Thursday, July 31, 2003
Oh, Pancake!
"Bleen." I learned this word my second day in Saint Petersburg when I asked what that great smell was in the Chaynaya Loshka (Tea Spoon), one of my favorite cafes. Bleen / bleeny (pancake / pancakes) are a Russian tradition and served in many more creative ways than I thought possible. Mushroom and chicken bleeny are one of my friend’s favorites.
Oddly though, I started to hear this word everywhere, well outside of the confines of cafes or discussions about food. During my first week, with my quite limited vocabulary I would hear conversations like this:
A: "Oh, and ... with ... [laughter]!"
B: "Pancake! True?"
A: "Where is...[frustrated] I can't ... train station ... Moscow ... pancake."
B: "Yes, hmmm, pancake."
What was going on? I had eaten enough bleeny by this time to know for sure that these people were somehow frustrated with and laughing about pancakes. A Russian friend at the University explained that, "when we bleeny, said of a bleen, bad things is happening." Seeking some more advice on the subject I approached an American who had been studying here for just over a year. She wrote this in my notebook:
"bleen" = polite "bleeaht", like "shoot" = polite "shit"
I’ve been bleening ever since. So, please, when I’m back in America, don’t be too confused if I occasionally yell "pancake" when I lose my keys.
And, bleen. Today's the last day here in Russia. I'm looking forward to Estonia and Finland, but it seems odd to be leaving Saint Petersburg. I'm in that stupid "am I really leaving" phase where there seems to be ages of time to pack, say goodbuys, rush to send off postcards etc., but, in reality, it's only 8 hours from now.... ok, Ira has just told me that it's actually "voseeum s'palaveenoi chahsov" (8 and a half hours) from now. Which, she added, leaves us more than enough time to grab a bleen or two before I go. :)
"Bleen." I learned this word my second day in Saint Petersburg when I asked what that great smell was in the Chaynaya Loshka (Tea Spoon), one of my favorite cafes. Bleen / bleeny (pancake / pancakes) are a Russian tradition and served in many more creative ways than I thought possible. Mushroom and chicken bleeny are one of my friend’s favorites.
Oddly though, I started to hear this word everywhere, well outside of the confines of cafes or discussions about food. During my first week, with my quite limited vocabulary I would hear conversations like this:
A: "Oh, and ... with ... [laughter]!"
B: "Pancake! True?"
A: "Where is...[frustrated] I can't ... train station ... Moscow ... pancake."
B: "Yes, hmmm, pancake."
What was going on? I had eaten enough bleeny by this time to know for sure that these people were somehow frustrated with and laughing about pancakes. A Russian friend at the University explained that, "when we bleeny, said of a bleen, bad things is happening." Seeking some more advice on the subject I approached an American who had been studying here for just over a year. She wrote this in my notebook:
"bleen" = polite "bleeaht", like "shoot" = polite "shit"
I’ve been bleening ever since. So, please, when I’m back in America, don’t be too confused if I occasionally yell "pancake" when I lose my keys.
And, bleen. Today's the last day here in Russia. I'm looking forward to Estonia and Finland, but it seems odd to be leaving Saint Petersburg. I'm in that stupid "am I really leaving" phase where there seems to be ages of time to pack, say goodbuys, rush to send off postcards etc., but, in reality, it's only 8 hours from now.... ok, Ira has just told me that it's actually "voseeum s'palaveenoi chahsov" (8 and a half hours) from now. Which, she added, leaves us more than enough time to grab a bleen or two before I go. :)
Wednesday, July 30, 2003
Eta Rahseeya
It will be difficult. I’m sure to scream. But it has to be done. People are starting to murmur again.
It’s been five days without bathing, just liberal applications of deodorant over my entire body. After writing this I am going to take a, kidding-you-not, freezing cold shower.
Sadly, I haven’t had hot water in my apartment since the 4th of July, the third day after I moved in. Since then, due to the nature of my artic alternative, my bathings have been few and far between.
This warrants some serous discussion. For those of you who have lived with me, you know that there is very little in the world more important to me than a long, steamy-hot shower: Heaven for a whole half hour. After nearly four weeks into “my test”, as I’ve been referring to it, I’ve become my version of Mr. Jekyll – Dr. Stanky – on two occasions. On the morning of the 5th day without bathing, with his signature moaning and frantic scratching, this dirt caked, irritable Neanderthal (with a lazy scowl) takes control. On the upside, while traveling in the subway, over 90% of all respondents believe Dr. Stanky to be a true-blue Russian; a feat Mr. Nicholas could never hope to achieve. (I think the other 10% were skeptical due to the lack of an open beer bottle between his legs.)
Mind you, my apartment is equipped with hot water pipes that connect to a hot water system; it’s all ready to go here. It’s just that the hot water heater is not working. Honestly though, I should just use the neighbors shower until my water heater is fixed, right? But the whole building is out of hot water. Ok then, couldn’t I make some time each day for the 15 minute walk to the big dormitory I lived in on the other side of the Metro station? Surely someone there would let me use the showers. Well, they don’t have hot water either. In fact, we, the entire population of Vasilevsky Island, some 630,000 people, are having a problem with our hot water heater. Yes, our hot water heater.
Saint Petersburg’s 5 million residents are supplied with hot water through a complex system of six or seven super-duper, completely-communist, mega-heaters the size of power plants. Most of these monoliths have been serving their respective Oblasts (political districts) every day for over 45 years now: except for Eeyuleeya (July). This unfortunate month has never experienced the wonders of the people’s warm water project.
Each year, during the five-week period of July and the first part of August, these plants are shut down for maintenance. As expected as slush in December, the locals have a hard time understanding bewildered Westerners like myself who can’t seem to get their heads around this very Russian turn in events. They say things, like, “at least it doesn’t happen in June.” And if you’ve been here long enough, you’d say, “Pravda (True),” because June in Saint Petersburg is only slightly warmer than June in Melbourne. However, for someone like me, who has been bred to see every month of a northern hemisphere summer as both warm and fully equipped with hot water, only the one traditional, and entirely acceptable, analysis will do: “Eta Rahseeya (It’s Russia)”.
Amazingly enough, more than mere acceptance of their lot, Petersburgers seem to have a sick affinity for musing over the political undercurrents commanding this cold water situation. Which sector of the city will get turned back on first? And from which party will the representative of that district belong? One thing is for sure, the two Oblasts held by communist party members, who represent a minority in government now (as you might have heard), are sure to be the last.
Welcome to the bastion of the “sea workers union,” the historical centre of St. Petersburg’s Red Navy, a district where many homes and factories still proudly fly the naval flag, which, although quite different from the state flag of the USSR, still bears a prominent red hammer and sickle; if you know St. Petersburg, this place could be none other than my home, Vasilevsky Island. So much for rushin’ hot water, my next liquid lounging will be this August in Estonia.
It will be difficult. I’m sure to scream. But it has to be done. People are starting to murmur again.
It’s been five days without bathing, just liberal applications of deodorant over my entire body. After writing this I am going to take a, kidding-you-not, freezing cold shower.
Sadly, I haven’t had hot water in my apartment since the 4th of July, the third day after I moved in. Since then, due to the nature of my artic alternative, my bathings have been few and far between.
This warrants some serous discussion. For those of you who have lived with me, you know that there is very little in the world more important to me than a long, steamy-hot shower: Heaven for a whole half hour. After nearly four weeks into “my test”, as I’ve been referring to it, I’ve become my version of Mr. Jekyll – Dr. Stanky – on two occasions. On the morning of the 5th day without bathing, with his signature moaning and frantic scratching, this dirt caked, irritable Neanderthal (with a lazy scowl) takes control. On the upside, while traveling in the subway, over 90% of all respondents believe Dr. Stanky to be a true-blue Russian; a feat Mr. Nicholas could never hope to achieve. (I think the other 10% were skeptical due to the lack of an open beer bottle between his legs.)
Mind you, my apartment is equipped with hot water pipes that connect to a hot water system; it’s all ready to go here. It’s just that the hot water heater is not working. Honestly though, I should just use the neighbors shower until my water heater is fixed, right? But the whole building is out of hot water. Ok then, couldn’t I make some time each day for the 15 minute walk to the big dormitory I lived in on the other side of the Metro station? Surely someone there would let me use the showers. Well, they don’t have hot water either. In fact, we, the entire population of Vasilevsky Island, some 630,000 people, are having a problem with our hot water heater. Yes, our hot water heater.
Saint Petersburg’s 5 million residents are supplied with hot water through a complex system of six or seven super-duper, completely-communist, mega-heaters the size of power plants. Most of these monoliths have been serving their respective Oblasts (political districts) every day for over 45 years now: except for Eeyuleeya (July). This unfortunate month has never experienced the wonders of the people’s warm water project.
Each year, during the five-week period of July and the first part of August, these plants are shut down for maintenance. As expected as slush in December, the locals have a hard time understanding bewildered Westerners like myself who can’t seem to get their heads around this very Russian turn in events. They say things, like, “at least it doesn’t happen in June.” And if you’ve been here long enough, you’d say, “Pravda (True),” because June in Saint Petersburg is only slightly warmer than June in Melbourne. However, for someone like me, who has been bred to see every month of a northern hemisphere summer as both warm and fully equipped with hot water, only the one traditional, and entirely acceptable, analysis will do: “Eta Rahseeya (It’s Russia)”.
Amazingly enough, more than mere acceptance of their lot, Petersburgers seem to have a sick affinity for musing over the political undercurrents commanding this cold water situation. Which sector of the city will get turned back on first? And from which party will the representative of that district belong? One thing is for sure, the two Oblasts held by communist party members, who represent a minority in government now (as you might have heard), are sure to be the last.
Welcome to the bastion of the “sea workers union,” the historical centre of St. Petersburg’s Red Navy, a district where many homes and factories still proudly fly the naval flag, which, although quite different from the state flag of the USSR, still bears a prominent red hammer and sickle; if you know St. Petersburg, this place could be none other than my home, Vasilevsky Island. So much for rushin’ hot water, my next liquid lounging will be this August in Estonia.
Tuesday, July 29, 2003
Danced
Mystery solved. Fort Dance was AWESOME, worth much more than $50.00.
There were special ferry boats to take us to an old castle which was all done up for this party. Little rooms with their own DJs for us VIP ticket holders too. But, in the main open-air section in the middle of the fort, there must have been 20,000 people groovin' away. And, at about 2am, they set off a long series of fire works right over the island. So neat.
The music was the best I had heard since a great party in Sydney a few weeks before I left last March. We stayed for hours and hours, but it went by really quickly unfortunately.
What was most interesting was definitely the stage performances (going on while the DJs were in the background). These creative and well-planned performances became more and more, well, pornographic, as the party progressed.
At first, some of the performers were pretty good or pretty funny: guys in tutus or pairs doing synchronized dancing in boas and tight pants. But, slowly, getting into the early morning, the tight pants and tutus disappeared which revealed some very revealing, even tighter, underwear.
By 6am there were a dozen completely naked women "dancing" with/on each other to the beat of the music. The only thing missing was some honey and a film crew. Amazingly, during this intricate dance erotica, these ladies managed to distribute pamphlets for a glitzy strip club in town (which I suspect they were found for this gig) to the drooling men who packed in around the stage as though it was the only refuge from a burning building. These were some talented people let me tell ya'.
Welcome to Russia.
If anyone is ever in StPbg in July, and interested in this sort of thing, they apparently do this "Fort Dance" every year. Enjoy. ;)
Mystery solved. Fort Dance was AWESOME, worth much more than $50.00.
There were special ferry boats to take us to an old castle which was all done up for this party. Little rooms with their own DJs for us VIP ticket holders too. But, in the main open-air section in the middle of the fort, there must have been 20,000 people groovin' away. And, at about 2am, they set off a long series of fire works right over the island. So neat.
The music was the best I had heard since a great party in Sydney a few weeks before I left last March. We stayed for hours and hours, but it went by really quickly unfortunately.
What was most interesting was definitely the stage performances (going on while the DJs were in the background). These creative and well-planned performances became more and more, well, pornographic, as the party progressed.
At first, some of the performers were pretty good or pretty funny: guys in tutus or pairs doing synchronized dancing in boas and tight pants. But, slowly, getting into the early morning, the tight pants and tutus disappeared which revealed some very revealing, even tighter, underwear.
By 6am there were a dozen completely naked women "dancing" with/on each other to the beat of the music. The only thing missing was some honey and a film crew. Amazingly, during this intricate dance erotica, these ladies managed to distribute pamphlets for a glitzy strip club in town (which I suspect they were found for this gig) to the drooling men who packed in around the stage as though it was the only refuge from a burning building. These were some talented people let me tell ya'.
Welcome to Russia.
If anyone is ever in StPbg in July, and interested in this sort of thing, they apparently do this "Fort Dance" every year. Enjoy. ;)
Friday, July 25, 2003
Dance
Nice. My friend Masha arranged for some free tickets to an otherwise exclusive (read: expensive) dance party happening inside the medeival Kronstadt Fortress which is on a small island in the Bay of Finland not far out from St.Pbg.
Although it's free for us, paying $50.00 for a party is virtually unheard of here, so this party seems like a big deal. You can check out the Fortress Party website and see what you think. Fun? Fun.
Nice. My friend Masha arranged for some free tickets to an otherwise exclusive (read: expensive) dance party happening inside the medeival Kronstadt Fortress which is on a small island in the Bay of Finland not far out from St.Pbg.
Although it's free for us, paying $50.00 for a party is virtually unheard of here, so this party seems like a big deal. You can check out the Fortress Party website and see what you think. Fun? Fun.
Wednesday, July 23, 2003
Ira
After more than a few “Who’s Ira/Hanna/Sharma/etc.?” e-mails, that I think it’s time to make some weblog postings. :) Therefore, this will be the first in a multi-part series dedicated to each of my Russian buddies.
Ira “ee-rah”, short for Irina “ee-reena”, was one of the first people I met here in Saint-Petersburg. She works as a waitress at my favorite restauraunt, Patio Pizza. We hang out all the time and practice my Russian and her English, although, I more than happy to speak only English. She studies English at her University here and is really really good.
I spend a few days every week or two at her grandmother’s house in the country. The design and feel of this “dahcha” (country house) is very similar to my family’s cabin in Wyoming, including the trademark of all Russian dacha’s, the toilet is hole in the ground a few meters away from the house.
I am going to attach a few pictures here too:
1) A series of goofy pictures of Ira at one of our favorite coffee spots, the “Eedalnaya Chashka” (The Ideal Coffee Cup)
2) Ira in front of the Dacha
3) A wider view of the Dacha (that’s Ira’s brother Kiril (Keereel) watering the garden)
After more than a few “Who’s Ira/Hanna/Sharma/etc.?” e-mails, that I think it’s time to make some weblog postings. :) Therefore, this will be the first in a multi-part series dedicated to each of my Russian buddies.
Ira “ee-rah”, short for Irina “ee-reena”, was one of the first people I met here in Saint-Petersburg. She works as a waitress at my favorite restauraunt, Patio Pizza. We hang out all the time and practice my Russian and her English, although, I more than happy to speak only English. She studies English at her University here and is really really good.
I spend a few days every week or two at her grandmother’s house in the country. The design and feel of this “dahcha” (country house) is very similar to my family’s cabin in Wyoming, including the trademark of all Russian dacha’s, the toilet is hole in the ground a few meters away from the house.
I am going to attach a few pictures here too:
1) A series of goofy pictures of Ira at one of our favorite coffee spots, the “Eedalnaya Chashka” (The Ideal Coffee Cup)
2) Ira in front of the Dacha
3) A wider view of the Dacha (that’s Ira’s brother Kiril (Keereel) watering the garden)
Sunday, July 13, 2003
This Just In...
by Ivan Ivanovich
Andyiated Press Writer
Sunday, July 13th, 2003
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN DENVER and SYDNEY --- After nearly two and half years in operation, "denver2sydney@yahoo.com" is being returned to the digital scrap heap in which it was created. Andrew Nicholas, Founder and CEO of the popular e-mail address, announced his intentions to disband the long running e-mail destination in response to what he called "an accumulation of unavoidable and unrelenting spam," as well as the "outdated reference to a cherished, but sadly, completed chapter of my life upon that wonderful rock called Australia."
Responding to what can only be described as shock and disappointment from the Australian participants at the removal of their most populated city from the popular address, Nicholas stepped to the front of the stage and yelled, "AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE!" The Australian participants were instantly riled into a euphoric frenzy. Timothy Coates, the most recognizably Aussie participant with the Southern-Cross painted on his face, shouted back, "Damn Yank, we're gonna miss ya'!"
Although many at this virtual event were saddened, Nicholas also unveiled a new address, "denver2you@yahoo.com", which was being heralded as, "a new direction in Andy communication that remains true to the values that created our first widely popular address."
With workers quickly unveiling hundreds of specially made "denver2you@yahoo.com" banners throughout the area, Anna Petrovna, Vice-President of Public Affairs, explained that this new address reflects the new vision of Andy communication, "...don't think that it's over, oh no, far from it. Today you have witnessed an address free from geographical destination; this is an address that flies directly to YOU!" Pausing for several minutes as the applause resided, Nicholas joined Petrovna on the stage and closed the ceremony.
As they were leaving, many members of the crowd noted that they were, "determined to update our e-mail servers with this exciting new "denver2you@yahoo.com" address immediately when we get home!"
by Ivan Ivanovich
Andyiated Press Writer
Sunday, July 13th, 2003
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN DENVER and SYDNEY --- After nearly two and half years in operation, "denver2sydney@yahoo.com" is being returned to the digital scrap heap in which it was created. Andrew Nicholas, Founder and CEO of the popular e-mail address, announced his intentions to disband the long running e-mail destination in response to what he called "an accumulation of unavoidable and unrelenting spam," as well as the "outdated reference to a cherished, but sadly, completed chapter of my life upon that wonderful rock called Australia."
Responding to what can only be described as shock and disappointment from the Australian participants at the removal of their most populated city from the popular address, Nicholas stepped to the front of the stage and yelled, "AUSSIE AUSSIE AUSSIE!" The Australian participants were instantly riled into a euphoric frenzy. Timothy Coates, the most recognizably Aussie participant with the Southern-Cross painted on his face, shouted back, "Damn Yank, we're gonna miss ya'!"
Although many at this virtual event were saddened, Nicholas also unveiled a new address, "denver2you@yahoo.com", which was being heralded as, "a new direction in Andy communication that remains true to the values that created our first widely popular address."
With workers quickly unveiling hundreds of specially made "denver2you@yahoo.com" banners throughout the area, Anna Petrovna, Vice-President of Public Affairs, explained that this new address reflects the new vision of Andy communication, "...don't think that it's over, oh no, far from it. Today you have witnessed an address free from geographical destination; this is an address that flies directly to YOU!" Pausing for several minutes as the applause resided, Nicholas joined Petrovna on the stage and closed the ceremony.
As they were leaving, many members of the crowd noted that they were, "determined to update our e-mail servers with this exciting new "denver2you@yahoo.com" address immediately when we get home!"
A Few Pictures For You.
Here are some more pictures of various things, like me sitting on a lion, etc. (there are links to some other pictures of me and my buddies in the first or second entry of this blog, if you haven't seen them, just scroll down to the end of this and they should be there somewhere.) Enjoy :)
1) Ira Hanna and I
2) Tsar Nicholas II
3) Sittin' on a Lion
4) Where I Study
5) Russia and I
6) Standin' on a Sphinx
7) Not So Popular
8) Sellin' Flowers
9) Sittin' in a Sphinx
10) "What Are You Doing Here?!"
Here are some more pictures of various things, like me sitting on a lion, etc. (there are links to some other pictures of me and my buddies in the first or second entry of this blog, if you haven't seen them, just scroll down to the end of this and they should be there somewhere.) Enjoy :)
1) Ira Hanna and I
2) Tsar Nicholas II
3) Sittin' on a Lion
4) Where I Study
5) Russia and I
6) Standin' on a Sphinx
7) Not So Popular
8) Sellin' Flowers
9) Sittin' in a Sphinx
10) "What Are You Doing Here?!"
Friday, July 11, 2003
What's eta? / Shto that?
For anyone who has ever used an online translator, you should really check out this very amusing article by Julian Dibble ----> After Babelfish: Random acts of senseless beauty? Taking the wonderful translation machine out for a spin.
I've been making a dollar or two translating as well. Really all I do is make up the difference between Bablefish and actual English syntax. A wonderful and completely hilarious job. :) I've read the first few paragraphs of this article like three times cause it's so funny for someone who works with this stuff a lot.
If you've never used the ol' Babelfish (www.altavista.com/babelfish/), try for a quick test drive... you'll love it, I promise ;)
If this WebLog would allow me to post Russian characters in here I would have given you a neat little phrase to translate, but, alas, the limits of blogger technology confront us.
For anyone who has ever used an online translator, you should really check out this very amusing article by Julian Dibble ----> After Babelfish: Random acts of senseless beauty? Taking the wonderful translation machine out for a spin.
I've been making a dollar or two translating as well. Really all I do is make up the difference between Bablefish and actual English syntax. A wonderful and completely hilarious job. :) I've read the first few paragraphs of this article like three times cause it's so funny for someone who works with this stuff a lot.
If you've never used the ol' Babelfish (www.altavista.com/babelfish/), try for a quick test drive... you'll love it, I promise ;)
If this WebLog would allow me to post Russian characters in here I would have given you a neat little phrase to translate, but, alas, the limits of blogger technology confront us.
Thursday, July 10, 2003
Efficiency.
I’ve been getting used to my new, more “slim-lined” life, and decided to look for an additional way to make some money. Western societies traditionally reserve this secondary income for investments or a part-time teaching job and only then as a casual interest separated from one’s more respectable non-nametag wearing main employment, but these aren’t traditional times and this place is a lot more East than West. This search was going to require some creative thinking, and quite a bit of spoken Russian, both of which seemed to have declined sharply since high-school.
It must have been my lucky day. As though the position was divinely advertised, I discovered my second job while doing what Russians do best: waiting in line. You see, here in the St. Petersburg Metro system there are four or five sales windows at each station for the purchase of your tokens which you then put into a machine a few meters away to go down an escalator to the subway platform. One token gets you anywhere in the city. But only one or two sales windows are ever open, even during peak times, and the transaction times are less than inspiring. This creates some pretty long lines which “New [post-soviet] Russians” are accepting less and less. I had noticed a few weeks before that you could get a one ruble discount off of the standard seven ruble subway coin price if you bought forty-one or more. But who does that? These tokens are bulky and dirty and you definitely don’t want dozens of them floating around in your pocket for two weeks. Ah, but what if you bought forty-one each time you went to the window at peak hour and then sold the other forty tokens back at the end of the line for the rather convenient ten ruble price, the most widely used denomination in bill form; A smooth, easy transaction for all. It blows my mind, but some days I make more money selling subway tokens than teaching English.
But, after a week into the token trading business I’ve noticed that there are some rather subtle challenges associated with this job. First, the mileetseeya (local police) are always looking for a convenient way to “help” a foreigner who has inadvertently violated a number of actual or fictional regulations. For a poor American (a complete oxy-moron here) who can’t afford another bribe and who also has a number other quite normal visa violations (not including the illegal selling of Metro tokens) already racked up, I keep one eye on the line of potential clients and one eye for a cheesy blue uniform. And, don’t forget the Tiny (but Tennacious) Tims. The few homeless or begging children begin to fade into the background after the first few days here and so I was surprised to see them again last week selling tokens to people in my station. Ok, obviously I can not claim to be the first person to do this, but why hadn’t I noticed them before? I would have been their best customer in my more well-financed first month, thinking, “Ten rubles, what is that… like thirty-three cents?” Little did I know that when making a “creative” living in Russia day-to-day one can see the value in thirty-three cents: (a) a really big loaf of bread or two smaller ones, a big can of juice, chai s-malakum ee sakarum (tea with milk and sugar), or (b) a small bag of fruit (an apple, banana, orange, and a clump of grapes).
But, even though it’s quick money, I’m constantly dogged by the thought that it’s just too strange that a young(ish), budget conscience, perpetually employed, fast-talking American with a graduate degree, should derive a significant portion of his income from hawking handfuls of twenty cent subway tokens for a thirteen cent profit. Other people have mixed opinions too. The Russians say I’m “pomeshatsaya” (crazy), while my American and Western friends see it as “a great can-do attitude” or “cute,” but last Tuesday, while running from a small gang of vicious ten year-olds who felt that this new start-up was capturing too much of their market-share, the job felt a lot like “ludicrous.”
A block or two away from the Mayakovskaya Metro station, mindful that those smudge-faced rabble-rousers could still be looking for me, I crouched behind a series of old-women along the street who were selling various home wares, and pondered my situation. For a minute or two I was bemused by it all. I wondered what I could call this job on my resume: An “East-European Local-Transport-Securities Reseller” perhaps. And, seeing the state of health of the children chasing me, I thanked God that I followed the advice of my various guide books and got my immunizations before leaving Sydney. But, at the same time, I was suddenly quite disappointed that these guide books didn’t have the foresight to include a chapter entitled “Wallet Stolen? Overspent Your Budget? – The Dos-and-Don’ts of underground employment in St. Petersburg.”
I’ve been getting used to my new, more “slim-lined” life, and decided to look for an additional way to make some money. Western societies traditionally reserve this secondary income for investments or a part-time teaching job and only then as a casual interest separated from one’s more respectable non-nametag wearing main employment, but these aren’t traditional times and this place is a lot more East than West. This search was going to require some creative thinking, and quite a bit of spoken Russian, both of which seemed to have declined sharply since high-school.
It must have been my lucky day. As though the position was divinely advertised, I discovered my second job while doing what Russians do best: waiting in line. You see, here in the St. Petersburg Metro system there are four or five sales windows at each station for the purchase of your tokens which you then put into a machine a few meters away to go down an escalator to the subway platform. One token gets you anywhere in the city. But only one or two sales windows are ever open, even during peak times, and the transaction times are less than inspiring. This creates some pretty long lines which “New [post-soviet] Russians” are accepting less and less. I had noticed a few weeks before that you could get a one ruble discount off of the standard seven ruble subway coin price if you bought forty-one or more. But who does that? These tokens are bulky and dirty and you definitely don’t want dozens of them floating around in your pocket for two weeks. Ah, but what if you bought forty-one each time you went to the window at peak hour and then sold the other forty tokens back at the end of the line for the rather convenient ten ruble price, the most widely used denomination in bill form; A smooth, easy transaction for all. It blows my mind, but some days I make more money selling subway tokens than teaching English.
But, after a week into the token trading business I’ve noticed that there are some rather subtle challenges associated with this job. First, the mileetseeya (local police) are always looking for a convenient way to “help” a foreigner who has inadvertently violated a number of actual or fictional regulations. For a poor American (a complete oxy-moron here) who can’t afford another bribe and who also has a number other quite normal visa violations (not including the illegal selling of Metro tokens) already racked up, I keep one eye on the line of potential clients and one eye for a cheesy blue uniform. And, don’t forget the Tiny (but Tennacious) Tims. The few homeless or begging children begin to fade into the background after the first few days here and so I was surprised to see them again last week selling tokens to people in my station. Ok, obviously I can not claim to be the first person to do this, but why hadn’t I noticed them before? I would have been their best customer in my more well-financed first month, thinking, “Ten rubles, what is that… like thirty-three cents?” Little did I know that when making a “creative” living in Russia day-to-day one can see the value in thirty-three cents: (a) a really big loaf of bread or two smaller ones, a big can of juice, chai s-malakum ee sakarum (tea with milk and sugar), or (b) a small bag of fruit (an apple, banana, orange, and a clump of grapes).
But, even though it’s quick money, I’m constantly dogged by the thought that it’s just too strange that a young(ish), budget conscience, perpetually employed, fast-talking American with a graduate degree, should derive a significant portion of his income from hawking handfuls of twenty cent subway tokens for a thirteen cent profit. Other people have mixed opinions too. The Russians say I’m “pomeshatsaya” (crazy), while my American and Western friends see it as “a great can-do attitude” or “cute,” but last Tuesday, while running from a small gang of vicious ten year-olds who felt that this new start-up was capturing too much of their market-share, the job felt a lot like “ludicrous.”
A block or two away from the Mayakovskaya Metro station, mindful that those smudge-faced rabble-rousers could still be looking for me, I crouched behind a series of old-women along the street who were selling various home wares, and pondered my situation. For a minute or two I was bemused by it all. I wondered what I could call this job on my resume: An “East-European Local-Transport-Securities Reseller” perhaps. And, seeing the state of health of the children chasing me, I thanked God that I followed the advice of my various guide books and got my immunizations before leaving Sydney. But, at the same time, I was suddenly quite disappointed that these guide books didn’t have the foresight to include a chapter entitled “Wallet Stolen? Overspent Your Budget? – The Dos-and-Don’ts of underground employment in St. Petersburg.”
Let’s talk bribes.
Just another one of those unbudgeted items that pop up on a trip around the world. Knowing when it’s appropriate to pay a bribe in Russia is both the most difficult thing to learn and also the most useful. What a tourist thinks is just an awkward pause at the post office is actually the clerk asking, "Did you want this to actually get there? Because if you do, I think it will cost about one hundred extra rubles." In this culture, what Westerners call bribes – giving money to a government official to correctly process your request or to overlook your transgressions – fits the role of a tip in Russia. Sadly though, most visitors have to figure out this intricate and fully ingrained system in an expensive and sometimes embarrassing way: on their own.
I’ve suggested to my Russian friends that they should make a small booklet for tourists that describe which situations traditionally need an "extra payment" or require a "monetary apology." I would have bought one. But this booklet will never be made. The suggestion to create such a cheat-sheet comes off as completely absurd to most Russians, not just because the last thing they want to spend their time on is a booklet to help foreigners, but because, as my friend from Moscow said so succinctly, "it’s not the Russian thing to do." He explained that although it is understood as a way of life it is also quite personal. So, while everyone knows it’s going on, no one talks about it when it happens or jokes to their buddies about how much it cost them.
A friend of mine here in St. Petersburg recently told me that a few years ago she and a friend were crossing the street when her friend was hit by a car. This was not at all surprising knowing the lack of any actual law enforcement and having seen unique driving 'system' here. What was surprising was her answer to my follow up questions about hospital bills and insurance claims. It was a stupid, perhaps auto-pilot question, retrieved from the much larger American section of my brain. After taking a few minutes to explain the concept of insurance, I then asked how it was resolved. She explained that the offending driver negotiated an acceptable monetary apology for her friend (seven hundred rubles, or about twenty-two dollars, I think) and a similar but unknown amount was negotiated with the officer who happened to be on the scene, whose additional presence was a rather unfortunate/expensive turn of events for the driver. No ticket, no report, just a completely informal and efficient form of settling out of court.
My Russian buddies seemed unimpressed by my dramatized reenactments of mileetseeya who would ask to see my documents (passport, visa, student ID card, foreign visitor registration, etc.), as they do to all the time here everywhere, and then explain that there might be a problem with this or that signature or stamp. Perhaps you forgot your student ID card, which you are required to carry along with your passport if you are on a student visa. I found that out the hard way. The mileetseeya will find something, and then take you to a more discreet area to “question” you about the irregularities and then state that, since they are not entirely sure if the documents are valid or not, you might need to accompany him to the main station where you will wait for an immigration officer to come and inspect your documents properly, aka: hours and hours of your time or maybe even an overnight stay at the station if it’s nighttime already. They don’t want to take you to the station nearly as much as you don’t want to go there, they’re just waiting for you to say an apologetic pleasantry or two about how it won’t happen again or that you’ll certainly look into it first thing tomorrow and then pass them a few rubles. Smooth, like clockwork.
Just another one of those unbudgeted items that pop up on a trip around the world. Knowing when it’s appropriate to pay a bribe in Russia is both the most difficult thing to learn and also the most useful. What a tourist thinks is just an awkward pause at the post office is actually the clerk asking, "Did you want this to actually get there? Because if you do, I think it will cost about one hundred extra rubles." In this culture, what Westerners call bribes – giving money to a government official to correctly process your request or to overlook your transgressions – fits the role of a tip in Russia. Sadly though, most visitors have to figure out this intricate and fully ingrained system in an expensive and sometimes embarrassing way: on their own.
I’ve suggested to my Russian friends that they should make a small booklet for tourists that describe which situations traditionally need an "extra payment" or require a "monetary apology." I would have bought one. But this booklet will never be made. The suggestion to create such a cheat-sheet comes off as completely absurd to most Russians, not just because the last thing they want to spend their time on is a booklet to help foreigners, but because, as my friend from Moscow said so succinctly, "it’s not the Russian thing to do." He explained that although it is understood as a way of life it is also quite personal. So, while everyone knows it’s going on, no one talks about it when it happens or jokes to their buddies about how much it cost them.
A friend of mine here in St. Petersburg recently told me that a few years ago she and a friend were crossing the street when her friend was hit by a car. This was not at all surprising knowing the lack of any actual law enforcement and having seen unique driving 'system' here. What was surprising was her answer to my follow up questions about hospital bills and insurance claims. It was a stupid, perhaps auto-pilot question, retrieved from the much larger American section of my brain. After taking a few minutes to explain the concept of insurance, I then asked how it was resolved. She explained that the offending driver negotiated an acceptable monetary apology for her friend (seven hundred rubles, or about twenty-two dollars, I think) and a similar but unknown amount was negotiated with the officer who happened to be on the scene, whose additional presence was a rather unfortunate/expensive turn of events for the driver. No ticket, no report, just a completely informal and efficient form of settling out of court.
My Russian buddies seemed unimpressed by my dramatized reenactments of mileetseeya who would ask to see my documents (passport, visa, student ID card, foreign visitor registration, etc.), as they do to all the time here everywhere, and then explain that there might be a problem with this or that signature or stamp. Perhaps you forgot your student ID card, which you are required to carry along with your passport if you are on a student visa. I found that out the hard way. The mileetseeya will find something, and then take you to a more discreet area to “question” you about the irregularities and then state that, since they are not entirely sure if the documents are valid or not, you might need to accompany him to the main station where you will wait for an immigration officer to come and inspect your documents properly, aka: hours and hours of your time or maybe even an overnight stay at the station if it’s nighttime already. They don’t want to take you to the station nearly as much as you don’t want to go there, they’re just waiting for you to say an apologetic pleasantry or two about how it won’t happen again or that you’ll certainly look into it first thing tomorrow and then pass them a few rubles. Smooth, like clockwork.
Money.
Cold, hard, currency; ignore it at your peril. Because, even in places like Kathmandu, Bangkok and my current home-away-from-home, Saint-Petersburg, where the buying-power of the Rubble or Baht may be difficult to define at times, cash and coin is essential to even the craftiest person's survival.
In today's world this should be obvious, right? One shouldn't have to be standing on a street corner staring into their empty wallet to grasp this key concept of nearly every society in the world. But, sadly, and perhaps completely obvious by now, that's exactly what happened to me a little over a week ago.
On the first day I arrived in St. Petersburg, a confident cash manager and shrewd dealer, my personal finances were exactly where I had planned them (except for that unfortunate overage on my Russian visa.)
Now that I think about it, that visit to the Russian Embassy in Copenhagen was quite stereotypically Russian. When the steely visa agent discovered that I was not in fact Danish, but American, she let out an 'I'm going to enjoy this' kind of sigh and indulged in explaining to me that because I carry a US passport I must fill out three additional pages of forms and instead of the standard twenty dollars, it would cost me one hundred and twenty. Without taking a breath she looked directly at me and suggested that if I am unhappy about this I should find out how difficult it is to get a visa to the US. I chalked it up on the 'Russian in Denmark who knows that she can do whatever she wants with you because you need her two stamps and three signatures on your documents before you can enter her country' column. No worries, always happy to see the other side of the coin. More on the wonders of the Russian visa system another day.
After two months in Russia I look back on that experience and think of how lucky I was that I didn't have to bribe her with an additional twenty dollars just to make sure she didn't 'accidentally' misplace the application for a few weeks. But, then again, she was in Denmark, where that sort of thing probably doesn't fly as well as it does here.
Where was I? Ah, yes, no money. Now some of you may remember that I am teaching English here. It's true, I make some money at it, butI'm charging Russian rates. Beyond my few paying students, I'm teaching for free at a few social-justice organizations also. But, even in the best-case scenario, a beginning salary for an entry-level K-12 teacher in America would be at least triple what you could conceivably make here teaching English.
I had a bit of a wake up call when I arrived here because the place I wanted to teach English at was a complete slum run by a few unapologetically underhanded people. Forget the leafy and inviting pictures from their web site; they must have traveled hours from their 'building' to get those shots. After the first week I decided that I wouldn't go teach at an institution, but teach one-on-one instead. Many of my friends at that time expressed an interest personally or had friends that might be interested. At one time I had five students with about two or three lessons a week each at anywhere from five hundred rublesthousand Rubbles a lesson.
But that was then. The cute couple who wanted to work on listening and speaking before their trip to England are most likely practicing their English in an English pub now. The eccentric and unpredictable rich guy who had just mysteriously received US citizenship would throw around one thousand Rubble notes like candy. He knew next to no English at all. At one time he suggested continuing our lessons through until the end of December. After explaining that I would be traveling through the Netherlands, Italy, and many places in the US at that time, he interupted me, and with a smile he said, "Okay, Ya taksha!" (Okay, I am too!), like he thought a traveling English lesson would be just the thing for him. So funny. Can you imagine me wandering around Europe with a wealthy Russian running behind me complaining about the dust on his loafers? I don't think he appreciated my answer of, "Spaseeba, na nyeh spaseeba" (Thanks, but no thanks), because I have't seen him since. Two months into a three month stay and I have two regular students. A total of maybe five two-hour lessons a week from paying students. Not a huge income.
And then there's the expenses. The dormitory said that it would triple its prices (normally sixty dollars a month) for July and I was debating whether to pay the jump in price or to spend just a little more and get an apartment of my own or a room in one somewhere. Only a few days into my deliberations there was another killing by the skinheads outside of the student dorms (for a total of two in my short time there); I moved into my apartment the next evening. It wasn't cheap at three hundred dollars a month, but it was available and much closer to the Metro station.
In response to these converging financial flukes, I've decided that I will not spend any more of my travel funds in Russia. I've cut myself off. What would I do in New York if I spent all my travel money in St. Petersburg? So, I will only spend what I make here, and, hopefully, have some money left over to get through Finland and Estonia. On a weekly wage of maybe fifty dollars this is a challenge.
I've (successfully) begged for free pizza from my friends who work at the local Italian restaurant, and scammed free chai at the student bar. We'll see how it goes, simply living life as it greets me.
Cold, hard, currency; ignore it at your peril. Because, even in places like Kathmandu, Bangkok and my current home-away-from-home, Saint-Petersburg, where the buying-power of the Rubble or Baht may be difficult to define at times, cash and coin is essential to even the craftiest person's survival.
In today's world this should be obvious, right? One shouldn't have to be standing on a street corner staring into their empty wallet to grasp this key concept of nearly every society in the world. But, sadly, and perhaps completely obvious by now, that's exactly what happened to me a little over a week ago.
On the first day I arrived in St. Petersburg, a confident cash manager and shrewd dealer, my personal finances were exactly where I had planned them (except for that unfortunate overage on my Russian visa.)
Now that I think about it, that visit to the Russian Embassy in Copenhagen was quite stereotypically Russian. When the steely visa agent discovered that I was not in fact Danish, but American, she let out an 'I'm going to enjoy this' kind of sigh and indulged in explaining to me that because I carry a US passport I must fill out three additional pages of forms and instead of the standard twenty dollars, it would cost me one hundred and twenty. Without taking a breath she looked directly at me and suggested that if I am unhappy about this I should find out how difficult it is to get a visa to the US. I chalked it up on the 'Russian in Denmark who knows that she can do whatever she wants with you because you need her two stamps and three signatures on your documents before you can enter her country' column. No worries, always happy to see the other side of the coin. More on the wonders of the Russian visa system another day.
After two months in Russia I look back on that experience and think of how lucky I was that I didn't have to bribe her with an additional twenty dollars just to make sure she didn't 'accidentally' misplace the application for a few weeks. But, then again, she was in Denmark, where that sort of thing probably doesn't fly as well as it does here.
Where was I? Ah, yes, no money. Now some of you may remember that I am teaching English here. It's true, I make some money at it, butI'm charging Russian rates. Beyond my few paying students, I'm teaching for free at a few social-justice organizations also. But, even in the best-case scenario, a beginning salary for an entry-level K-12 teacher in America would be at least triple what you could conceivably make here teaching English.
I had a bit of a wake up call when I arrived here because the place I wanted to teach English at was a complete slum run by a few unapologetically underhanded people. Forget the leafy and inviting pictures from their web site; they must have traveled hours from their 'building' to get those shots. After the first week I decided that I wouldn't go teach at an institution, but teach one-on-one instead. Many of my friends at that time expressed an interest personally or had friends that might be interested. At one time I had five students with about two or three lessons a week each at anywhere from five hundred rublesthousand Rubbles a lesson.
But that was then. The cute couple who wanted to work on listening and speaking before their trip to England are most likely practicing their English in an English pub now. The eccentric and unpredictable rich guy who had just mysteriously received US citizenship would throw around one thousand Rubble notes like candy. He knew next to no English at all. At one time he suggested continuing our lessons through until the end of December. After explaining that I would be traveling through the Netherlands, Italy, and many places in the US at that time, he interupted me, and with a smile he said, "Okay, Ya taksha!" (Okay, I am too!), like he thought a traveling English lesson would be just the thing for him. So funny. Can you imagine me wandering around Europe with a wealthy Russian running behind me complaining about the dust on his loafers? I don't think he appreciated my answer of, "Spaseeba, na nyeh spaseeba" (Thanks, but no thanks), because I have't seen him since. Two months into a three month stay and I have two regular students. A total of maybe five two-hour lessons a week from paying students. Not a huge income.
And then there's the expenses. The dormitory said that it would triple its prices (normally sixty dollars a month) for July and I was debating whether to pay the jump in price or to spend just a little more and get an apartment of my own or a room in one somewhere. Only a few days into my deliberations there was another killing by the skinheads outside of the student dorms (for a total of two in my short time there); I moved into my apartment the next evening. It wasn't cheap at three hundred dollars a month, but it was available and much closer to the Metro station.
In response to these converging financial flukes, I've decided that I will not spend any more of my travel funds in Russia. I've cut myself off. What would I do in New York if I spent all my travel money in St. Petersburg? So, I will only spend what I make here, and, hopefully, have some money left over to get through Finland and Estonia. On a weekly wage of maybe fifty dollars this is a challenge.
I've (successfully) begged for free pizza from my friends who work at the local Italian restaurant, and scammed free chai at the student bar. We'll see how it goes, simply living life as it greets me.
Monday, July 07, 2003
You: "Um, question, I know you're supposed to be on this adventure and all, but who are you?"
Me: "Well, I'm Andrew/Andy/Andre'."
You: "Ok, what do you look like?"
Me: "click here and find out."
You: "Oh my God, are you seriously wearing a sweater-vest?"
Me: "It was cold, it's Denver you know, and the Capital building can be a bit drafty with it's high ceilings and old windows---"
You: "---No probs, it's just wierd to see someone actually wearing one, that's all, and did I see a 'Metro State - Roadrunners' sticker on the wall in that room?"
Me: "Totally. I went to school there and---"
You: "---WAIT, isn't 'the roadrunners' the mascot that was created because back when your college was founded it was a collection of a bunch of random spread out buldings all around a really busy area of the city and students would have to dodge cars and traffic to get to their classes?!"
Me: "Umm-Hmm, but, honestly, let's not be completely stupid and use terms like 'dodge cars and traffic' becuase it's really redundant, ok."
You: "I'll keep that in mind---"
Me: "My father owns a big Dodge truck."
You: "..."
Me: "Right, uh, as you were saying..."
You: "Yeah, so, ok... where are you from? This Denver place where that 'Metro' school is, right? What's it like there? What does it look like?"
Me: "click here for the whole shebang, or here for a cool picture."
You: "So, where are you now?"
Me: "click here and find out."
You: "Neat, St.Petersburg, Russia, I think, but, Dude, um, it's in Russian. I want to find out what's happening there right now, but in English. Where should I go?"
Me: "click here ---AND/OR--- here to get info in English."
You: "Neat, but do you have any other cool pictures that are of you in Russia, maybe with some friends of yours there?"
Me: "Um, yeah, I think I have some. But they're a bit cheesy and all, like most things of mine. Ok, so the first one is of my buddies Ira, Hanna and me. We're standing in Victory Square just near the Hermitage and Alexander's Column. It's was a really great day that day. Um, and then there's one of Hanna, Sharma, Ira, Oaxana and me in the gardens at Peterhoff Palace which is just south of Saint-Petersburg. Oh, and here's another one, which I really like too. This is of Katia, Natasha and me basking in the sunlight at the State University there in Saint-Petersburg. In fact, it's was so cool to meet Natasha because she reminds me so much of my Aunt Kay. So funny, you can travel half way across the world and meet the Russian version of your Aunt attending college. One of my favorites is this one of Everyone and Coleya (Ira's friend from Moscow) in the Moscow Metro going to his house really late one night on our trip there. And, lets see, this last one is of The Gang at the Eedalnaya Chashka (a local cafe) after our trip to Moscow, careful though, this one's a real big download, like a meg or somethin'. Good times."
You: "Well, that's enough for now I think. Thanks."
Me: "Dosvedaneeya."
You: "Paka."
Me: "Malodeeyets!"
You: "Otleechna!"
Me: "Well, I'm Andrew/Andy/Andre'."
You: "Ok, what do you look like?"
Me: "click here and find out."
You: "Oh my God, are you seriously wearing a sweater-vest?"
Me: "It was cold, it's Denver you know, and the Capital building can be a bit drafty with it's high ceilings and old windows---"
You: "---No probs, it's just wierd to see someone actually wearing one, that's all, and did I see a 'Metro State - Roadrunners' sticker on the wall in that room?"
Me: "Totally. I went to school there and---"
You: "---WAIT, isn't 'the roadrunners' the mascot that was created because back when your college was founded it was a collection of a bunch of random spread out buldings all around a really busy area of the city and students would have to dodge cars and traffic to get to their classes?!"
Me: "Umm-Hmm, but, honestly, let's not be completely stupid and use terms like 'dodge cars and traffic' becuase it's really redundant, ok."
You: "I'll keep that in mind---"
Me: "My father owns a big Dodge truck."
You: "..."
Me: "Right, uh, as you were saying..."
You: "Yeah, so, ok... where are you from? This Denver place where that 'Metro' school is, right? What's it like there? What does it look like?"
Me: "click here for the whole shebang, or here for a cool picture."
You: "So, where are you now?"
Me: "click here and find out."
You: "Neat, St.Petersburg, Russia, I think, but, Dude, um, it's in Russian. I want to find out what's happening there right now, but in English. Where should I go?"
Me: "click here ---AND/OR--- here to get info in English."
You: "Neat, but do you have any other cool pictures that are of you in Russia, maybe with some friends of yours there?"
Me: "Um, yeah, I think I have some. But they're a bit cheesy and all, like most things of mine. Ok, so the first one is of my buddies Ira, Hanna and me. We're standing in Victory Square just near the Hermitage and Alexander's Column. It's was a really great day that day. Um, and then there's one of Hanna, Sharma, Ira, Oaxana and me in the gardens at Peterhoff Palace which is just south of Saint-Petersburg. Oh, and here's another one, which I really like too. This is of Katia, Natasha and me basking in the sunlight at the State University there in Saint-Petersburg. In fact, it's was so cool to meet Natasha because she reminds me so much of my Aunt Kay. So funny, you can travel half way across the world and meet the Russian version of your Aunt attending college. One of my favorites is this one of Everyone and Coleya (Ira's friend from Moscow) in the Moscow Metro going to his house really late one night on our trip there. And, lets see, this last one is of The Gang at the Eedalnaya Chashka (a local cafe) after our trip to Moscow, careful though, this one's a real big download, like a meg or somethin'. Good times."
You: "Well, that's enough for now I think. Thanks."
Me: "Dosvedaneeya."
You: "Paka."
Me: "Malodeeyets!"
You: "Otleechna!"
