I wasn't going to write today, as I've been fairly more involved in the immediate these days, but I just finished reading an amazing bit of The Idiot by Dostoyevsky - the scene of Ippolit's "Explanation," along with the events at the Prince's party prior to and immediately following the reading of the suicide note. The Idiot is quickly becoming one of my favorite books. I sincerely hope the conclusion can live up to all complexities of the plot as it stands now.
I'm in that queer introspective, self-absorbed mood I always seem to come by the day after a night (or two) of drinking and sleep deprivation. Last night was a great experience; at the same time, not something I'd like to repeat in the near future. Ian (from CMC) and I met with Elvira and her three previous roommates from her university days. We started off at one of the numerous SПБ bars, where drank and talked in broken Russian and English. Another CMC student, Brian Winters, who is here on a different program, joined us with two girls from his program. After everyone had consumed about two liters of beer a piece, the two girls left, because they didn't seem to be interested in going to any clubs. We hurried to the metro, drunkenly ran down to one line, only to find it closed, so we rushed to another line and got on the very last train of the night. One stop and 30 minutes of walking later, we found ourselves in front of one of those clubs you always want to go to, always see in movies. The cover charge was a bit steep, but proved to be well worth it once we got inside. The club was a veritable hive of hedonism and decadence. Three stories of brushed steel, glass, strobe lights and lasers, full bars, cigarette maidens, and packed dance floors made it look like something out of a movie. It was the kind of place in which an action hero would find himself scouring the VIP rooms for the head of some criminal organization.
Because the Metro was closed until 6:00 am, we danced and drank (alcohol only sparingly) the next four or five hours away. It was one of the few times I've actually enjoyed myself dancing, probably because I was actually a better dancer than the silly eurotrash youth that were sweating on the dance floor. I kept thinking to myself that this was the other side of Russia. The same lax characteristic in the culture that allows for state corruption is, in my opinion, that which allows for such reckless debauchery on such a frequent basis. I loved it.
Still, my full enjoyment of the night was hindered somewhat by the fact that I haven't stopped being a hopeless romantic at heart. I've come to be able to rationalize against romanticism, even to find logical distaste in it, but my instincts will always be against the short term trysts that are so easy and tempting in places like Club Metro. On top of that, I felt guilty about even dancing with other girls since I've met Irina. We met at a much smaller club much closer to the center of the city when I was shouldering my way out to get some fresh air and some fresh tar. She was right behind me, also trying to make her way out, and our hands met. In my semi-drunken state I reasoned that I would act as if I were her escort for the night to lend greater credibility to our mutual struggle for freedom. It worked, and outside our contact continued, much to my naive surprise. She talked on and on about her job, her family, her friends, fueled only by the sparsest input I could muster from my limited understanding of her rapid-fire speech. Eventually I decided it was time to go, and we both headed back in. I grabbed my coat from the back of the club, and found her back at the bar with her friends. She didn't seem ready to leave, but was very eager to give me her number.
Honestly I wasn't expecting a person of her quality to be at Fidels, and to be handing out her number so easily, so, when I called her the next night to arrange a date, I was motivated more out of curiosity and desire for cultural experience than interest in her character. The sober person I encountered last Sunday night was an extremely intelligent, like-minded person. She's 22, graduated from university, working as an economist, and has her own place and a new car (bought on credit). We discussed Chekhov, Nabokov, Tolstoyevsky, American literature, Russian language, President Obama, the recent elections, and a lot more. I couldn't understand what she was saying word for word, but I caught enough of the general idea of each of her statements and questions to be able to clumsily formulate a cogent reply of my own. She's been working all week, so we haven't seen each other since, but when we talk on the phone she seems positively inclined to me still. It's not that I've given my heart over, or will at all to be completely honest, but I'd very much like for this to work out somehow in the last two months I have left. I want to get to know her, for her to know me as much as possible through my six year old Russian abilities, and to see as much of her side of the world as possible. If it doesn't work out, I won't be heart broken, but I will be distraught.
As soon as I get pictures from Elvira, and do it for the second time this week, I'll write about the Russian tradition of Ремонт (Remont).
25 October, 2009
06 October, 2009
Personal Space, Russian Formalities, and my Conjectures
It’s been a while. A lot has transpired since I wrote those last two posts, including a train ride to Moscow, a train to Ulyanovsk (Lenin’s birthplace), a week-long cruise down the Volga, and a 36-hour train ride back up to St. Petersburg.
BUT I’ll save those accounts for later.
I promised наблюдения (observations), and that’s what this post is about.
A large part of what drew me to Russia in the first place was a particular feeling that I got when I was here four years ago. I think I’ve since been able to identify some sources of that feeling, but have by no means pinpointed everything. One of those sources is the multitude of differences between the population’s standards of familiarity in public and private spheres. Everywhere in the city, individual Russians rush around in somber faces, as if their destination or origin were some sort of mourning ceremony. Occasionally, a group of students, friends, babushkas, etc. will pass by displaying their characters more openly, but the eye of the public still keeps them guarded during their forays into the streets of Saint Petersburg.
Though eye contact with strangers is a fairly awkward event even in the States, the Russian behavior in regard to the phenomenon is even more intricate. In the States, one might smile embarassedly or even strike up a conversation with the interloper, even with the knowledge that the conversation will rarely stray from the superficial. On public transportation in Russia, whether it be a metro car, bus, or even a small shuttle (called маршрутка), eye contact leads only to both parties looking away as soon as one’s wayward gaze is discovered. Turning one’s head to look about causes more heads to turn - everyone wants to know who the weird guy is that dares to observe others in their standing comas. Normally the unengaged passenger boards his/her chosen method of transport, immediately places his/herself in a seat or unobtrusive stance, and quickly completes a survey of their surroundings. The immediate goal of the survey is not to judge the other passengers, though this surely must happen, but to find an object at which one may blankly stare without giving the impression that one is covertly spying on any other individual. Whether one is actually conducting said espionage is not important. Searching eyes may find their peers in people facing each other, but again the immediate downward or lateral gaze is kismet. Thus, once the journey is underway, any turning of heads is met with an immediate cascade of other swiveling craniums, for the serenity of the travelers’ retreats into themselves has been disturbed. Those whose meditations have been broken must satisfy their curiosities.
Of course, the intoxicated futbol hooligans and weekend revelers are not confined to this behavior. Indeed, they exhibit a much more forward and carefree attitude than in the states. If in a group, they will involve passersby in their conversations (generally with the aim of making the newly acquired interlocutor uncomfortable or of extracting money for cab fare); loudly consult with their fellow celebrants as to the sexual desirability of the unfortunate stranger; or simply invite the stranger to join them in their escapades. One could argue that the same behaviors are exhibited in America, but their practice is confined to a much smaller portion of the active population. Even then, this small percentage is far less brazen and sincere than its Russian counterpart. Despite their intimidating nature to a foreign observer, these shenanigans are for the most part physically harmless, and good-natured.
«Good-natured». It’s such a ubiquitous term when describing Russian behavior. Even the frustrated cashier that demands 20 more kopeeks, or two or five or ten more rubles from the confused, uninitiated student (who was sure they’d payed more than enough already) is only doing so out of good nature. It’s easier to hand back a convenient 10 ruble note, than count out 9 rubles 80 kopeeks in change, and it’s certainly easier to carry that note around than locate a suitable pocket for the aforementioned change. Cashiers of all kinds in Russia - late night grocery store clerks, metro booth dwellers, flower stand owners - all of them seem taciturn and gruff when compared to the peachy, chipper employees at Sprouts or In N Out. Again, it’s only Russian behavior. It’s the way things have been for decades if not centuries. Employees are not actually having a bad day and taking it out on some bumbling American, they’re simply performing as expected. The discomfort an American experiences at being treated so cursorily is no different than the discomfort a Russian faces in America when seemingly interrogated by an American cashier who demands to know just how said Russian is doing today.
The refusal of strangers in Russia to appear more happy than they are simply to put other strangers in their company at ease is in large part due to their greater sincerity in the private sphere. Russian professors familiar with their class of 5 students will make sure that their students have had their bedding changed, bring DVD’s and CD’s for a student who presented only a minor interest them, and inquire after the whereabouts of missing pupils out of genuine concern for their health, not simply to catch a skipper. Russian friends often will touch each other on the arm, shoulder, leg and so on for emphasis or to gain an audience for conversation. Not only is the touching, patting, and rubbing accepted between friends of the same gender, it seems almost necessary to convey sincere feelings. Certainly the same standards of private areas are respected, and friends do not always display their affection tangibly. The lack of a such a large personal bubble as we have in the States, perhaps even the lack of a personal bubble at all, is remarkable, and to me, endearing.
I could keep rambling on, but it’s almost 10 pm, and I haven’t done any homework yet. I’ll write about our awesome cruise through the south of Russia very soon.
BUT I’ll save those accounts for later.
I promised наблюдения (observations), and that’s what this post is about.
A large part of what drew me to Russia in the first place was a particular feeling that I got when I was here four years ago. I think I’ve since been able to identify some sources of that feeling, but have by no means pinpointed everything. One of those sources is the multitude of differences between the population’s standards of familiarity in public and private spheres. Everywhere in the city, individual Russians rush around in somber faces, as if their destination or origin were some sort of mourning ceremony. Occasionally, a group of students, friends, babushkas, etc. will pass by displaying their characters more openly, but the eye of the public still keeps them guarded during their forays into the streets of Saint Petersburg.
Though eye contact with strangers is a fairly awkward event even in the States, the Russian behavior in regard to the phenomenon is even more intricate. In the States, one might smile embarassedly or even strike up a conversation with the interloper, even with the knowledge that the conversation will rarely stray from the superficial. On public transportation in Russia, whether it be a metro car, bus, or even a small shuttle (called маршрутка), eye contact leads only to both parties looking away as soon as one’s wayward gaze is discovered. Turning one’s head to look about causes more heads to turn - everyone wants to know who the weird guy is that dares to observe others in their standing comas. Normally the unengaged passenger boards his/her chosen method of transport, immediately places his/herself in a seat or unobtrusive stance, and quickly completes a survey of their surroundings. The immediate goal of the survey is not to judge the other passengers, though this surely must happen, but to find an object at which one may blankly stare without giving the impression that one is covertly spying on any other individual. Whether one is actually conducting said espionage is not important. Searching eyes may find their peers in people facing each other, but again the immediate downward or lateral gaze is kismet. Thus, once the journey is underway, any turning of heads is met with an immediate cascade of other swiveling craniums, for the serenity of the travelers’ retreats into themselves has been disturbed. Those whose meditations have been broken must satisfy their curiosities.
Of course, the intoxicated futbol hooligans and weekend revelers are not confined to this behavior. Indeed, they exhibit a much more forward and carefree attitude than in the states. If in a group, they will involve passersby in their conversations (generally with the aim of making the newly acquired interlocutor uncomfortable or of extracting money for cab fare); loudly consult with their fellow celebrants as to the sexual desirability of the unfortunate stranger; or simply invite the stranger to join them in their escapades. One could argue that the same behaviors are exhibited in America, but their practice is confined to a much smaller portion of the active population. Even then, this small percentage is far less brazen and sincere than its Russian counterpart. Despite their intimidating nature to a foreign observer, these shenanigans are for the most part physically harmless, and good-natured.
«Good-natured». It’s such a ubiquitous term when describing Russian behavior. Even the frustrated cashier that demands 20 more kopeeks, or two or five or ten more rubles from the confused, uninitiated student (who was sure they’d payed more than enough already) is only doing so out of good nature. It’s easier to hand back a convenient 10 ruble note, than count out 9 rubles 80 kopeeks in change, and it’s certainly easier to carry that note around than locate a suitable pocket for the aforementioned change. Cashiers of all kinds in Russia - late night grocery store clerks, metro booth dwellers, flower stand owners - all of them seem taciturn and gruff when compared to the peachy, chipper employees at Sprouts or In N Out. Again, it’s only Russian behavior. It’s the way things have been for decades if not centuries. Employees are not actually having a bad day and taking it out on some bumbling American, they’re simply performing as expected. The discomfort an American experiences at being treated so cursorily is no different than the discomfort a Russian faces in America when seemingly interrogated by an American cashier who demands to know just how said Russian is doing today.
The refusal of strangers in Russia to appear more happy than they are simply to put other strangers in their company at ease is in large part due to their greater sincerity in the private sphere. Russian professors familiar with their class of 5 students will make sure that their students have had their bedding changed, bring DVD’s and CD’s for a student who presented only a minor interest them, and inquire after the whereabouts of missing pupils out of genuine concern for their health, not simply to catch a skipper. Russian friends often will touch each other on the arm, shoulder, leg and so on for emphasis or to gain an audience for conversation. Not only is the touching, patting, and rubbing accepted between friends of the same gender, it seems almost necessary to convey sincere feelings. Certainly the same standards of private areas are respected, and friends do not always display their affection tangibly. The lack of a such a large personal bubble as we have in the States, perhaps even the lack of a personal bubble at all, is remarkable, and to me, endearing.
I could keep rambling on, but it’s almost 10 pm, and I haven’t done any homework yet. I’ll write about our awesome cruise through the south of Russia very soon.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
