Let's start with the apartment: It's really nice - it's in an upscale region within seven minutes walking distance of the Чернишевская (Chernishevskaya) metro station, which is one to two stops (to the northeast) away from the center of the city, and one stop away from our campus.
[Excuse my rudimentary Photoshop skills: The oval is the center of town. The purple dot is where I live. The metro station I've circled is the one I use to go to classes, because the campus is only a 5 minute walk away from that particular exit.]The apartment building is a moderately sized concrete structure across from the southern end of Фурштадская Улица (Furshtatskaya Ulitsa) on Литейный Проспект (Lityeiny Prospect). To get into the central stairwell, I walk south under the archway of the apartment building opposite mine, to a big red door that opens to a magnetic disc attached to my huge house key. (In Part II, I'll explain and take pictures of my route to and from school, as well as document the school itself. I'll be sure to include the stairwell, the elevator I never use, the big red door, etc.) My host family's apartment is on the third floor, so it's no big deal to use the square staircase to get up there, especially given the lack of exercise I've been allowing myself. My key fits into a thin, wide slot in the thick metal outer door, and after two or three or even four turns, the bolt moves back, and I'm into the apartment. I've heard most families also lock their inner door, which looks a lot more like our domestic American doors, but mine never does. Anyway, so the door opens up to an entrance hall, where I exchange my street shoes/boots for my indoor slippers, and I trudge on through the hallway. On the left is my host mother's room, which I've never entered, only seen, and for this reason I feel uncomfortable photographing it. It's very clean, but full of plants and lots of furniture, primarily due to the additional necessity of being able to accommodate my host mother's mother. To the right is a little niche with the door to my room, and, to the left of that, the door to my host father's room. Again, I don't feel comfortable snooping around his room with a camera, though I have been in there, because the large family tv, DVD and VHS collection, family photographs, etc. are all there. The hallway ends in a narrow passageway leading off to kitchen on the left, with the separate doors to the toilet and bath areas facing you.
[The entrance.]
[The hallway]
[The most I've seen of my хозяйка's (host mom's) room]
[The kitchen]
[View of my room from the doorway]
[My bed, which is about 4 inches too short for me, but extremely comfortable. I slept on my back in the States. Now I sleep in the fetal position. It'll be appropriate once the nights start getting colder.]
[My work area. To the right is the immense wardrobe, which I didn't bother to photograph.]My host mother works in a cafeteria somewhere, and my host father works in security, but based on the size and luxury of the apartment, I'm guessing neither of them are low on the company ladders. My suspicion is that my host mom was a cook of some sort at some point, because her cooking is so damn good, but I think she's risen through the ranks since then. My host father doesn't wear a bullet proof vest to work, and isn't exactly a young rough 'n tough guy, though he was in the Soviet army, and served in their little excursion into Afghanistan. They're both great people, and it's obvious they care about my well being. It's not uncommon in Russia for a host to make sure her guest eats his fill, doesn't go outside with wet hair or without his umbrella, and to cook for him. I've managed to persuade her to let me do the dishes, but it's still pretty apparent she's uncomfortable letting me do them if she's in the room with me. My only concern is that I don't feel like I'm spending enough time talking to them, and am more just using them for a place to stay, rather than a cultural exchange. I know I'm looking too much into it, because they're very hands-off, having already raised three sons. It manifests itself in different ways - the father's serious inquiries into why I haven't brought a girl home yet, the mother's habit of making two or three dishes and one or two pots of soup for me to eat at my leisure over the course of a few days. Based on some of the horror stories I've heard from other kids, about how they're little old host grandmother stays up 'till 4 am until the student comes back on a Friday or Saturday night; or how some families are in constant conflict due to arguments between angsty teenagers and their parents, I think I'm pretty well off. Sometimes I don't even see my host family for days at a time, because they're off enjoying the nice weather at their dacha (country home). They're also both smokers, so for them smoking indoors goes unquestioned.
I think I'm beginning to get too documentational (I know - not a word), and not enough observational, so I'll stop here. More to come tomorrow, or the next day.
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