After three wonderful weeks in St. Petersburg my program now takes me to Moscow for a few days of intense touristing. Many churches. Shiny. On Wednesday or so I’m flying down to Irkutsk, on Lake Baikal, to continue with the academic bit.

So far I have not been crushed to death on the metro in the morning rush (although it’s been a near thing), nor have I been mugged, or even been taken for an American. I’ve been asked if I was Finnish, English, or Polish, on various occasions. One old woman at a museum, when I mentioned that I was an American student, said she hadn’t realized I was foreign, although she’d noticed I wasn’t understanding everything she said, so she’d started talking slower. i.e., she didn’t realize I was American, she just thought I was dumb…

I’ve also had my fortune read from my coffee cup by the Armenian host mother of one of the guys in my group. She said I have a fire in my soul, and I’m going to fall in love in Russia. She also offered to find me an Armenian husband…

Went to a concert of a ska-punk band called Leningrad, and had a great time. It was at an hockey stadium (but without ice, of course) and there were a ton of people. The line to get in was controlled by riot cops by the doors. After the concert, they closed to closest metro station because large masses of drunken Russians, after concerts, or soccer matches, or any sort of event, can be rather destructive. Therefore our academic director (who is extrememly cool) had us leave a bit before the concert ended.

I even went rowing once! Not in shells, but in replica boats from the 17th or 18th century. Like the sort of boats they row out from the ship to harpoon whales from. All wood, no feathering, and leather oarlocks. It was amazing!

And last Sunday I went out of the city with my host family to gather mushrooms. They told me which ones were edible, and which ones you should never touch. Then we had a campfire and roasted some. Yummy!

Some crazy things I have seen: A triple wedding on the riverfront. Two people in M&M costumes in a square by one of the metro stations. Someone in a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costume in the Victory Park in Moscow yesterday. Not really seen, but I’ve been in cars here, and that is scary!

Okay, there’s more crazy stuff, but I can’t think of it right now and my internet cafe time is running out.

Yes, I am having lots of fun! St. P really is a very beautiful city!! All sorts of crazy wonderful old architecture, so rather neglected and some freshly restored this year for the 300 years bit. Often there are restored buildings right next to not-restored buildings, which can be quite a contrast. And everywhere are things saying 300 years, St. P, 1703-2003 St. P, in shop windows mostly.

We are doing so much here… It is crazy. Sundays are to be our only free days.

Mon-Fri we have classes, and also on Saturdays we meet with the academic director, discuss the week and things. Week days start with three hours of language class, then half an hour for lunch, which is never quite enough, then a lecture or maybe two. We’ve so far had lectures on Russian history and field research techniques. Also one on gender roles, that was our first one. Despite the general traditionalness of Russian culture, my host-father seems to cook as much the mother. However, his cooking technique does seem to be limited to frying things. So the mother — Yana — cooks things like spaghetti, sacues for rice, and the father — Vasya — cooked fried fish, deep fried calamari (really good!) and in the morning makes cheese with toast in the frying pan. The family is a bit extended. Th easiest way to explain is like this — 18 years ago a couple with two sons, Vasya, and Misha (9 or 10 years younger) moved into an apartment which was at that time communal or partly communal. They convinced or traded with or something — I didn’t really understand — the other woman (family?) living there to move to another apartment, so they had the whole apartment for themselves. It is three bedrooms and a kitchen, plus the two room bathroom bit. Time passed Vasya got married, and his wife Yana moved in with them. They had two little girls, and then the grandfather died. Then Vasya and Yana had another child, and the grandmother went to England to do research. So in the apartment is Misha (same age as me), Vasya, Yana, Alyona (7), Nastya (4) and baby Anya (1.5). And for now, me, in the third room which is normally the grandmother’s. The little girls are all pretty cute and fun to play with. Anya is teething, so she tends to cry inconsably at times, but I can play peekaboo with her and toss her in the air, and she likes that. She is, though, at the age, where her main goal in life is to grab things and put them in her mouth, and if you remove an object of her desire, that can also be the cause of unhappiness. Nastya is small enough that I can throw her around too, which of course she likes. She really likes me to pick her up and spin around in circles. Alyona also likes for me to spin her around, but she is a lot heavier, and so I get dizzy doing it. Alyona had her very first day of school the same day I came to stay with them. She showed me her backpack (with Minnie Mouse on it) and everything in it twice. She also showed me her favorite pen in her pencil case. It is a clicky pen, and apparently good for a lot of entertainment.

So I spend a lot of time playing with the little girls, and I’d probably get more reading done if they weren’t there, but I get enough done, so it’s okay. Misha, I think, is tired of small noisy children at this point. He asks me occasionally if they aren’t bothering me, and at the dinner table he is the one most likely to tell them to be quieter, or sit up straight if they start leaning against him. He is, however, extremely fond of the cat.

The poor cat, however, is not well. As I understand, she was pregnant, but could not have the kittens — she’s really a very small cat — so I think she had an abortion/c-section or something. In any case, the poor thing has a whole bunch on stitches on her stomach, and they tie a cloth thing around her belly so it won’t be poked or dirty, and carry her around like a baby. I am sure she is very sick, because she doesn’t protest to anything they do to her, and Yana was telling me yesterday how she used to scare dogs with hissing. They give her shots and force feed her through a syringe because she won’t eat. Last night Misha was making a hot water bottle, and when I asked who it was for, he said it was for the cat.

Vasya and Yana deserve some description too, as does the ballet we went to Friday night, and the rest of Friday night, but I’ve got two minutes left of my bought time at the internet cafe, so I’ll have to end…