A portrait of a runner as she hits the road

Jai-ho

Here On the Shores of the Gulf of Finland . . .

Taylor by the пушки

 . . . is where this whole odyssey began.

I last came here six years ago – that is, I was swept here, dropped off after countless hours of plane and bus travel, left in the middle of a glass-and-trash ridden beach at the end of the world.  That was my first night in Russia.  

And now I find myself at my last.

It’s hard to sum up the mixture of feelings I have as I return to this spot.  I remember sitting on the rocks here that first night, drinking a beer, watching the sunset, looking down at my watch and realizing it was midnight.  Despite the shock of my arrival, I became hypnotized by the mystery of Russia that very night.  It’s a spell I’ve been under ever since.

My fascination with Russia had no easy words to describe it.  Those first days were so hard.  How I struggled to remember how to say “canon”, so I could tell the marshutka driver to drop me off at the monument to Kirov.  How I searched hopelessly for the propellers, the only distinguishing structure on the strip of Soviet Bloc apartments that told me where my front door was.  How I sat at my desk late into the night, with the same stack of ten vocabulary cards that I prayed someday I might learn.  Propeller.  Canon.  A bottle of water, please.

 

Home Sweet Home

Gradually I got better at Russia.  And after a year here, I think I might be able to say that I have Moscow and Petersburg down pretty well.  Maybe that’s why I love this country.  It’s hard, it’s cold, it’s downright obtrusive and unfriendly.  But I can do it.  And I can make people smile.

Tonight I am bound for parts West.  And I strangely find myself with little nostalgia.  I always said that a year in Russia would be fine, but a year and a day would be far too long.  At the end of the day, one of the only reasons I really can love this country is that I can leave it.

And I will.

Tonight.

Last Night in Petersburg with Tanya and John

John and Tanya fishing for their supper

We had a great time together in St. Petersburg, as the pictures will show.  But for the last night, John and Tanya dreamed up a special treat.  We went to a restaurant called Russkaya Ribalka – Russian Fisher.  It was a fish place, as you might imagine, but it came with a catch.  That is, you had to catch your dinner.

Those of you who know me might mistakenly think that my fishing skills are nothing to write home, or post a blog, about.  How wrong you are!!

First, you flirt with the Russian guy who is running the fishing pond.

Then he gives you the special rod with the shiny bait.

Then you attract the trout’s attention.

And then you have dinner!!

Highlights from the trip with Tanya and John

Taylor and Katya with Yuri Gagarin’s Car

The largest meal ever- Saturday Lunch in Gagarin

Banya Buddies – John and Vladimir

Strike a Pose – Taylor and Tanya at Petropavlovsk

More fun in Gagarin

John, Tanya, Katya with Gagarin’s Car

256 Days

Don’t they go by in a blink?

There are no words to sum up how I feel about leaving Moscow.  So many friends, so many memories, so many experiences.  Every single day.  I don’t even know what to say as I am leaving Moscow.  I don’t know what I will say when people ask how it was.

I guess . . .

To quote one of my favorite thinkers . . .

It was good.

This has international incident written all over it

Tanya, John, Taylor, and St. Basils. Ole

No sooner was I back from Helsinki than I was back at the airport picking up two of my best friends from Colorado!! Tanya, aka Tennis Monkey, my roommate from Bucknell and Boulder, and John, her boyfriend, my friend, flew in from the Great Wide West for two weeks.  We have spent the past weeks travelling from one end of Moscow to the other :

Sometimes going by bike

Stopping to enjoy snacks :

Tanya with Cotton Candy and Beer

Taking part in cultural events :

With Julia, Myra, and Lucy after a concert

Talking to students:

Presentation on financial crisis for Russian students

And all in all, having a good time.

Tomorrow it is off to Gagarin with my friend Katya, and then Sunday evening we will leave the big city for St. Petersburg.

And I will leave Moscow for good.

The boys are back in town

Motorcycles in Moscow.  Summertime in the city.

Motorcycles on parade

Highlights of Helsinki

Blip.

That is the sound you make when you burst that bubble that divides East from West, Russia from Europe and America.  There is something about leaving this country that is a breath of fresh air, like gulping in oxygen after holding your breath too long under water.  I experienced this blip when I traveled witht the ‘rents to Helsinki for a few days.  One hour on a plane, and all of a sudden I was in a place where people were smiling, I could drink water from the tap, and the athletic were up at 5:30 to get in their workout and run.

My people ).

But better than anything, I was also able to catch up with the Finnish leg of my family – Uncle John, Aunt Marie, Mika, Ben, and Carlo.  I hadn’t seen any of them for 14 years.  The time in Helsinki was a great reunion, and a great way to reestablish connections with a wonderful side of the Rogers clan.

Taylor with Uncle John

Sidewalk Cafe in Downtown Helsinki

The family on Marie’s Island

Sunselt off the coast

Tall ship on the water

Harbor

Mmmm, fish

The family at home

A walk down amnesia lane

The funny thing about being in St. Petersburg is, not only have I been here before, I’ve lived here before.

August 2003.  My first experience in this country.  I guess you could say I snuck into Russia via the Western window, and had a full month to adapt to life here before I headed further east to the capital.

But even though I lived here, I have to share an embarassing truth – I remember almost nothing from St. Petersburg.  I know my visit involved a Hermitage, and there was a trip to the Dostoevsky museum in there.  But other than that, I seriously remembered almost nothing from this town.

Being here has been interesting.  It’s not just a refresher course – it’s like, as soon as I see something familiar, I instantly remember it, and incorporate it into my memory bank. That memory bank holds incredible riches from my former life.   Not only do I remember where the metro is as Nevsky Prospekt, for example, but I remember that you have to go into a strange overhang in order to get to the вход.  I remember that it’s on the left-hand side of the street right at Griboedov Canal, where the Church of Spilled Blood is.  And I remember that right across from there is Dom Knigi, which is not just a book store, but the best book store in St. Petersburg, and the best place to take the parents if they are looking for something to read on the plane.

I remember things like this, once I’m put back in the environment.  But the funny thing is, really, I don’t remember much from my first time in Petersburg.  And I think that’s because I was working so hard to learn the language, learn the culture, and not feel so isolated and cut off from everything I was surrounded by.

I never suceeded in integrating into Petersburg culture.  I was here for a month, and I was never anything more than an American student who knew only Americans and had to stand for a really long time in front of a street sign if she wanted to spell out what the letters of the name said.

Moscow was the city I conquered.  Moscow for me holds connotations of facing an incredible challenge but sticking with it, living up to it, learning it, mastering it.  Petersburg returns me to a time when I  didn’t  know what I was doing in this country.

It was a long time ago.  But I still miss those times, too.

Victory Day

At the beginning of this trip I posted a short meditation about how the Russians take their World War II victory very seriously.  As they should.  With over 20 million citizens lost in the fighting and war effort, it’s not surprising that the experience scarred the populace’s collective consciousness, and among them summons passionate memories and feelings to this day.

Nor is it surprising that the people take their World War II Victory Day celebrations very seriously.  When it comes to Russian holidays, May 9 is second only to New Year.  It represents not only the coming of spring, but the celebration of the enduring Russian spirit.

Palace Square preparing for the demonstrations

I was with the ‘rents in St. Petersburg for the grand affair, and it was a special place to be.  From 1941-1945 this town suffered and survived history’s longest siege – 900 days.  So even, and especially, sixty-four years after the fact, St. Petersburg residents are proud.  And on May 9, the bands, marching, speeches, and festivities were something to see.

Marching for Victory Day

So we were told – all we saw were the backs of people’s heads.  And the only good photos that came out of the mix came from Taylor placing herself directly in the parade route for a game of chicken with the oncoming battalions.