St. Petersburg, Or, My Struggles in Ballet Class Finally Pay Off

Sound: "Vacation" by the Go Gos

This weekend I went to St. Petersburg.  It was awesome.  St. Petersburg is a beautiful, cultural, wonderful city.  I saw so many historical sites and buildings and learned so much about Russia.

But I'm not going to talk about that.  I'm going to talk about getting drunk in a bar and making friends with Russians.

Originally, our group was supposed to see a performance of Hamlet at the Alexandrinksy Theater.  But, when we arrived at the theater, dressed in our finest, we learned that the performance had been cancelled... for the next two weeks.  So, we said, "screw it, let's go drink."

Actually, my friend Ron wanted to go on a boat tour, so we waited at what we thought was the pick up point for a boat tour for about forty-five minutes.  When no boat showed up, we said "screw it, let's go drink."

The bar scene in St. Petersburg is... weird.  Granted, we were staying in a really touristy area right off of Nevsky Prospekt (the main street), but the bars were still really freaking weird.  There was one with a pregnant spy theme.  Seriously.  It had pictures everywhere of a super pregnant woman with a giant gun and some spy gadgets.  There was another one with a Viking theme.  Not just Erik the Red Vikings, but any Vikings - including the Minnesota Vikings.  I don't think real Vikings would approve of their house beer though; it was like drinking Coors Light.

Eventually we ended up at a place called The Drunk Rabbit.  The bar is designed to look like a rabbit den (hutch?  I don't really know; rabbits aren't my thing); it's kind of dark, underground, and has lots of carrots everywhere.  Also stuffed rabbits covered in fake blood, which we tried to ignore.  At first, we figured we'd get a drink and just see what happens.  If we get too creeped out by the dead rabbits, we'd leave.  And then the DJ arrived and started playing pop hits of the 1950s and early 1960s.

My friends, to quote the poetic genius/rapper Macklemore: "We danced.  And we laughed.  And we cried.  And had a really, really, really good time."

I think the Russians may have been surprised at the seven Americans dancing and singing (loudly).  This wasn't really a dancing kind of bar.  But they had a DJ and good tunes, so... sorry, Russia, but we just wanna dance.  The best part, however, was when a Russian guy came and tentatively joined us.  And then the DJ played a traditional Russian folk song.  And then the Russian guy started dancing.  And he was doing steps I knew from ballet class!  And I got really excited, and Russian danced with him!  And he didn't slap me for insulting his country with my awkwardness!  In fact, he got kind of excited and made me do the squatty-kicky-outie thing (and when I told him I didn't know it, he just roared "DO IT!"  Okay, Russian man.  I will do it.)!

Guys, it was like the "L'chaim" scene in Fiddler on the Roof; two cultures came together in celebration of a very important thing; booze.

Springtime For Putin And Russia...y?

Sound: "Miami 2 Ibiza" by Swedish House Mafia feat. Tinie Tempah

My apologies to Mel Brooks for the title of this post.  I couldn't resist.

This week has, for reasons that I don't feel qualified to get into here, been really tough.  It's been hard being so far from home and not able to easily contact my friends in Boston.  However, I'm really glad everything seems to have worked out okay, and am extremely proud of my city.

Quick Diversion: There is a group of schoolchildren (maybe junior high school aged) in the park behind my dorm right now.  They are standing in a line listening to a woman (their teacher?) lecture.  The teacher is holding a GIANT communist flag.  "You Spin Me Right Round" by Dead Of Alive is playing.  I am incredibly confused, but, like many things here that confuse, have no choice but to shrug and say "Russia."

Fortunately, Russia has helped make this week a bit better by realizing that it's the middle of April, which means it's definitely spring.  Finally, after the snow that plagued us earlier this month, we have sun!  And warmth!  To the point where I'm not even wearing my coat, and sometimes shed my sweater.

Quick Diversion Update #1: Matt thinks the Russian kids and Communist lady are some form of Young Pioneers.  The kids are all wearing red neckerchiefs.  They are now playing the USSR national anthem, and some man is yelling emphatically at them.  "You Spin Me Right Round" has been replaced by some Eurotrash techno music, which is competing with the USSR national anthem.  Say it with me now: "Russia."

Surprisingly, Moscow is really pretty in the spring.  I'm still waiting for flowers and greenery, but it definitely seems a little less dirty and a lot less colorless.  Even the Soviet-era buildings have a strange beauty to them. It makes my 35-minute walk to school much more pleasant.

QDU #2: The Communist Young Pioneers are now having some sort of picnic.  And "All Around The World (la la la la la)" by ATC is playing.  The USSR national anthem is over.  This country is so bizarre.

Okay, clearly, along with sunshine, springtime in Moscow means more of the Russian crazy comes out.  I can't even anymore.  Sorry guys.  I've gotta keep my nose glued to the window and try to figure what the hell is going on.

Why Are People Touching Me Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

Sound: "Alpha Beta Parking Lot" by Cake

Guess what?  The Russians are still touching me.  Fortunately, they aren't being quite so creepy, and I've gotten so used to it that at this point, I barely bat an eye.

There was a slight respite in touching incidents.  But with the arrival of spring comes the arrival of weird touchy-grabby people.  The two most recent incidents of Morgan-Russian relations happened this past weekend in that most Russian of places - the Old Arbat.

The Old Arbat is a wonderful, huge pedestrian walkway in the middle of Moscow.  It boasts tons of wonderful cultural sites; the Vakhtangov Theater, Pushkin's apartment, Andrei Bely's apartment, Wendy's, Dunkin Donuts, Pinkberry - the list goes on.  It also has a ton of souvenir shops and people (men) dressed up as animals and/or popular cartoon characters (think Disney-style costumes, not realistic costumes).  Tourists or weird Russians can take pictures with these costumed entrepreneurs for 100 rubles, or a little more than $3.

While walking the Arbat with a few of my friends, we noticed a man dressed as King Julian, the lemur king from Madagascar.  Marissa's boyfriend is currently in Madagascar, so she needed to get a picture, which I happily took.  After finishing with Marissa, King Julian said he would take a picture with me "for free" (except we just saw him do the same thing with another pair of ladies, but whatever you say, silly entrepreneur lemur).  Why not? I thought, and posed with him.  And then Russia let its crazy out.

The picture Marissa took perfectly captures the feeling that something is not quite right.  Please note the expression in my eyes:

Why am I so wary?  Well, in addition Marissa, someone else was taking a picture of me.  A strange man.  As in, a man who is a stranger.  Who I do not know.  Who now has a picture of me.  Honestly, I'm not even that upset that he took my picture; I just want my 100 rubles.

Shortly after the stranger took a picture of me, I, along with Marissa and King Julian, was approached by a man dressed as a polar bear, who promptly hugged  me and demanded that I "drink vodka!" with him.  No. No, Polar Bear.  I do not want to drink vodka with you.  Also, you are a bear, and vodka is not a natural part of your diet.  You should not be drinking, Bear.

So we've got five incidents in about seven weeks.  Let's see what the remaining five weeks bring.

I'm The Swan Queen, You Never Even Left The Corps

Sound: "Another Man's Vine" by Tom Waits

One of the classes I'm taking here in Moscow is ballet.  Unlike most of my female friends, I never took ballet as a child.  I took gymnastics, because I was far more interested in hurtling headfirst into various stationary objects (bars, beam, vault, floor) than prancing around in a pretty fluffy tutu.  Clearly, I had no understanding of what ballet actually was.

Guys, ballet is really hard.

Let me give you an example of one of our teacher's favorite exercises.  Lift your leg as high as you can in front of you.  Good.  Now hold it for 8 (slow) counts.  Good.  Now lift it higher.  Excellent.  Put it down.  Now repeat three more times to the front, four times to the side, four time to the back, and four more times to the side because why the heck not?  Now do this with your legs perfectly straight, your feet turned out, your arms in a perfect, gorgeous second position, and your head held high.  Now do this with a serene expression and without, as my teacher puts it, "fear in your eyes."

Not so easy, right?

Plus there's jumping and combinations (My gosh, I CANNOT remember combinations.  At all.) and keeping time with the music, which I think I am unable to do at a genetic level.  Almost every class my teacher comes up to me and literally claps out the tempo while yelling "MUSIKA!  MUSIKA!"  Yes, I know there is musika.  I can hear it.  I just can't tell you what the time signature is.

Despite all this, I love my ballet class.  I still totally suck (and always will suck), but I feel like with every class, I suck a little less.

And I get to wear pink tights and a leotard and pretend that I'm the Swan Queen.  So, there's that.