. Returned. Said verb. Проголодаться (с.в.) So now I will try to remember to say я проголодалась.

Е. Why am I always exhausted when I wake up at like 7:15. But now it is 1:00 a.m. and I am not going to bed and instead typing this blog.

Ё. Every day I involve myself in this huge battle (this battle only occurs in my head) of “stay or go.” Haha. You all thought I had decided weeks ago that I was going back to Midd for the spring. And I did decide. Except now everyday I want to stay here more and more. Not that I ever really wanted to leave that much. It just seemed like a responsible choice to go home and finish college. So then I made the mistake of asking Megan what would happen if I told her now that I actually wanted to stay. And she said “We would figure it out.” This was not the correct answer. The correct answer would have been. “Abby, you already made your choice. You have to leave.” But I am going to leave. And then I will be able to come back. And it will all be okay. But I can’t actually guarantee that I get on my plane leaving Moscow. That sounds like one of the most ridiculous things I have ever thought. After all, the only reason I got on the plane to Frankfurt and Moscow was because I couldn’t abandon Natalie and SpongeBob (disguised in the pea coat) in the New York airport.

Ж. Are you allowed to гулать by yourself or does such activity require you to have companions?
И. Vacilica asked me different English words which mean crazy person and I came up with fool and idiot and then……..LOON. And I didn’t know if I should share with her this gold mine of a word (you’re definitely not allowed to say gold mine of a word…). But then I told her and she totally didn’t understand that I had just revealed to her the best word in the English language. She didn’t understand that she had been let into this secret group of people who know and utilize the word loon in their daily speech. She didn’t understand that she had been revealed a secret English word which will someday sweep the English speaking world and possibly get adopted into Russian and take various case forms so there will be много лунов and people will spend their time talking about сумасшедших лунах.

К. Life is so much easier when I am in my “selfish don’t change the world” mode. But then I get in this “change the world” mode and it’s just so exhausting to be affected by everyone else’s problems. It’s not everyone though. It’s just the kids. Maybe I should feel bad for all of the really poor Russian grandmothers living alone because their husbands already died and barely surviving on their small pension payments. But I don’t really feel that bad for them. This is going to sound really mean, but I feel like I approach them as more of historical relics from the Soviet Union than as real people. Oh man. I am a horrible person. Anyways, the babyshkas don’t tug at my heart strings. Why do I use all of these strange English idioms now? The kids do though. Not all of the kids. The kids at School 4 where I teach English are really cute, but they don’t get to me. They’re all 10 years old and they already have 2 cell phones each. These kids are rich. Well their parents are. As Margarita would say in her disgusted tone “бизнес…” (business). I am ashamed of my cell phone when I enter School Number 4. But it’s the other kids who don’t have money and don’t really have much of a future. Like I walk past the little boys playing hockey on the sidewalk and well mainly I just want to play hockey with them, but I also just want to take care of them.

Л. So now I have to return to Russia to personally take care of all the poor and mistreated Russian children. This is what I felt like when I was in New Orleans. That somebody just needed to do something for these kids. But then the feeling fades and you sort of realize you can’t change the whole world and so maybe it’s not worth spending all your time stressing about it. But I feel like I’ve changed my “change the world itself” life plan to a “change the world one child at a time” life view.

М. Agh. This is completely not about Russia. Also it is 2:10 in the morning and I am still typing this. I am going to not be happy when the alarm on my phone goes into its shrilly, peppy alarm ring tomorrow (today) morning.

Н. Now it is Thursday morning. And I am running out of time to write this. Soon (actually like right now), I have to leave to go to the university so that I can use the internet and then go teach English and then go to basketball practice and then come home and eat dinner and do my homework (write the final 3 pages of my 20 pg. politics paper!).

О. There’s lots of other important things to write about:
-I went to another Loko game. It was awesome, as usual. We won 4-2. And came back from 2-1 losing margin entering the 3rd period.
-If you are wondering how to say a gay person came out of the closet in Russian, you just say выйти из шкафа which translates directly as to walk out of the closet. This is brilliant.
-I’m leaving Yaroslavl on Dec. 17, but then Susanna and I are coming back for 2 days on our way to Piter. But still this is amazingly depressing. And also worrisome because somehow I have to get the multiple like billion pound suitcases to Moscow so that they can stay in my friend’s house there until I return at the end of January to fly to New York. Except I don’t want to have to pay like 3,000 roubles to take a cab to Moscow. But the train would be like extremely atrocious with the suitcases. So I think I am just going to throw everything away, leave it all in Russia. I’m sort of kidding. But I’m sort of not.
Things That Would Not Be Thrown Away:
-hockey skates and gloves
-souvenirs I have bought for people
-my awesome fur hooded winter coat
-possibly 3 pairs of pants and some sweaters
-laptop
-my boots
-the rest could really just be thrown away

П. Ahhhh, now I am late leaving the apartment.

Kitty…
С Днём Рождения!!!
Happy Birthday!!!

Me, Flat Stanley, And The Volga

Flat Stanley and Paper Napkins

I thought I lost Flat Stanley today. It would have been a catastrophe.

You may ask who/what is Flat Stanley. And I will answer you. Apparently there is a popular children’s series of books about a character named Flat Stanley who goes on all sorts of adventures around the world. He is flat, as in two dimesional. I am not sure if this is critical to the plot line of the stories. So American children read the Flat Stanley books and then they draw their own “Flat Stanley’s” on pieces of paper and send them on adventures. Like they would give the Flat Stanley to a truck driver and the truck driver would take pictures of Flat Stanley at various locations in the U.S. on his truck route and send the pictures back to the kids. Or they just send the Flat Stanley to relatives living in different spots across the U.S. And the relatives would take pictures of him and send the pictures back to the children. So I received Flat Stanley in an envelope from my mother approximately 2 weeks ago. This Flat Stanley belonged to a family friend, Jessie, who is in 2nd grade in Missoula. So I was instructed to take pictures of Flat Stanley in Russia and send them back to my mom and she would get them to Jessie. Later I was informed that Jessie’s entire class was talking about how Flat Stanley was in Russia.

I’m not big on the whole picture taking thing to begin with. Especially in Russia, where they might put you in jail for taking a picture. But knowing that the hopes of an entire 2nd grade class rested on my shoulders, I decided to suck it up and take Flat Stanley for a photo shoot on the banks of the Volga. So I did that and I sent the pictures off to my mother. Then I thought, I can probably get a picture of Flat Stanley by an onion-dome church without being arrested. So today on my various errands (Margarita thought I was at the library for 5 hours. I was not at the library for one moment.), I stopped by the church. Immediately I noticed two police cars. Churches, however, are one of the things you actually can fairly fearlessly take pictures of. So I pulled out the camera and then I couldn’t find Flat Stanley! He was not stuck in my planner where he was supposed to be. So I just took a picture of myself and the church and returned home. I was sort of relieved. I had begun to worry that the police men were really bored and would try to question me as to why I was taking a picture of this piece of paper with the church in the background. My Russian is not bad. It’s not especially good either. Even if I was completely fluent, the policemen would never have understood my explanation that Flat Stanley is a character from an American book who travels around the world and you are supposed to take pictures of him in different places and send the pictures back to the elementary school kids.
This is the sort of thing that captives people in the U.S. and everybody gets excited about finding the coolest place to take a picture of Flat Stanley. There is no way any Russian would ever understand this concept. Perhaps, they would. But I really don’t think they would. Mostly there would just be scorn at how worry free and trivial minded the Americans are. So I was sort of relieved that I had forgotten Flat Stanley at home and avoided any sort of atrocious conversation with the Russian police. After all, the churches always look better when they are lit up at night, so I figured I could just return tomorrow evening and take a picture when the church would be lit up. Then I got home and I still couldn’t find Flat Stanley. Panic began to occur. The Volga pictures were good. But Flat Stanley really needed to be photographed next to an onion-dome church before his tour of Russia could be done.

So I was freaking out about how I had lost/thrown away the piece of paper that Flat Stanley was drawn on. How the whole second grade class would be betrayed and heartbroken. Then I figured I could probably just draw another one and never tell anyone I had lost the original one. After all, it’s not important what Flat Stanley actually looks like, it’s just important what he’s standing next to in the picture. But then I found him stuck inside of my phonetics book. Thank goodness.

So tomorrow evening I shall take a photo of Flat Stanley next to the lit up церковь ильи пророка (Elijah the Prophet) and send those off to my mother as well.

My mom suggested I take a picture of Flat Stanley on the marshrutka. This is one of the most ridiculous proposals ever (sorry mom) and I refuse to suffer the humiliation of taking a picture of a piece of paper sitting next to me on the marshrutka.

Also, Laurel! Get excited about the fact that Flat Stanley is being sent to Paris! It has been requested that after his tour of Yaroslavl, he be sent on for some photos in Paris before being returned home to Missoula. Susanna, I’m not sure why Irkutsk didn’t make the cut. Sorry.

Other Things Unrelated to Flat Stanley:

I sort of went souvenir shopping today. As I have discussed earlier, souvenir shopping is a difficult task to embark upon for several reasons. I have no idea what anybody would want from Russia. However, whatever I purchase is required to be interesting, Russian, light (very-light), compact, easily packable, un-breakable, and cheap. It is sort of hard to satisfy all of these requirements in one gift. However, I came up with the brilliant idea of paper napkins from макдоналдс. These satisfy essentially all of the above requirement. Except that I think people would be underwhelmed when I return from Russia and proudly give them each a single макдоналдс paper napkin from the макдоналдс in Yaroslavl. So I scrapped that idea. But that is still my backup plan.

Kurt, I bought you the most awesome gift ever today. It is not a napkin from макдоналдс. I don’t think you actually read my blog. But hopefully Aiko will read this and tell you. It is awesome. And if you don’t think it is awesome, then I will just have to keep it for myself. You only have to wait ‘til February to receive it.

For a really long time I wondered what they called hair conditioner in Russia. I was smart enough to not go to a store and ask for кондитионер (conditioner) because then they would think I was requesting an air conditioner. Anyways I went to this small grocery store by our house to buy a bottle of shampoo and even though you get to pick out yourself the stuff, it was still stressful because the saleswomen were staring at me, so I just picked fast and left. And then I returned home and with the help of my trusty English-Russian dictionary which is now held together both with duct tape and black hockey tape realized that I had in fact purchased conditioner. I don’t remember the full word but it is long and starts with an “o”. So then I thought I would just pretend that the conditioner was shampoo and just use it. Except this doesn’t work because now my hair just constantly looks like a grease pot, even after I “wash/conditioner” it. So I went to another store today and actually bought shampoo. Good story. I know.

I can no longer pretend that this blog entry is a productive use of my time.

Happy Thanksgiving

Happy Thanksgiving! My e-mail won't work. At first this was sort of annoying. Now it is really annoying. Then I thought that maybe it would be fixed soon because it is almost 8 a.m. in Vermont, and Middlebury will not be functional without e-mail. In fact they are probably sending out e-mail messages about how they apologize for the inconvenience that e-mail is not working and it will be fixed soon. But then I realized that it is Thanksgiving and so Ron probably doesn't care that e-mail isn't working. But I am still annoyed. So I don't know how long I will sit here waiting for it to start working.

Other things:
Yesterday I bought a winter coat. It was so much of a less tramatic process than I imagined it was going to be. The buying of the coat was undramatic. However after I bought the coat I was supposed to go over to a friend's house and then go to the theater. And I am pretty sure that the friend would have disapproved of how much money I had spent on the coat (which wasn't that much money for me, but would be a LOT of money for her), plus I didn't really want to have the huge plastic bag with me at the theater. So I solved this problem by stuffing the brand new coat into my shoulder bag/purse thing. This was ridiculous. So then I just had this huge overflowing bag which I tried to calmly carry about and ignore the fact that it was essentially exploding and hope that nobody said anything about it. But it all worked out and the friend didn't ask about it. And then we went to the theatre. And I understood very little of the play, but since it was a comedy it meant that at some points the entire audience of Russians were laughing. This was sort of unsettling. But in a very comforting way. It is good to know that Russians can laugh in large groups. I am aware that Russians can laugh with each other in small company, but it was good when the whole audience was laughing. Also on the marshrutka to the theatre, I both got a lucky ticket and lost one of my mittens. (I have to buy new mittens today before Margarita yells at me). So I guess that I was going to have very bad luck and my lucky ticket minimized the damage to only losing a mitten.

Other items of note: Artic Slaughter is no longer in existence as a band. There is some new band, but I forgot what they are called. Sorry, Kit.

E-mail is still not working. This is annoying. Also Margarita is supposed to be at a birthday party all day meaning whenever I decide to go home, the apartment should be empty, which would be AMAZING. But I am worried that she will be there and I will not get to appreciate my rare moments of being alone. This is strange. I am alone almost all the time. But never actually "alone, alone." Like she is always lurking somewhere about the apartment and sometimes you just need to know that no one else is around. Even if she is gone, she has promised to return exactly at 7 p.m. I am not sure why this is necessary. There is no way I am going to eat dinner tonight. I made this clear to her. That the whole point is to eat a large Thanksgiving meal at like 2 p.m. and then not eat for several hours/days. Except I bet she makes me eat dinner anyways. Ugh.

АВАРИЯ!!!

Tuesday was a day/evening to remember. I have my mainstream class on Tuesday evenings from 8:05 to 9:20 although it usually ends around 9:00. Then I make the 20 minute walk home, usually with my friend Vacilica from class, and then do my homework. Some weeks my mom calls around 11 p.m. my time (1 p.m. her time).

Yesterday as I left for evening class, Margarita was worried that my mom was going to call too early when I was still at class. So she started freaking out about this (*side note: She also freaked out at me last night when I was eating dinner. I had a complete plate covered with potatoes which I was slowly (not really that slowly, but by Margarita’s concerned glares, too slowly for her liking) eating. Then I put down my fork so that I could take a drink of tea. And immediately, like immediately, she asks, “Is something wrong with the potatoes. Are they okay? What’s wrong?” Essentially, I got yelled at for taking a beverage break. I wasn’t even taking a beverage break for a silly beverage such as water, I was drinking the country’s favorite drink/meal, tea. Whatever, I’m over it. Next time I shall keep fork in hand and keep eating the potatoes simultaneously while drinking the tea. Moving on.*)

So then she asked me what she should say if my mother called. I tried to reassure her that my mom would not call 3 hours ahead of our scheduled time. But Margarita was still really worked up about this. Then she suddenly said “Ring late” in English as she had decided this was how she could explain to my mother to “Call back later.” Except she has a very hard to understand accent. I really hope my accent when I speak Russian is more understandable than her accent when she speaks English. Usually when she starts speaking English (which is rare) I don’t understand what is going on. And so I stare at her. And then she repeats the phrase and finally my brain registers that I need to switch to English understanding mode. However, I think that due to earlier referenced “staring period” she thinks I actually don’t know English. Her vocabulary includes such words/phrases as

-butterfly (most Russians know this word. They also know submarine because of The Beatles “Yellow Submarine.” I don’t know if Margarita knows “submarine.”
-“please sit down”
-“good bye”
-“6 o’clock”
-“ring late”

Anyways, I’m getting off topic. So I left for class. And I got to class. And I listened to the lecture. And understood some of it. Then I walked Vacilica to her bus stop. By this time it was 9:30. So I had an hour to get home. If I had walked it probably would have taken me 30 minutes. But I sort of wanted to get some work done before my mom was supposed to call at 10:30. So I got on the 91 marshrutka bus which was supposed to be a 10 minute ride and then a 5 minute walk. And it was what I would call sort of full. There were no seats left (there’s probably seats for 20 people) and maybe like 5 people were already standing in the center aisle way. So I got on and paid my fare and then we kept stopping and collecting more and more and more and more and more and more people. Suddenly I found myself in the middle of the standing people in the middle of the marshrutka far away from either the rear or front doors. So then I tried to move so that I could make my way through the crowd to get to the door to get off at my stop. But no matter how much I tried to move, no one else seemed to notice or to make any room for me to get to the door. So I just stood there.

Sometimes, I get tired of being brave in Russia. Like I probably could have just shoved my way through all these people and made it to the door and pushed my way off at my stop. But I was tired and like I said, I didn’t feel like being brave. So I just stood there squished in the crowd. So then we passed my stop. But I was having a cultural experience of being squished by like 8 billion other people on the marshrutka. I don’t know how to explain how full it was. My best explanation is that at one point, I was having a hard time finding an empty place on the floor to put my foot without stepping on someone else’s foot. If you understand that the space your feet take up on the floor is much less than the space the rest of your body takes up, you will begin to get an idea for how full this marshrutka was. Then we kept collecting more people. The door on the marsrutka has to fold in when it opens. The rear door couldn’t fold in because of the mass of people to open for much of the ride. At any given stop, 5 people would get off (they could only use the front door at this point), 1 of the people would actually be getting off at the stop, then the 4 extra people would climb back in, plus like 3 new passengers.

And then finally we got to almost the end of the route and people started to get off. When I got off there were still lots of people standing in the aisle, but there was at least room to move around and make it to the door. So I got off and I walked to the other side of the street and waited for another 91 coming back into the city to come along. And it was 10:10 by then. So I had given up on getting home in time for the 10:30 phone call from mom. Then a marshrutka never came along. So I stood there for a long time. At this point I began to get sort of worried about my current situation. Not so much that I would miss the phone call. But the whole me being a 30 minute drive away from home at 10:15 at night when the public transportation is starting to shut down. Then Margarita called me on my cell phone. “ABBY! WHERE are you?” I had spent quite a lot of time trying to think of a good excuse for me being like an hour later than I usually am on Tuesday’s after evening class. So I told her that I had to talk to my professor but I was on my way home. I didn’t think she would understand my excuse that the marshrutka was too crowded to get off and plus, I was having my cultural moment of being in a huge crowd of Russian people. Also, no matter how squished we became no one would ever not get on the marshrutka and no one would ever make eye contact or say anything regardless of the fact that any one person was guaranteed to be physically molesting at least like 4 other people. Ah yes, Russia!

So then having successfully lied to Margarita. I continued to wait for the marshrutka. At this point I decided to start walking around the road back towards the center of Yaroslavl. But it would have been impossible for me to actually walk back. As well as the fact that it would have taken like an hour and a half, it is along huge scary large highways. And then no marshrutka’s came. But a sketchy car did pull up next to me. So I kept walking. Then I saw a marshrutka and I took of running across the icy/snowy road/field. But then it turned because it wasn’t going where I needed it to be going. Then I continued walking. There was a high level of panic occurring at this point. A level of panic that is not being adequately conveyed through my writing.

Then I saw another marshrutka. And so I began running again except this time it was actually a real field of snow without a path in it. So I was in my heel boot things running across a snow field at 10:30 p.m. in the Bragino (aka far from my house) part of Yaroslavl. Then my phone rang. And I knew it was going to be Margarita yelling at me again. Except it was Vacilica calling to try to figure out when we could meet again. This was ridiculous. My phone never rings. No one ever calls me. Sometimes I get text messages. So not only was my phone ringing. My phone was ringing during as earlier described sprint across snow field etc…Then I lied to her and said that my mom was supposed to be calling (which was true I just left out the whole part of me being lost in Bragino far from the phone on which my mother would be calling on). So I said I would call her back. Then I slowed to a walk as the marshrutka I had been chasing sped far away from me. Then I got to this other “stop” where people were actually waiting which was a good sign. As the other various places where I had stood waiting had all been without people. Also upon my approach to said kiosk and bus/tram/marshrutka stop there was a large patch of ice on which I sort of did some sort of figure skating stately and majestic twirl except it was neither stately nor majestic.

Then I started to imagine the conversation that was likely occurring between my mother and Margarita.
Margarita: Allyo?
Mother: Abby?
Margarita: Abby no.
Mother: Pajalsta.
Margarita: Ring late.
Mother: Pajalsta? Spasibo? Pajalsta? Spasibo? Abby?
Margarita: No Abby. Ring Late.
Mother: Abby? Pajalsta?

Then I stood at this stop for a long time. Lots of marshrutkas would drive by, except they were empty and done for the day and going to wherever marshrutkas go when they are not being driven. I wonder where they do go? Does every marshrutka driver actually own his marshrutka? Because they all have their very individual curtains and other various decorations. And park it at their apartment? Or is there a huge compound somewhere in Yaroslavl where there are like a billion marshrutka’s, because if there is, I want to go there. I don’t know why I am so intrigued by marshrutkas. They’re just so awesome. I feel like they capture so many different aspects of the whole Russia experience. If I was going to write a thesis, I would write it about marshrutka’s in Russia. This is a если бы construction because 1. I am not going to write a thesis and 2. Middlebury would not allow me to write a thesis about how awesome marshrutkas are. I just typed marshrutka like 6 billion times.

Kept waiting for a marshrutka. Kept waiting for Margarita to call me again and yell at me that she had just had a conversation with my mother. And WHERE WAS I? But she didn’t call. Thank goodness.

Then I asked this woman how to get back to Gigant (my stop) and we waited together for a marshrutka and then got on and then I got off at Gigant. Also this was one of the “small” marshrutka’s which I had never before had reason to ride. These are actually yellow vans, with seats for maybe 10 or 12 people. I think these are the only kind of marshrutkas they have in Irkutsk. So then I got to ride on of the small marshrutka’s which was good because it was on my list of “mandatory things to do before I can leave.” Then I ran through the back alleyways/ courtyard area’s of the various apartment buildings to get home. Courtyard is not the right word. These areas are neither classy nor majestic. Mainly they are dark and sketchy. So then I was sprinting through the back alleyways and it was 11:00 at night and I was very late and there was so much adrenaline. And it was pretty cool. Then I got home. And launched into this over exaggerated monologue about what a кошмар (nightmare/catastrophe/etc…) the whole evening had been. Then I told Margarita that after speaking with my professor I got on a marshrutka but I didn’t read the number correctly and so it didn’t go where I thought it would go. So then I had to get off and wait and take another “correct” one back. Which is sort of true. Except I did actually know the number of the one I got on, there was just the whole “too many people” problem. Then my mom called at 11:30 having actually not called at 10:30, so it all worked out. But oh man, last night was just so ridiculous. I hope that this blog entry conveyed at least a part of how ridiculous the whole evening was.

Вы замужем?

The Highlights

A
Margarita yelled at me for being a hooligan last night. At the time, it sort of pissed me off, but now I just think it’s funny. She gave me a new clean towel which I am then supposed to go and hang on its hook in the bathroom. But when I went to go hang it up, the old towel was still there. So I didn’t know what to do. So I just put the towel back in my room. And then when I was organizing my room, I laid the towel on the floor near the door, so that I would remember to put it in the bathroom. And then Margarita walked by and saw the towel on the ground and yelled at me for being a hooligan and putting the clean towel on the ground. And then I just sputtered (is that an english word? maybe I mean stuttered. Or stammered.) and tried to make up some excuse that I had accidentally dropped it there. Except she didn’t appreciate this excuse. Whenever I do something wrong, she always says something like “See what a hooligan you are when I am not here to keep you in line.” At least that’s what I think she says. This had earlier applied to my inability to finish all of the food I was left for meals when she was not home to supervise my eating, but has now apparently spread to my delinquent towel dropping activities. And my sub par laundry skills. Apparently I don’t wash out the soap well enough from the clothes or wring out enough of the water before I hang them up to dry.

Б
Wednesday was a big day. I decided that I wanted to go to the локомотив hockey game, since they only have 6 more home games while I will be in Yaroslavl, and I hadn’t been since early September. My first obstacle was purchasing a ticket. So I walked to the building where I thought hockey people had said I could buy a ticket. Except the front of the whole building was blocked off for a remont. I realize that’s not an English word. But remont is so much cooler than remodel. Plus I feel like remodel sort of carries the meaning that it might look new and clean and classy after the remodel. But I feel like there are much lower (and more realistic) expectations of a remont. Anyways, then I found these signs instructing to the secret back entrance. At this point, I successfully entered the building. Which had turned out to be more challenging than I expected. And I was actually fairly content with my entering of the building that I still would have been happy if my ticket buying had failed. This will probably not make sense. Russia, or at least me being in Russia, just sort of lowers my expectations like that. Somehow, I think professors at Midd would be less than impressed if I decided that entering the building was really adequate enough and there was no reason to actually go to class or do any of the work. Then, I asked one of the guard women where I could buy tickets for the game. And apparently I had to exit the building and go to another secret back/side entrance. Once again, this was a successful venture and I purchased the ticket.

В
Got on the marshrytka (This word is impossible to type. I always try to type it with the Russian letters even when the keyboard is in English.) And I received a lucky ticket! I also recently realized that the Russians call them счастливый билет (which I guess translates to “happy ticket.”) I am not sure if I am actually receiving an abnormal number of lucky tickets or I just didn’t get one for a long time when I got here. I now have 5 of them. I guess this is enough, that I could sacrifice one so that I could eat it, and see if my luck got really good. But I sort of like my collection of them. Then there was a traffic jam for a long time and then me and half of the marshrytka got off at the stop nearest to the rink. And I bought a program and found my seat and it was awesome. Somehow my actual excitement at doing all of this is really not being translated into my writing. So I will skip ahead to the important parts. They played the Russian national anthem, which is still a very strange and surreal moment. I switched seats with this guy so that he could sit by his wife. Then the wife befriended me. I think that the wife was probably younger than I am. Then there was phone numbers exchanged and popcorn shared and a fateful question asking if I could ice skate. And I said yes. And then the wife said she was very bad. And then I decided to say that I was bad too. Somehow it just didn’t seem right to say, “well, actually I play hockey here at this rink every week.” And then the wife, I think I will now refer to her as Anya, which is her actual name, suggested that we should go ice-skating together. I am unsure if this will ever happen. Mainly because I sort of doubt she will ever call me. But it she does call me, it could be a catastrophe. I guess I will just hope that the fact that I will skate in rented ice skates which will probably be figure skates which will probably be very dull and too small for me, will help to disguise my ice skating aptitude (is that a legit use of that word?). Also, since we were sitting on the first level right behind the net, sometimes an off-shot would hit the glass right where we were sitting. And Anya would scream and I would not really know what to do. Also she kept asking her other friend why there were only 4 of our players on the ice or why the goalie was sprinting towards the bench (on a delayed penalty call) or etc…and I would just dumbly pretend I didn’t understand. But I think I was still paying too much attention to the game and not doing enough giggling and screaming when the puck would approach. Then the husband returned from some undisclosed location (where he had consumed lots of alcohol) and the game ended and we left.

Г
Also the title of this entry is one of the questions Anya asked me. “Are you married?” I had never been asked this question before. So that was good. Then the drunk husband tried to speak English to me. His vocabulary consisted of “My name is Alexander” and something about “Little Lily in Italy.” I think this was some poem he had once memorized. He was astonished that I had no idea what he was talking about. Then they walked me to the marshrytka stop and the girls said “Good bye” in English and the husband yelled “Good morning.” Like I said, limited vocabulary.

Д
The deadline to change my mind and stay the year passed yesterday. So now there has been some calm acceptance of my unfortunate and impending departure. I woke up on Tuesday and there was a lot of snow on the ground and it was a winter wonder land. And I filled out the form to stay the year. But then I calmed down and stuck to my guns (can I say that?)

Е
I am in the process of writing a 20+ pg. paper about Edinaya Pocciya (United Russia). It is a fairly atrocious process that often ends in me playing solitaire or free cell on my computer for hours on end. Mostly it’s hard because although the party is “Putin’s party” and has nearly a 60% popularity rating, with the next popular being the Communists with like 15%, I haven’t met anyone who actually really likes Edinaya Rocciya. Most people just like Putin. But then some people hate Putin. And so I don’t know what I am supposed to think. I guess I’m supposed to not like Putin. But I actually do. Also our politics professor today said that she thinks Putin is going to have a third term. Which would be allowed (sort of) because you are only allowed 2 terms in a row, so if he gave up the position for awhile then he could almost immediately reclaim it. Actually he could pretty much do whatever he wants. **Are American presidents only allowed 2 terms total or 2 terms in a row? Because I thought they were allowed 2 terms total, but other people think it is 2 terms in a row? (I’m sort of embarrassed that I’m half a poly sci major and don’t know this). And then the Russians in this conversation kept talking about how Bill Clinton could become president again. Russians really like Bill Clinton. Also, our politics professor is obsessed with Hillary. And how Hillary will be president and how good old Bill used to be president. Etc…**

Ж (Aiko’s favorite letter!)
Also the president of France (is his title president?) was in Moscow today hanging out with Putin and Zybkov. So the entire country of France being dysfunctional as a result of the strikes doesn’t seem to be affecting him that much. He’s just chilling with Putin.

З
I never go to museums in Yaroslavl. Actually, I went to one of the exhibits in the Kremlin area one time. But my Russian friend Vacilica refused to pay the entrance fee at the gate because she wanted to go pay at the other gate where there were pictures of the exhibits to help us choose. So then the guard woman yelled at us and threatened to call the police. So I am scared to go back there. But there are other museums I should be going to. But whenever I say I will go to a museum, I always would much rather just wander about the city or ride random marshrytkas until they kick all of us off at the end of the route, and then wander more, and then hope that somehow I will be able to make it back into the city. So maybe I will go to a museum this weekend, but I probably won’t. Oh well.

И (this whole labeling the points in Cyrillic was a good idea until I got to where I don’t know the order of the alphabet and now I have to go look in the dictionary to find the next letter. Perhaps I should memorize the alphabet this weekend).
Facebook has some special function where you can enter your maiden name so that it will not be displayed on your profile (because that would disrespect your husband???) but your old friends can search for you with your maiden name and still find you. This is ridiculous. If you are married. You are not allowed on facebook. Period. End of discussion. No exceptions. I know it is a difficult choice. Marriage or the ability to poke people. But you can’t have the best of both worlds. Also, facebook is out of control with it’s like 10 trillion different options/functions/junk.

К
I would like to clarify that Artic Slaughter as mentioned in one of my previous posts as being one of Kit’s New Year’s Resolutions (make Artic Slaughter more popular). Artic Slaughter is a band, and not the actual slaughtering of walruses or penguins. Because that would be atrocious and I would not allow that to be one of his New Year’s Resolutions. Also, I think by mentioning Artic Slaughter on this blog, I have done more for their popularity than Kit ever did. Kit, do they still exist? BURN!

Л
The drunk men on the marshrytka this morning approved of my hockey playing-ness.
-Man 1: A girl playing hockey. Нормально. Which I guess translates as “normal” but I feel like it has more of a “good” meaning.
-Man 2: Yes. Нормально.
(5 minutes pass)
-Man 2: How do you know she plays hockey? Maybe she plays basketball or football.
-Man 1: She has a hockey stick.
-Man 2: Oh.

Also I decided that I am going to abandon my use of the word “soccer” because the English game “football” has essentially 0 contact between the foot and the ball, and the game which is all about the foot and the ball we call soccer. So now I will call soccer, football and I will call football, American football.

Drank Vanilla Coke. Haven't drank pop in 6 years. Wrote an endless blog entry.

I really love New Years Resolutions. And so every year I religiously write down an extra long list of resolutions that I can eventually in November and December look back and laugh at how I didn’t achieve any of them. Actually, that’s not completely true. I guess it mainly captivates me because it seems like I’m on this constant path of becoming “the person I want to be.” I have no idea who that “person” is, but every year I feel like I come closer to being that “person.” I think this has a lot more to do with self acceptance, than with me actually changing a whole lot. Unless the changing is becoming more of a loon. Because that is a fairly constant process.

So I recently looked at the list of resolutions I typed last December/January. It’s also a crazy way to compare your current priorities with your priorities at the time of writing. And the one resolution that really sticks out now as well as the one I remember the most from when I wrote them is #8: become passionate about something. And I realized both then and now how silly it is to decide and put on a list to “become passionate about something.” But I think it was sort of a response to the fact that we’re all so busy at Midd and everyone thinks everything they are doing is really important. And maybe they actually do think what they are doing is really important. Which I guess is good. But I just felt like general busy-ness for no reason or fake passion (which in my cynic point of view is prospering at Middlebury) are lame. If people disagree with me and think that the passion at Middlebury is real and not “fake,” please tell me because that would actually make me very happy. I much prefer apathetic people who don’t really care about anything and are okay with that, than someone who is fakely excited about some cause or movement. I guess I should really be less judgmental. Moving on…

Okay, so back to the “become passionate about something.” I think this is also related to the phase I went through in high school where I decided I needed to develop hobbies. Except the only hobbies I could come up with were various sewing or knitting pursuits. Lame! I wish I could have stuck with the “hobby” problem and not graduated to the much more complex problem of “passion.”

Anyways, I am getting way off topic. I realized recently that my passion is generally Russian-ness. And I am not just referring to vodka. This country has captivated me in a way like nothing I can ever remember. It could just be that this is the first time I have ever lived abroad and so it’s just general infatuation with something so different from the good old U.S.A. But I really feel like if I had decided to go to Germany or Italy or China, it just wouldn’t have captivated me like Russia has. I don’t know why this is. I guess it’s a combination of a lot of different things. The language, the cold and snow and winter-ness, the country’s acceptance of hockey (although there is unfortunately no general acceptance of my female participation in it), the general need for Russians to suffer (I too have been known to make myself miserable for no good reason), the completely crazy-ness that is always occurring (and I say crazy with the most serious respect), the collision of politics and economics and history that still is completely inadequate in explaining this country, the people.

I think especially the people interest me. Like, they’ve all lived through these events and history and political and economic upheaval that completely interest me so much. Tonight at dinner I asked Margarita if she thought life was better during the Soviet Union. The fact that I was able to have that conversation with her absolutely blows my mind. And although she initially said that some things are better and some things are worse, her entire list of examples was how things are worse now…which I guess is sort of what I expected. But coming from a U.S. education, that is not supposed to be the answer. And so that only serves to deepen both my interest in Russia and the developing belief that maybe there really isn’t one “right” answer or one correct political system. I also feel like I am way too affected by the sort of propaganda-esque ness of Putin that occurs everywhere. Well mostly just on the TV stations we watch and on every street corner which is now plastered with “План Путина- Победа России” “Putin’s plan. Russia’s victory.” Also it might be that I have to compare him with our loony Bush. Perhaps in a contest of Putin versus George Washington, Putin would lose. But in a Bush versus Putin contest. Putin is the clear winner, as I see it. Putin speaks three languages. Bush is often unable to speak one. I am going to ignore the fact that Putin only speaks German because of his long KGB work in East Germany.

I also feel that it is sort of unfortunate that the Russian person I spend the most time with is a 70 year old grandmother. I know her current life and life view are probably vastly different from a young or middle aged Russian. One time we were talking about how we all wash our clothes by hand and our conversation teacher was really surprised. So maybe washing machines are more popular than we were led to believe. She was also surprised that none of us had microwaves at our host families. Apparently they might be sort of popular too. So I feel like my time with Margarita is very interesting from a historical standpoint, but maybe not creating the most accurate picture of “modern” Russia. I also wonder where the rich Russians live. Not the really rich ones, but the sort of rich ones. Because there are always Mercedes on the streets. Do they also live in the same apartment buildings like us? What do their apartments look like?

Mostly my deep interest in Russia pleases me so much because I have completely no idea why I began studying Russian. And so this reinforces my life idea that the choices we make are not really that important. That the power we have over our own life is miniscule compared to the power of chance, luck, coincidence, etc. I feel like people could interpret this as me saying that nothing we do ever matters because we have no control over our lives. That’s not at all what I имею виду “mean.” **It also pleases me that even what I am thinking and typing in English, it seems natural to revert to Russian constructions. This is related to what Natasha was talking about with чтобы. I also often want to use бы. Which in 2 letters and you can even shorten it to б for poetic or various other reasons conveys the whole idea of something that could have happened, but it actually didn’t happen and will not happen. But there still was the possibility once of it happening. Or at least in our discussion we are pretending that there was the possibility** Maybe this “our choices don’t matter” life view is my way of convincing myself to worry less about the decisions I make and to just live. But it all works out in the end.

Completely Unrelated Sidenote
**Also why do Russian people always reply to как дела? “how are (your) matters?- i.e. how are you” that things are нормально “normal.” But that всё будет хорошо “everything will be good.” While Americans always when asked “how are you?” say “good.” But we always say “everything will be okay.” Why is everything in Russia only normal in the present but good in the future? And in America everything is good in the present and only okay in the future?

10 Times More Unrelated than Previous Unrelated Sidenote
I am currently listening to a Russian pop/rock song entitled Герпес. Why do Russians sing about STDs? Герпес—Herpes. У тебя СПИД? –Do you have AIDS?

Back on topic:
So Russia has provided me with something about which to be passionate. Is that a legit construction of an English sentence? Oh well. And at some point the question changed from “Can I survive until December?” to “Should I stay for the spring?” This change in outlook surprised me possibly more than it could surprise anyone else. And for approximately a month I have battled with this question every day. Some days the answer was clear, Stay. It’s so much more interesting than Midd. You learn 1,000 new things every day and they’re so much more applicable to life than some political science theory. It’s possibly the one time I will live in Russia. Because playing pick-up hockey at the локомотив rink makes me so happy, in spite of and maybe especially because of all of the strange staring by various Russians. **The staring had actually recently decreased. Everyone who regularly showed up to play on Mondays had become accustomed to the weird girl. Today, we played on Saturday. Some of the same people were there. But there were a lot of new people. The staring, which is actually less staring and sort of just weird prolonged questioning facial expressions, was possibly at an all time high. Also some man started talking to me. I have no idea what he said. I said da. He seemed satisfied with that answer. Also Hug Boy was sadly not present.*** So some days it was clear that I needed to stay.

Other days it was completely clear that I, of course, needed to go home. The most recent example of this day was on Thursday. We don’t have classes on Thursday. And so instead of doing my homework for our classes on Friday. **Russia has also killed my work ethic. It’s IMPOSSIBLE to do work. Perhaps this is why I enjoy this country so much.** So I was bored and trying to fill time until 4:30 basketball practice. So I got on a random marshrootka. Actually it wasn’t random. I have been on this one before. But last time I got off too early and got lost and wandered around for 45 minutes with my hockey stick. So I was sort of trying to redeem myself with a successful riding of the 91st marshrootka. And the entire time I sat there, the inner dialog in my head was “That wouldn’t happen in America. THAT wouldn’t happen in America. THAT wouldn’t happen at home. That WOULD NOT happen in America. That is SO ridiculous and would NEVER happen at home.” Nothing especially annoying or frustrating or even out of the ordinary was occurring. For example we drove past this ugly factory spewing smoke. Except we actually do have huge ugly factories spewing pollution in America. And actually we pollute like, a lot, more than Russia. But I was just completely fed up and so everything became this comparison to the U.S. And invariably Russia ALWAYS (and often unfairly) lost. I can’t explain how strange this was. And at some point I realized that I was doing this. And while I was still frustrated, I was actually just highly amused by the continuous inner dialog of “THAT wouldn’t happen…”

I just realized I have no idea where this blog entry is going. I think when I started writing there was some general idea of what I wanted to say. But somewhere along the way, I lost my thesis statement. Mrs. Williams would not approve.

Okay, I remembered what I was trying to say. So I spent approximately a month battling with, what I lovingly nicknamed, the “stay or go” problem. And I made a lost of lists. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized there was really no correct answer to the problem. That really they are both the “correct” answers in their own ways. I have no idea if this whole entry of “Abby’s crazy inner dialogue” is going to interest my readers. I wonder how many people will actually read this. I always like to imagine that lots of people read about my ridiculous adventures. I bet not that many people read this at all. Oh well…

So I came to the conclusion that although I will count Russia as my new found passion, I need to go home for the spring. There are lots of reasons. Most of those reasons aren’t important now that I have finally just made the damn decision.

Possibly the most obvious reasons to go home are that I want to leave while I am still enamored with the country. I want to leave being excited about coming back. I also am leaving because I feel like if I stayed there is the possibility of liking it too much. So much that going back to finish the often oppressive but always comfortable and safe Middlebury bubble would suck. So I am going back to finish college and then who knows…

However, if there is some sort of large violent overthrow of the government with the presidential elections in March, I may never forgive myself for leaving.

Various Other Items of Interest That Are Probably Much More Interesting Than Abby’s Obsession With Russia;

I asked Andrei if he had ever seen a male conductor on the marshrootka. The conductor is the person who walks around and stares at you until you hand her your fare and then she hands you your ticket and you spend a long time adding up the numbers hoping it is a lucky ticket. I think it especially takes me a long time because I always try to do the math in Russian and then I have to give up and start over and do the whole addition in English. He said one time he saw a male conductor on the marshrootka. But he thinks it was a friend of the driver. Then I asked him if he had ever seen a female driver of a marshrootka. And he just laughed at me. But there are often female drivers of the trams. Perhaps this is only allowed because the tram is strictly confined to its tracks.
Also there is this completely strange phenomenon of hand shaking that occurs in Russia. Like men are constantly shaking each other’s hands. As far as I can tell, whenever you meet another man you are required to shake his hand. But only if you know them. If you don’t know them you are just supposed to walk by and completely ignore their existence. So then they shake hands. And sometimes if they are walking in different directions, all they do is shake hands and nod their heads to each other and continue on their way. Also you are required to shake hands whenever you leave a group of other men. One time at the train station 2 guys approached 2 other guys. They all did the appropriate hand shaking. Talked for like 1 minute. Then 3 of the guys left and the other guy stayed behind. And they all had to shake each other’s hands upon departure. And even they realized how ridiculous this was. I think this would be more acceptable behavior if it was only adults who did this. But also little boys do this. Like one day when I was at the elementary school there was this probably 7 year old boy who walked past another boy and he paused just long enough to shake the other boys hand. And then he continued on his path. Also I have seen teenage boys do the strange hand shaking and head nodding and continuing on their way on the street. Also one time when I went to the Lokomotiv hockey game, Andrei had to stop like every 2 seconds to shake some other guy’s hand. But at least sometimes he would stop and talk to them for a few seconds. But then today while we were waiting for them to let us into the rink, these other guys kept showing up and then they would shake Andrei’s hand and then we would all stand there in silence. Some of these guys I have seen multiple times before other times we play hockey. I wonder if they will ever shake my hand. (Maybe I skipped straight to the hug level.) Or if hand shaking only occurs between two men. I don’t know what the equivalent is when women meet each other on the street. I wonder why they just shake each other’s hands and never say anything. How close of a relationship do you have to have to be on hand shaking basis? Like are you required to know the other person’s name? Or is it enough that you show up to play hockey on a weekly basis and so you shake each other’s hands. Also, once again, I want to know if I am on the verge of being on hand shaking status with anyone. Or if it requires true friendship. Or if because I am a woman I am completely forbidden from the hand shaking. Or if it is enough that I play hockey with all of the men that I can join in the hand shaking. Maybe I will just try to shake Andrei’s hand next time we play hockey. He will think I have lost my mind. Also, perhaps the most annoying part about this is that I can’t ask anyone about this. No Russian person would think it was strange and so they completely wouldn’t understand my question. And an American or other foreigner is probably just as baffled as I am by this hand shaking phenomenon. Actually maybe I am the only person who spends so much thinking it. Oh man, I have just written like an entire page about the hand shaking occurring in Russia.
I went to the post office on Friday. Actually I went there on Thursday but there was a really long line, so I left. So I went back on Friday. The one other time I tried to mail letters I showed up during the lunch break. Except the lunch break is like 2 hours in the middle of the day. I feel like lunch is when most people with jobs try to go mail letters. But the post office was closed from like 11:30 to 1:30. Anyways, I wandered around for a while and then returned and everyone stood outside the front door and then they let us and I waited not that long and mailed my letters. My most recent trip to the post office was much more eventful. On Friday there was still a really long line. But I just decided to wait. So we all stood there. But no one said anything to each other. Then I tried to think if we were standing in a long line in the U.S., if people would talk to each other. I couldn’t really remember. Then there were these cases of goods that you could buy. Like there were sort of acceptable things like greeting cards or lottery tickets. Then there were also displays of children’s books, soap, shampoo, lotion, toilet paper, drawing notebooks, pencils, pens, rulers. Who goes to the post office to buy TOILET PAPER. Or LAUNDRY DETERGENT. Clearly no one actually says “Oh we need toilet paper, I should go buy it at the post office.” Mainly because there would probably be a really long line or it would be lunch break. But then I don’t think that anyone gets to the post office, stands in line to mail their letter, and then decides to buy some toilet paper. So we stood there for a really long time and it was completely ridiculous. And fairly often somebody would enter and just skip the whole line and go to the front and ask the one lady working some question. I guess it would be unfair if they had to stand in line to just ask one question. But it seemed unfair that they got to skip all of us. Then this one lady came in with her daughter and went to the front and asked a question. And suddenly the worker lady disappeared for like 5 minutes. Then she reappeared. And she proceeded to unlock one of the cupboards and the little girl had to spend a long time picking which book she wanted. Who the hell goes to the post office to buy a children’s book? And why did that lady get to skip the whole line? I was only consoled by the fact that everybody else in the line started muttering and scowling at the lady while she paid for the book. Also people would get to the front of the line and just be completely clueless. As if they had never mailed a letter before. This other lady was mailing some important letter so she had to put insurance on it or have notification when the letter arrived at its destination. But she was completely incompetent at filling out the forms. So that took forever. Perhaps an American would also have been completely incompetent at filling out a similar form in the U.S. I’m not sure. But I feel like if you are a Russian person, living your entire life in Russia, speaking Russian, probably often using the postal system, you should not be completely confused by some dumb form. This is also related to my surprise when Russian people don’t know what bus or marshrootka numbers to take. Like they’ve lived in Yarosavl their entire lives! One of my friends was trying to get to her new apartment in one of the other parts of the city after we went to a museum and drank tea one day. And she had no idea what number of bus to take. How does she not know how to get to the other part of the city? So I told her that I only knew that 91 went to that part because I have to ride that one to play hockey. Then I am fairly sure she didn’t believe me. So we stood at the stop for a really long time. Then somebody she knew came along. And she asked him. And he told her to get on 91. Ha. I was right. And then we waited and then she got on. And I actually I just remembered this, but she shook my hand right when she was getting on the marshrootka. So perhaps women or at least young women can shake each other’s hands. But it was more like a hand grasp instead of a true organized hand shake. I shall continue to observe and report back on the hand shaking…
*Also I wonder what people who have never been to Russia think a marshrootka is. Because they are awesome and I wish they were in America. It’s like a pulic transportation bus. But it’s more often van-sized. And essentially you just try to fit as many people in at one time as possible. Usually this is fairly entertaining. Unless I have the hockey stick and bag. In which case everyone just stares at frowns at me. And I end up hitting everyone with the bag. I try to keep a closer watch on the hockey stick as I feel like being hit by the bag is more forgivable than being hit by the stick.
Oh man. This thing is so long. I bet if I spent more of my time reading or thinking or talking in Russian, and less of it writing blogs in English, I wouldn’t still be so bad at this language.

There were other important or not so important things that I was going to write about. I don’t remember what they were.

The high heeled winter boots have been so far a fairly successful venture. Except now my left foot is swollen because I got hit by a puck today. So now the boot is tight. And I have this awkward limp that is occurring.
Also I am going to take this opportunity to remind my family members of some of their New Years Resolutions, which I required them all to make.

So, Kit: You are supposed to be brushing your teeth every day (yeah right) and be able to tombstone Stonewall. Also you are supposed to be promoting Artic Slaughter.

Stonewall: I feel like you might have succeeded at some of your resolutions. As opposed to Kit’s completely ridiculous list. So, Stonewall: You are supposed to be visiting and applying to colleges (Good Work!-If I can I would like to suggest a college in a different time zone from Missoula, because it would be pretty lame if 3 of the 4 clocks were on the same time and mine was only two hours ahead. I feel like mine being 10 hours ahead right now sort of compensates for the lameness of 3 being the same time), have a single digit handicap by the end of the summer, and be coaching a squirt or peewee hockey team this winter.

Mama Mayer: You are supposed to have planned the trip to Vermont (which I think I sort of planned), but we’ll give you credit for that. You need to have gotten proposal signatures (Succesful!) Sign up for ski lessons this winter and hiking to the M once a week.

I thought this would get posted on Laurel's birthday. But I got bored of sitting at the apartment so I came to the internet club. I think the people who work here hate me. I am always here. I wonder if I actually do come that often, of if it is just normal and I feel like I am always coming . Regardless.

This would have been posted on Laurel’s birthday. So 20th happy birthday, my dear!!! I wish we could sleep in a tent like we did on my 20th. But we will have to save that for this spring.

The Rest of Archangelsk

Thursday Afternoon
So I left the hotel at around 5 p.m. after my delicious nap. But before I was also to leave the hotel I had to make it back to the front desk/lobby area. And therein lies the problem. I had just followed the doorman to my room and I was sort of still dazed so I hadn’t really paid attention to where we were going. I only knew that it was confusing because I was staying in the 2nd (cheap) campus of the hotel and I needed to make it back to the expensive lobby 1st campus. So then I left my room and took the elevator to the first floor. And there were lots of confusing hallways and doors but no clear exit to the lobby. So then I decided maybe they connected on the -1 floor. So then I took the elevator there. And the workmen sort of stared at me when the elevator door opened. So they got on. And then we returned to the 1st floor. And they disappeared into some door. And then some other people appeared. And they weren’t workmen. So I started to follow them (at a safe distance, so they didn’t know I was actually following them). But then they went into this office. So then I decided to just sit down on one of the chairs and hope that eventually somebody else would come along and I would be able to follow them. And then as I was turning in a circle to go back to the chair, this guy came up and asked if I needed something. And I asked where the lobby was. And he sort of laughed at me. And then he said something about how I was right that it was a labyrinth. And then he led me to some door and we followed this hallway to the lobby. So that was good.

So once I successfully exited the hotel, it was already dark, so I just walked around on the main streets (Sunday and Trotskii) for like an hour. And then I found this large shopping mall complex which I wandered around for a while. And then I went and bought bottled water at one of the kiosks and I found the information center (which was already closed) which was located very close to the hotel (Good Work Paper Map!). And then I went back and carefully paid attention to the correct hallway and doors I went through to get to my room. And then I went to bed.

Friday
So first thing, I went to the information center. And the woman there was very helpful. And she gave me all sorts of pamphlets and phone numbers to call. And she told me about this famous museum that is 45 minutes south of Archangelsk which is just this huge complex of really old wooden buildings that they collected from all parts of northern Russia and moved together into this one complex. So I decided that I would do that on Saturday.
So for the rest of Friday, I wandered around and found two different museums. One with an exhibit about the history of Archangelsk during Soviet times which was really interesting and then this really sad and depressing part about all of the soldiers from Archangelsk who had died in Afghanistan. And then I realized that the same exhibit could be made for all of the U.S. soldiers who died/are dying in Afghanistan right now. And it just seems so DUMB! That is my very ineloquent response to what seems to be a general trend of Afghanistan invasion.
Then I went and walked along the banks of the sea again. For a really long time. And I came upon another random museum. So I went in there. And I saw a lot of old portraits of old people. Which were displayed in this apartment that used to be the apartment of rich/possibly royalty who lived in Archangelsk. And then there was another display of handmade dolls. And the woman just talked to/at me for a very long time about all of the different dolls. And then I just kept walking along the banks. Then I found the central market. Which is always an essential part of any Russian city. Then I found a grocery story and bought food. And went back to the hotel and planned my Saturday trip to the wooden building museum and went to bed.

Saturday
Got on the marshrootka which had on its list of stops that it was going to the train station/bus station. Except it was actually coming from those places. So then we drove across this huge bridge and into this other part of Archangelsk. But I just decided I would wait until the end of the route and look at all of the Soviet apartment buildings. And then I would get on another one actually headed to the bus station. So then I got off and walked to another nearby stop. It was my hope that this way I would be able to avoid getting back on the same exact marshrootka headed the other direction. So I did not get back on the same marshrootka, but that one did pass me while I was standing at the stop. And I’m not sure if the conductor lady realized. Anyways, I got on the next one headed to the bus station. And I got a lucky ticket! Which was awesome because it is always a good sign to get lucky tickets and it is even better when you get them by accident because you were a loon and got sort of lost.

Then I got on the bus headed to Malie Karelie (museum) and I asked the conductor to tell me when my stop was. And she kindly obliged. ***This is a good point to insert my commentary about the general niceness of Archangelsk residents. It’s not that people in Yaroslavl are actually mean. But people in Archangelsk seemed actually nice. Like the cars stopped at crosswalks!!! Unbelievable, I know. And one time this conductor woman on the marshrootka leaned out of the door and explained where they were going and tried to convince members of the crowd to get on. And also you don’t have to wave for the marshrootka’s to stop. They just do!*** Okay, anyways. So the lady told me when to get off. So I paid for entry to the museum. And I successfully paid only 30 roubles for a student instead of the 200 for a foreigner. And then I just wandered around for like 3 hours looking at the sweet old wooden houses, barns, churches, water pumps, windmills, etc…And it was nice to not be in the city. I always forget how nice it is to be surrounded by trees instead of people and cars. Then I went to another gift shop/souvenir store. This is mainly because I recently realized I better start buying gifts for people. I have no idea what is an appropriate souvenir from Russia. However, my gift buying is constricted by the fact that all of my purchases must be both compact (easily packable), light (I’m deathly scared my suitcases will be over the weight limit), and not fragile (because they will have to share the suitcase with among other things hockey skates). But the woman in this store was also not satisfied with my just aimlessly looking at the souvenirs. So then I went to the bus station and took the next bus back to Archangelsk. And on this trip back I received 2 lucky tickets!!! This was the craziest thing ever. So now my collection of luck transport tickets is up to 4.

Then I wandered around for a long time both in the city center and along the sea. And then I had to find the concert hall because on Friday I had gone to buy a ticket to the organ and violin concert which was the 16th annual opening concert of some international musical concert in Archangelsk. So then I went to the concert and the building was beautiful, both inside and out. I think it was built in the 17th century. And it was nice to just sit there and sort of still be in this “wow-I can’t believe I’m doing this right now” mode which sort of existed the whole weekend. And when the organ guy (whose last name was Stroganof- which is awesome) was playing his back was to the audience. But whenever he would finish a composition he would do this overdramatic swinging of his legs over the top of the bench and hop to his feet for the dramatic bow. It was highly amusing.

Sunday
The alternative title for this entry is “Part 5: Cowboys,” but you will have to keep reading to understand why.
So I woke up and packed and paid for my hotel room. And the woman took my room key and typed it in to the computer and then started to speak in awkward English. But I answered in Russian. And she smiled and said “Oh, you speak Russian!” And it was good. And then I managed to pay to leave my bag in the камера хранения. I guess they must have these things in the U.S. too where you can leave your luggage because your train/plane leaves late in the day. But I must just stay at only like Super 8’s which never have them. Then I went and bought a Snickers at the Kiosk. This is only important because Snickers became an important part of my diet during my Archangelsk time. One time I tried to buy Skittles but the woman looked at me and had to dig around in her kiosk for like 5 minutes to find a bag of Skittles. So I just stuck with the Snickers. Then I went to the last museum on my list of museums which is housed in the old fort/protection building thing which is very old and apparently one of only a few old stone protection buildings left in Russia. And there was this old Russian man standing at the doorway who was sort of sketchy and smiled at me and opened the door. And then I asked him where the museum was and he kept smiling and pointed me to the door. So then I went to this museum.
And read all about how Archangelsk was Russia’s first port city until dumb Piter came about. And then all about wedding tradition in the север. And then as I prepared to exit, I realized that I had to pass the crazy doorman guy again.

Conversations and Candy:
So he invited me into the small glass hut/cabin/office thing which stands at the entrance. And then I sat down and he told me to tell me what I had thought about the museum. So I just stared to talk and then he interrupted me to ask me where I was from. And I said I studied in Yaroslavl, but I was from America. Oh man, this highly delighted him. And then he mentioned Margaret Thatcher and continued to refer to her for the remainder of our conversation.

So we talked about Russia, politics, the U.S., my family, my lack of boyfriend. He was very unsatisfied by the lack of boyfriend. So I changed my story that I had a boyfriend, but it was too hard when I was in Russia and he was in the U.S. My new friend’s solution to this problem was that the boyfriend could come to Russia. Then he also suggested that there were lots of men in Russia. Plus, winter is coming. And it will be cold, so I need a boyfriend. Then when it was revealed that I was 20 yrs. old, he said I should have 2 children already. By the way, did I want girls or boys? Also don’t forget that every approximately 5 minutes, he would again refer to Margaret Thatcher. Then I am fairly sure that he coupled the fact that I was an American and I was interested in politics, that I was going to be president soon. So he stopped referring to good old Margaret and began referring to seeing me on television as president in a few years. Then he gave me some candy and sent me on my way. He was soo cool. Also, he used to work in Kamchatka!

Next up: “House of Books”
This was only a problem because it combines my love for books and my love of Russian and so I just want to buy approximately EVERYTHING. I found some textbook about America in English, in which there was a “Part 5: Cowboys.” The most important things about the U.S. seemed to be New York City and cowboys. Then I found the atlas/map section so I spent forever looking at all of these awesome World Atlases in Russian. And I even found Мизула (Missoula) on one of the U.S. maps! Sadly, Middlebury did not make the cut. Then again, Middlebury doesn’t make the cut on most English maps. Then I found «Моя Жизнь-Бил Клинтон» (My Life-Bill Clinton) and so I really wanted to buy that. Then I found the children’s section and I almost bought one of the “learn to read” books for Kit. The book was called something like “My Little Book-y” and had awesome pages and illustrations of гриб (mushroom) or кот (cat). But then I realized that books are neither small/compact (especially huge atlases) nor light. So I didn’t buy anything. Then I realized that possibly this was a good idea. Because maybe I am the only person who would want a huge atlas of the world in Russian. Also if you are Laurel and you wish that you were going to receive a travel guide to Paris (in Russian) I am sorry because I decided not to buy that either.

Then I wandered along the pedestrian only street which was full of lots of people and lots of miniature horses and….a camel? I don’t know why there was a camel there. I considered paying money to ride it. But as there would have been no one else to appreciate the brilliance of this experience, I just stared at it for a while. Also I remembered the one time I was talking to Susanna and she was alarmed by the camel invasion of the Irkutsk streets. Then I went back to the market and wandered around some more. Looked at the sea one last time. Retrieved my bags from the hotel. The doorman asked me if I wanted him to put it in my car. And I almost laughed at him.

Sat at the train station for a long time. Sat and slept on the train for a much longer time. Returned to Yaroslavl. Margarita prepared a feast for my arrival. Same old, same old. She also rearranged all of the furniture in my room. And I am not satisfied. But she is in utter восторг. Ну, что делать.

Various Other Things Which I Forgot To Mention
My reading during the trip revealed many interesting things:
Apparently J.K. Rowling recently revealed that Dumbledore was gay. And then the article went on to suggest that McGonogal was a lesbian and question the close relationship between Filch and his cat. Pure brilliance.
Also Tom Cruise is building a like 19 story bunker below his house in Colorado. Because he is afraid of alien invasion.
Also there is this phenomenal picture of George Bush looking like a complete loon. And I understood the whole article except for the punch line.

Russians understood the glory of baked goods. And the glory of chocolate. But as far as I can tell, they don’t really combine the two. So any sort of chocolate chip cookie is non-existent. Except I found some in a grocery store in Archangelsk. But they were not very good. But nonetheless, they were chocolate chip cookies.

Also Ирония Судбы 2 is coming out in December.

Tomorrow is November 7 which is the day of the communist revolution of something like that. And although Putin tried to replace it with November 4th (Day of Unity), communist habits die hard. So there is going to be some Communist Meeting and March.

Update: I walked by where the march was going to be an hour before it was supposed to start. And there were already a lot of police men milling about. And I didn't know if I should be more scared of the policemen or the Communists. So I just went home.

Fast Train 16 Moscow – Archangelsk

I just returned from my four day vacation in northern Russia: Archangelsk. And although I have very many great stories to share, for some reason, I can’t adequately turn them into words at the moment. Usually the writing genius strikes at approximately 1 a.m., so I will hope that later tonight the words I can come up with will adequately describe my experience. Because the excerpts I just wrote are really really bad and don’t capture what seemed to me to be a sort of magical and unbelievable trip….

And so begins what will definitely end up being a very long, multiple entry story of my last five days. My train to Archangelsk left from Yaroslavl at 2:15 p.m. on Halloween, October 31. However I arrived at the train station at approximately 11:30. You ask, why? And I say that Margarita was driving me crazy. So, I just told her that my train left a lot earlier than it actually did. This was a brilliant plan until she wanted to look at my ticket. She wanted to make sure the train was leaving from the main Yaroslavl station and not the Yaroslavl (Moscow) station. But I just sort of refused and ran out of the apartment. So I sat at the train station for a long time just people watching. So then finally the train came and we all got on. And I found the correct wagon but I didn’t understand the seating. It was a platskart wagon so there are open compartments of 6 people in each compartment. Except the seats were numbered for both a sleeping wagon (which I was in) and a sitting only wagon (which would have held a lot more people). So I just stood in the aisle where I thought my seat was until this man told me it was impossible for another person to be sitting in that area as it was already full and he pointed me to the correct place. And then I just sat down and took a deep breath. And realized that I had 20 hours to go. And I was already exhausted from waiting for the train and getting to the right platform and finding the wagon and then my seat.

So I sat there for a while. My seat mates were two women who essentially immediately made their beds upon receiving their package of sheets and went to bed (at approx 3 p.m.) and another middle aged man who didn’t seem very friendly or talkative. Also everyone immediately took off their shoes and put on their house shoes which they had brought along for the journey. Well, everyone except for me.

So I started to read the magazine that I had bought before my departure. And I sort of read/sort of looked at the pictures for a while. And then the most important event of the journey occurred. New seat mates joined our compartment. They were two men who I would guess were approximately 50 years. Okay, this entry is getting really boring to both write and reread. So I am just going to fast forward to the highlights…

Picnicking with the Russians
The two new men decided it was time to eat. And suddenly the little table was alarmed by loafs of bread, hunks of sausage, cheese, crackers, tea bags, like a billion hard boiled eggs, some container of salt, some larger container of sugar, cookies, hunks of carrot cake. (I am sorry that I used the word “hunk” to describe approximately half of the food.) Moving on. So I was fairly alarmed by the whole magical appearance of all this food. And then one of the guys started talking to me and put a hard boiled egg in front of me. I tried to continue reading. And then he said “Why are you reading….Let’s eat…” And so we had this feast of food and they just kept giving me more pieces of bread or cheese or meat or eggs. And then we drank tea. And it was awesome.

And then we all made up our beds and read until they dimmed the lights and then I just sort of laid there thinking how awesome it was that I had just picnicked with Russians and now the train was speeding towards Archangelsk. And then for some reason everyone got up again and we drank tea again and then we actually went to bed for the night. As in I would sleep for an hour and then wake up either because the train was stopping and so people were getting on or off or because I had to change sleeping positions.

Bloody Nose
Okay, I realize this is gross and not really blog appropriate. But then I got a bloody nose and so I laid there really hoping this was not a “Kit” level bloody nose. As in the bleeding would not spread to my eyes. Because that would have been a very very very bad situation. But luckily it did not spread to my eyes. So that was good.

My Friends Departure
And then I woke up again and the men were bustling about because we had arrived at their station. And then they waved at me and left. And I felt really, really alone and scared. So I went back to bed.

6:30 A.M. Arrival
So then the train lady woke everybody up at 6:00. I was very confused. But I followed along what everybody else was doing and I folded up all my sheets and rolled up my sleeping mattress. And I went to return the sheets to the train lady. Except I had forgotten the towel, so she yelled at me. And then I returned with the towel and she scowled at me. And then we all just sat there. And I was still very confused. And then one of the women in my compartment put on her coat which consisted of like an entire dead fox and his face draped across the back. It was really fairly atrocious. And highly alarming at approximately 6:15 a.m. And then the train slowed into a station and the large letters said Archangelsk. WHAT? I thought we were arriving at 10 a.m. So, I just sat there wondering if maybe this was the Archangelsk Oblast station and we were still 4 hours away from the actual city. But then everybody got up to get off the train. And the scowling train lady was scowling. So I got off. And then I went and sat in the train station from for 3 and a half hours. Because I needed time to compose myself in order to embark upon the next challenges, mainly finding my hotel and checking in. Plus, I knew that the check-in time for the hotel was noon. And although I figured I could show up around 10 or 11. I wasn’t about to show up at 6:45 a.m.

Sitting in the Train Station
Nothing happened. Except these official looking men came and stood about for a while. And I felt like they were just staring at me and waiting for me to move and then they would come and demand large amounts of paperwork and documents and such. But then they just turned out to be waiting for a train. So they got on and left. And I started to breath again.

Public Transportation
Although I had spent a significant amount of time reading the travel guide book that Megan has at school, I had to return it to her before I left for the trip. So my entire knowledge of Archangelsk was confined to a small piece of paper on which I had written down things which seemed important. And I had a mini hand drawn map I had copied down from the book. The map consisted of a box representing the train station, another box far away representing the hotel, and the name of the main street which connected the train station to the center of the city in which my hotel was approximately located. So, exiting the train station, I knew only that I needed to go straight for a long time till I ran into the water and then wander to the right and somewhere there would be my hotel.

So I stood at the marshrootka stop for a very long time. Just reading where all of them were going and desperately hoping that this all worked out. And then two different people tried to ask me directions. And I almost started laughing at them. I wish they knew that they asked directions from the clueless American girl with only a paper map of the city. So then I saw that one of the buses was going down “Sunday street” which was the main street I needed to get to the end of. So I got on and paid. And then we drove. And then at the end of it, we turned left. So I got off and walked back to the right. And at this point, I realized how helpless I was. And how useless the paper map really was. Because it didn’t have any connecting street names between Sunday street and my hotel. I also forgot to mention that I knew the information center was at 8 Freedom Street. And on the paper map, the dot for the information center and the box for my hotel were close together. So then somehow I walked straight and I found Freedom Street. And then I turned to walk towards the water because I thought that I remembered that my hotel was close to the water. And then THERE WAS MY HOTEL! And so I walked into the lobby and sort of just stared at the doorman. And he said “registration?” And I said “da.” And then I checked in, which was made much easier by the fact that the moment the front desk boy saw my U.S. passport he began to speak in English to me. And then the doorman carried by suitcase to my room and wished me a “pleasant relaxation.” And then I took another deep breath. And took a nap for 4 hours.