To fish, to fish, l'fishim!

Dear private diary/Big Brother,

I’m already beginning to cross things off my Russia “to do” list. For example, last night I got my first lecture, delivered by Tatjana, on how life in Soviet Russia is better than life in Today Russia. Her argument was logical. She complained about her pension now and the effects of inflation in Russia. She also said that things were super cheap in the Soviet Union. According to Tatjana a potato, for example, cost roughly $0.001. Now, a potato costs about $1. The truth is that the average Russian salary today is way, way, WAY less than the average American salary. As Tatjana described, even though things may cost the same in Russia and America, it’s much easier to buy them on an American salary. It’s almost as if everyone lives below the poverty line here, but that’s unfortunately the norm.

Russia’s awesome in many ways, but don’t ever move here. Life sucks. Sue me, Putin.

As for crossing other things off the list, today we (yes, finally) got a tour of The Church of Our Savior on Spilled Blood. As expected, it was an absolutely incredible building. There were mosaics all over the walls, icons, beautiful bold colors, everything. After years of studying and learning about icons, Russian music, and Orthodox Christianity/religion in Russia, here it all was. I wanted to bring a giant loudspeaker into the church and play Rachmaninoff’s “Bogoroditse Devo”, one of my favorite pieces, and the art decorating the walls reminded me so much of the piece. 

The church was constructed in memory of Alexander the II, who was assassinated. Tragic story. Apparently Alexander II was in his carriage when a rebel threw a bomb at the carriage. Alexander II was not harmed. So, of course, he got out of the carriage to take a stroll. His exact words were, "Yo, dude! What the heck is this? What's up with this bomb crap?" And then another guy threw a bomb at him, blowing his legs off. Our friend Alex died a few days later. Seriously, what an idiot.

As for Peterburg's Jewish history, I’ve met some Jewish students in my program who, like myself, are getting in touch with their roots, and we’re hoping to go to several synagogues and maybe attend a few services.

After touring the church, I walked around Nevsky Prospect, the “5^th Avenue” or “Michigan Avenue” of St. Petersburg, with both Russians and Americans, and then we went to a popular Russian restaurant chain that serves both sushi and Italian food. Reminds me of Yummy Bowl in Highland Park, a Chinese restaurant that had neon “HAMBURGER” and “FRESH SMOOTHIES” signs in the window. We waited two hours for our food, and our waiter still didn’t bring me anything. Apparently this isn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence in Russian restaurants. We told the waiter to forget about my lunch and then left. Of course, Tatjana fed me lots when I returned to the apartment, including a bowl of the same soup I’ve been eating for dinner the last three days. The one with the chunks of beef. I also had pelmeniy, or Russian dumplings. She tried to put a huge chunk of butter on top of the pelmeniy, but I quickly told her that it was way too much. Generally, the most important question Russians ask everybody who eats Russian food is, “Would you like fat or oil on top of that grease?”

Speaking of Russian cooking, Big Sergei—who, by the way, is very kind (Little Sergei is also very kind)—went fishing yesterday in the Neva and caught some pretty big grub. I assumed the fish would be eaten, thrown out, or even served to Vasya. What a silly guess, Dasha, you naïve American dyevushka! Tonight I was told that instead they would be dried, salted, and then turned into beer. I did a Russian language double-take and asked if the fish were actually going to be transformed into beer. “Riyba i piva?” “Da, da. Piva,” Big Sergei responded. Beer. Usually I have beer in my beer, but fish should be an awfully good substitute, no?

Fish beer might be an alternative to some other drinks, though. Someone once told me that the reason I despise vodka is because I’ve never had really, really good Russian vodka. Nope, vodka still sucks.  Other than liquor and chai, Russians never drink anything, even with meals. It’s often an issue for Americans, who are used to ice-cold glasses of water. After each uber-salty meal, I secretly head to my room and chug a giant bottle of water in private.

But regarding water, that’s almost a non-issue. Today I accidentally ran my toothbrush under tap water. I haven’t died yet, so that’s good. As for my other tap water adventures, I was about to take a shower today standing in the tub, which is next to the washing machine. I had barely noticed a pile of black towels on top of the machine until, all of the sudden, they started to move. Turns out it wasn’t a pile of towels but rather my best feline friend in the whole wide world, Vasya. Upon noticing me, he craned his neck, which I took as a sign to scratch and rub his head. He enjoyed the little massage and then proceeded to gnaw on thick wire on top of the washing machine. Vasya speaks Russian very well, so I told him, in his native tongue, to stop. Naturally, he rolled over and tried to bite me. But seriously, I promise our relationship is getting better.

Also about the washing machine—Tatjana told me she would like to do my laundry because the machine is very old. I repeat: Tatjana wants to do my laundry. Can I stay here forever?

I have class in the morning at 10. Russian language ahoy! I feel like I’m already starting to think in Russian, and I’m really surprised given that my language skills are fairly elementary. Immersion is such a thrill, and I’m enjoying every minute of my Russian conversations.

Of missing you hope, is, all good Americaland, well in.

With love from the Neva,

Даша/Dasha/Dana