In a bit of a rut.

The initial shock, I'm pleased to say, has entirely worn off. I'm entirely comfortable wandering around town, bumbling my way through interactions with shopkeepers and cafe employees, and I even managed to get myself a haircut. I'm still a bit shy of walking into restaurants without checking them out in the SPb InYourPocket or online first, but that's just because I really don't know enough food words to reliably navigate a Russian menu. On the other hand, I did manage to eat lunch without an English menu at a pleasant little cafe, Супвино, today; French onion soup and pasta with meat sauce were not difficult to puzzle out.

The other side of this, though, is that I'm starting to get a bit complacent. Restaurants are the one place where I can regularly find English-speaking staff, or at least an English menu; yesterday at Teplo, I had no need to utter so much as a word of Russian after saying hello. If I do need to speak Russian, it's generally limited to 'give me this, this and that,' which doesn't really get me very far outside of a restaurant or shop. And it's easy for me to just go to class, come home and doodle around on the internet through the evening, with really very little Russian passing my lips or ears throughout the day.

I can't claim to having a sure fire solution to this. But I did recently find the English Communication Club, which is devoted to Russians who want to practice English. I'm an American who wants to practice Russian, but I'm happy to make it a two-way street. There's a meeting tonight that I may or may not make it to; if I don't make that meeting, I'm definitely going to hit another one soon. Even if I don't get a lot of opportunities to practice Russian, maybe I can make a few friends. One of the things this trip has taught me is that this lone wolf thing that's my normal style is hopelessly flawed. I don't necessarily have an answer for that, either, but I'm definitely aware of it. To my friends and family back home, and my handful of friends here (should they happen to be reading this), I'm more in your debt for the support you've given me over the last couple of months than I can probably effectively express.

A couple of stray comments: Glintwein is my new favorite thing here. Mulled, sweetened wine, with or without fruit. It's incredibly delicious. Honestly, the possibility of glintwein may well do more to get me into random cafes than anything else over the next several months till the weather changes.

Came home today to find a small Christmas (New Year's?) ornament hung on my desk. It's a nice thought, even if it made a lousy picture. See below.

The river is covered with ice, though patches of open water keep showing up and its apparently still at least somewhat navigable. It took about two days for the nearly the entire surface to be iced over--from chunks of ice floating downstream on the first truly cold day after the recent warm period to what you see in the pictures below.

This week is the last of classes before a two week break for the holidays. I haven't got a clue what I'm doing for lunch over those two weeks, but I hope it's not McDonald's every day. (Or even McD's alternating with Teremok.)

Winter in SPb

Волшебная Флейта

My first opera! I'm still basking in the afterglow; this may be a bit impressionistic.

Papagero! Prince Tamino stands on the stage, looking pointedly up into the audience. I notice the audience looking up behind me, and Papagero is coming down the aisle, toting feathery boxes on a long pole balanced on his head. He strides up onto the edge of the balcony, directly in front of me, and strides back and forth, singing and swinging the boxes around. (A lady in the row behind smacked one of them.) This is just the beginning for Papagero: Later, he accepts a giant glass of wine from the conductor and passes it around the audience. I don't *think* anyone had a drink. Still later, he and Papagena took two children out of the audience and brought them up on stage. Really, he was an absolute show-stealer.

Speaking of the audience: The Mariinsky Theatre Concert Hall is in the round, with seats on all sides of the stage. This includes several rows of benches that are actually on-stage, which is where those lucky kids were sitting. They brought them back out for the curtain call; their applause was only rivaled by Papagero's and the Queen of the Night's.

Speaking of the Queen: what pipes! There is simply no way that I'll be able to describe what she did with her voice. It was preternaturally beautiful--it gave me chills. If I wasn't looking at her on stage, I don't know if I would've believed that it was a real human voice.

The production was fairly sparse, but no less beautiful for it. In addition to Papagero, Pamina came down the aisle on my side, dropping her parasol just next to me, and the chorus lined the aisles on both sides, right up to where I was sitting. (NB: Opera, when performed directly into your ear, is quite loud.)

Between the acts, the percussionist gave a little impromptu demonstration/lecture about his various instruments, which started with just a small group and, by the third bell, had a substantial chunk of the audience gathered around him. It was, in general, a fairly intimate, relaxed venue. There were quite a few empty seats behind the stage; I don't know how it looked behind me.

I didn't count the curtain calls, but there were several. Never in my life have I wanted to shout "Bravo!" quite so much, but I was a bit afraid of looking ridiculous. Bravo was shouted, but I believe it was shouted by the performers themselves. Interestingly, the applause synchronized and stayed that way throughout the curtain calls--I'm not sure if this is a Russian thing, an opera thing, or just an odd happening at this performance.

In short: It was wonderful. My only regrets are not being able to understand more of it--it was performed in Russian--and that it wasn't a bit more of a Giant Spectacle sort of opera. I'm looking forward to the organ concert, also at the Concert Hall, and must admit that this is not likely to be my last opera. It might well be the last one I get into for $20, though…

A sign of things to come...

Ice in the Bol'shaya Neva on a beautiful, cold winter's day... (which would be the album cover below, but Picasa's not listening to me tonight.)

New Year's, Commies, and a Hint of Things to Come

Russian Weddings

Any time I walk down the English Embankment on a weekend, I can count on a wedding at the Wedding Palace. Today was no exception. On my way to Tandoor, one of the two Indian restaurants near St. Isaac's, I passed one wedding and bumped into another across the street from the Bronze Horseman. After they managed to cause an accident crossing the street, they headed towards the Horseman himself. In the little plaza around the statue, along with Peter and Catherine,* a pair of buskers** were waiting; as the party approached, they struck up the wedding march on trumpet and banjo, and from there segued into a rather eclectic mix of Russian tunes and western standards. The perfect coincidence of it all, never mind the music ringing out across the park, put a big smile on my face.

In other news, I had an enormous Indian lunch at Tandoor, left a fairly fat tip since I think I'll be going back, and bought tickets to The Nutcracker and an organ concert at the Mariinsky Theatre and the Mariinsky Theatre Concert Hall, respectively. Got the student rate on the tickets, which was a very pleasant surprise--the Nutcracker ticket alone would've cost more than the pair of them if I'd had to pay the foreigner rate.

* I think they're there every weekend. I was going to ask for a picture, but I didn't want to interfere with the wedding party. Next time.

** At least, I'm pretty sure they were buskers. They didn't have a case open that I could see, but I was giving the wedding party a wide berth. I don't figure anyone includes two old guys with a banjo and a trumpet in their actual wedding plans.

A quiet week.

Posts have been slow, as you may've noticed, simply because I've fallen into a bit of a rut this week. The sun's coming up quite late, and going down early--it's starting to get dark before I'm out of school at 15:30 or so, and not really getting light until 10:00. That may be having an effect on my mood and energy level, or I may just be in a bit of a lazy rut of my own devise. Regardless of the cause, the routine this week has been to get up, putter around here for a while, go to school, come home, and putter around here until bedtime. Nothing much to do and nowhere to go means I've got nothing to share with you.

Still, a few things worth noting:

• We wound up in a rather cramped fourth floor room today. It just happened to have a piano, and it turns out that one of the Chinese girls can play a little. On break, she played for a few minutes; it did a remarkably good job of quieting the room. Ludmila Nikolaevna came in in the middle, and joined the audience until she finished.
  
• On a bulletin board right next to the room, I spotted a flyer for spbdodgeball.blogspot.com. That's right: Dodgeball (дадзбол!) here in Piter. I may just go check it out. Dodgeball's the universal language, right?
  
• Natasha asked me about my religion at dinner tonight. It was a touch awkward--I don't know any religious words other than Бог (God), so I couldn't really explain that while I'm more or less an atheist, it's more to the point to say that it just isn't all that important to me. (Nor my parents--she asked about you also.) After she was gone I thought of a way that I could've said it.* This happens often; it's like thinking up the perfect witty riposte right after the conversation is over, except that it happens almost every time I need to say anything at all. When I'm on the spot, I freeze.
  

That's about it. This weekend, I'm going to get my hair cut, go to one or two decent restaurants for lunch, and try to buy tickets to the Nutcracker and an Evening of Organ Music. Past that, no plans yet.

* Бог есть? Нет Бога? Я не знаю. Нам не важно; мне важно люди, мир, жизнь. Здесь, теперь. ("There is a God? There isn't? I don't know. It's not important to us; to me, what's important are people, the world, life. Here and now.") Probably disastrously bad Russian, but enough to get the point across, I imagine.

The Idiot and the Hermitage

Yesterday saw me actually carry out my plans essentially as, well, planned.

The Idiot: As advertised, the meal did come with a complimentary shot of vodka. The space is cozy and, as near as I could tell, complicated--a maze of small, low-ceilinged rooms filled with dark wood, low couches, and odd knick-knacks, like the half-melted stereo that was near my seat. The food was acceptable, if not spectacular, but the portion was ample. A small card at the table advertised their New Year's celebration; if I'm not doing anything else, I may wind up here.

The Hermitage: Simply spectacular. Words do not do it justice, so I won't make the attempt. For me, the highlight was the building itself, rather than the art it contained--the rooms where it still looked somewhat like what it might have in the days of the Tsars. It really is like something from a fairy tale.

On the other hand, this being Russia, nothing can possibly be made easy. Getting in means queuing up in the cold while they admit people in blocks. Once you're in, you have to deal with the cashiers. Fighting with them seems to be a popular hobby for Russians, and the line tends to be rather poorly organized--after I had the misfortune to step to a second window where a lady was fighting the cashier at some length, I wound up having to wait through several (less contentious) patrons who'd somehow managed to queue up on the other side of her. Ticket in hand, I headed to the coat check room to find that every hook was already taken. Since you're not allowed to wear your coat into the galleries (for fear you might slip a painting into it and escape, I suppose), there was no choice but to pick a bay and hope someone eventually came to claim their coat. Once finally free of my coat, I was able to head in.

Was it worth the hassle? Absolutely. But I'm not sure I'll make it my go-to entertainment of choice, even if it is free.

I left around four, and snapped a few pictures on the way back. Sometime I'll have to head to the other side of the Bol'shaya Neva and take a few of the English Embankment in the evening; they light it up beautifully.

Sculpture and Light

Almost all of these were taken in and around the University, where there's a little bit of sculpture scattered almost randomly around. Plus, another Soviet relic and a couple of bare-breasted statues from the extremely wet excursion last Saturday.

Mostly Sculpture

You must follow the model EXACTLY, Tomas.

Class was a bit on the frustrating side today. A daily feature of our classes with Ludmila Nikolaevna (who seems to have eaten Elena, or hid her in a closet, or something) is "Diktant," or dictation. In its most elemental form, LN will recite five sentences, and provide an outline of their structure on the whiteboard; we are responsible for writing down what we hear. This was almost the first thing I did when I changed groups, and it's one of the things I appreciate most about this group. It gives me the listening practice I so urgently need. LN has several variations of the basic format, any one of which might be the exercise for the day.

Today, she went with "Samodiktant," which would sort of translate to "Self-dictation." In this particular form, she provided what turned out to be an extremely specific outline of four very simple sentences; we were to construct sentences that conformed to the model. I immediately set to work. Reality often being my best inspiration, I wrote, "Вчера вечером, мы с подругой поехали на концерт." ("Yesterday evening, my (female) friend and I went to a concert.") When LN saw this, she quickly took issue. We've not had the preposition that I used in class yet, nor the case that it governs, and she told me that I needed to follow the model exactly--that the other stuff comes later.

What I couldn't say, though I wanted to, was that while the class might not know the instrumental case, I do. (Not particularly well, but I know it.) If I don't use it, I tend to forget it, and what other chance do I have to use it, but when an opportunity presents itself in class? This is the second time I've run up against this instance on slavishly following the model, and it reinforces the importance of getting out-of-class experience with this language. If I only follow the models in class, I might be able to construct painfully simple sentences in any of a limited number of rigidly defined forms; I won't be able to speak the language (unless I'm lucky enough to need to say one of those limited things). I know I'll make mistakes if I'm running out ahead of the class--I make them even with the stuff we're currently working on, now and then. But I want to make them, and I need to make them if I'm going to learn.

It also makes me think that it may be time to hop up a level again. The only thing that really holds me back right now is my vocabulary and my weak listening comprehension; I'm nearly certain that I already know all of the grammar in at least the first of our textbooks. Maybe in another month I'll feel like I've got the vocab to skip ahead again. Or, if I can find a conversation partner, maybe I can just treat class as an extremely simple review and move ahead on my own…

Gogol Bordello

Last night: Gogol Bordello. What to say? As usual, Hutz & Co. played their hearts out. The setlist had a fairly lengthy digression into something like a samba medley in the middle, with Eugene and Pedro playing that… uh, tin can thing? The upshot was that we got a few less GB songs than we usually would have, but the show and energy were up to the usual level of excellence. The venue was large, with good sound. Smoking was notionally prohibited, but you actually had cigarette girls wandering around selling (of all things) Chesterfields. Unlike concerts in the states, the time listed on the tickets was actually the time the first act went on stage. Venues in the states, I encourage you to adopt this practice.

Our seats were a bit further back than we'd expected--we paid extra for "VIP" tix, which means that we had a place to sit if we were so inclined. All Robin knew when she bought them was that they were in the first row; she didn't know and had no reason to suspect that the VIP section was in the very back of the hall. Nor was there any reason to suspect that it would be peopled primarily with the most sedate people I've ever seen at a concert. They didn't stand up, they didn't dance, they didn't sing along, they usually didn't even applaud. Towards the end we did wind up with a couple of guys dancing like crazy in the aisle--maybe it was the liquor.

Minor complaints here--for the most part, a good time was had by all and it even got out early enough to make the metro (though Pl. A-Nevskogo closes early, for some reason).