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Budapest. and my inability to be creative.

Okay. So, I'm in Budapest, and I like it so far, but I'm gross and don't have my luggage. So.. dirty pants to wear all the time. But, for the good things, It's beautiful here and people are nice and speak English. And when they're not speaking English, they're speaking Hungarian (obviously) or Russian.. and I understand the Russian tourists better than the people working, and although I clearly don't speak Hungarian, I like it. It's impossible to describe, and thusly nice.
Sad fact is, I'm already lonely. Everyone is paired up with their friends or their families. Also, I keep thinking how much I wish people could see what I'm seeing.. or at least that when I got home I could tell them about it. But well, I guess that's what this is for, but at this point I'm too tired to be effective.

My Encounter with the Russian Soul

I am walking home with three friends and a man walks up to us and asks -- In English -- if we are speaking English. Dan, the only guy in the group replies, "yes, we're Americans."

"You are in Russia; do you like Russians?"

"Yes."

"I am a Russian man, and I believe I can encompass the Russian spirit and the Russian soul all by myself. Here is a poem I wrote myself:

Why does the Russian drink?

So that he can stop the thinking,

Because if he were to start thinking,

He would never cease the drinking.

Do you like my poem? Have a good day."

And then the Russian man runs off in another direction. My friends and I look around at each other and decide we are pretty sure the man was sober at the moment of his recital. We also conclude none of us have been pick pocketed during our brief encounter.

Red Squares and Beige Pyramids

I have realized that I am way overdue on writing about my adventures to Moscow and Cairo. I, in fact, just wrote another blog post but do not feel right posting it until I have done justice to my grand adventure, so I will post it in a few days.

My first feeling after returning from Moscow and Egypt is that the world is smaller than I thought. I didn't conclude this because I travelled around the world so quickly, but because larger than life monuments were dwarfed when I encountered them in real life. I suppose I should have realized that things aren't enormous just because I've grown up seeing pictures of them. Both St. Basil's and the Sphinx were much smaller than I thought they would be. Red Square, the touted "largest square in the world" didn't seem as large as I thought it should be either.

My second feeling was disappointment. Not because I didn't have a great time despite the food poisoning I suffered in Cairo, but because my trip seriously lacked old dead bodies. Lenin was "closed for inventory" during my week in Moscow. How does inventory on Lenin take a week? I imagine the process should go as follows:

"One dead communist?"

" Check."

The end.

I was also disappointed by the mummy room in the Egyptian museum. It costs extra money to enter the mummy room, but when we entered, the room was very crowded and the patrons did not move around with any apparent logic or order. I should think the directors of the mummy room could take the 50 pound entrance fee I paid to buy some velvet ropes or hire someone to stagger patrons' entrances. When I managed to push myself in front of the mummies, they were slightly disappointing. None of the mummies' bodies are unwrapped and some are entirely covered. I realize they have to preserve the mummies, but it's pretty pathetic that the shock value of the Hermitage's Egyptian mummy beats the Egyptian Museum's by a long shot. However, staring at one mummy's potato chip-like ear was enough to make me queasy and exit the mummy room a bit sooner than Pat did.

My third feeling was happiness that haggling doesn't exist in America and that people can't legally sell stuff on the streets without a license. I didn't do very much souvenir shopping just because I hate shopping without marked prices. However, my dreams were soon crushed when I returned to Peter to discover that America's Best Buy is implementing a new Haggle-Welcome policy. First the declining dollar, and now the downfall of clearly set prices? What is my beloved capitalist economy coming to?

I'm Here!

I realize I haven't written in a very, very long time. I also need to write about Moscow and Cairo, which I will do very soon. However, I'm super busy. I did find an old, old blog that I forgot to post... so here it is in case you want to read 2-month old thoughts on food!

January 30, 20:58 (Posted after writing)

I have just met Olga’s boyfriend Vadim. He asked me where I was from and how much Russian I understand, and then I’m pretty sure he said that any Russian is a lot for an American, but he didn’t say it in an unkind way. But then again, I might have misunderstood him and he might have said something entirely different.

Anyhow, seeing the difference in the amount of food that Vadim was served and the amount I was served, I think it is time to describe my experiences with Russian food.

Every student who comes to Russia is bombarded with entirely more food than they can eat. This leads American students to believe that Russians eat much more food than we do, but this gives a rather false impression. From what I can tell from talking to my teachers and fellow students, and seeing what is served at Russian restaurants, Russian host-mothers simply give their American students copious amounts of food because they believe that Americans eat that much – compare the amount of food served at an American restaurant to that of a traditional European-style restaurant.

Nevertheless, it is a sin to waste food in Russia, and students feel a responsibility to gorge themselves on as much food as they can. I have both uttered and heard the words “I eat until I feel sick” many times since I have been here.

The type of food eaten in Russia also contributes to the nausea. Don’t misunderstand me, almost everything I have eaten has been delicious, but Russian food is very rich and very heavy. It seems that there are eggs, cream, or a large quantity of butter in every dish.

Today seems like one of the lighter days so far, but let me describe the menu I have eaten (or at least been served) today:

Breakfast (At home):

Two halves of a sandwich bun, each covered with thick slices of slice-and-eat sausage (like summer sausage) and cheese.

Two eggs mixed with plain macaroni, cooked, salted, and then covered with melted cheese.

A cup of yogurt

Juice and tea

Lunch (At School):

A salad of lettuce, cabbage, onions, and tomatoes

Vegetable-noodle soup (with sour cream)

Bread

Fried Mashed-Potato logs with a mushroom cream sauce (sorry that’s a pretty poor description)

A large cream puff

Water and tea

Dinner (At home)

Borsht (with Sour cream)

3 pieces of Rye bread

A plate full of barley

Roasted chicken thigh

No food so far has really surprised me, but I am surprised by how much food Russians eat with their fingers. I didn’t realize that dessert blini are eaten by hand, and in general it seems that Russians are much more likely to simplify eating my using their fingers. We ate carp last night with our fingers, I have never eaten carp before and it seemed like a pretty good way to avoid the bones, so I whole heartily approved.

I believe Russian hostesses serve unending bowls of food because they’d rather stuff you than see you go hungry. In fact, I’m pretty sure the first time I’ve been allowed to feel hungry since I have been here was today, and I was asked if I wanted to eat at 6 and I chose to wait until later.

The only downside to eating so well is that now I am happy and ready to hibernate and it is only 21:30.

Men's Day

This weekend was pretty crazy.
The 23 of February is a holiday that in concept is like America's Veteran's Day, but in practice is Men's Day. Because almost every Russian man was in the military he has the right on this day to do whatever he pleases.
"Really?" you might ask, "Isn't every day Men's Day in Russia, Nicole?"
I would tend to agree, but according to Soviet-instilled tradition, there must be a day when men can feel extra comfortable having their way.
My Grand Man Day began when I decided to meet my friend Emily at Gostiny Dvor metro in Downtown Petersburg. I was a little early and she was a little late, so I was waiting outside for awhile when suddenly I heard a megaphone and saw the majority of people scramble away from the area, so I decided to go inside to wait for Emily.
When Emily got there we decided to get out of the way as soon as possible, which meant we darted off without really knowing where we were going. On our walk we realized that Militsia (Russian police) were everywhere, including OMAN, the scariest of the Militsia, with their giant scarier-than-paddywagon trucks.
So... we kept moving and ended up in front of the Church of the Savior on Spilled Blood, so we went inside.
The rest of my day was pretty normal, but the night was slightly strange. Men's Day is known as one of the most dangerous nights of the year, and I was set to be extremely careful when I went out with friends. When it was time to eat dinner, my host mom asked me if I wanted to drink beer, and I said, "No thanks you" but in Russian. Then, when her boyfriend came in the room he asked her if I was drinking and she said, "I asked her, she said no." In response, he asks me again, and when I repeat, "No thank you," he responds, "Why not? It's my day, and you won't drink with me?" So, as you can probably guess, my next response was,"Okay, I can."
An hour later I set off to meet my friends outside a metro station downtown. I was walking in the back of the group, and after only a few paces a guy reaches around my waist and pulls me backwards. I elbowed him in the stomach and ran away without looking back.
Then, while dancing at the Castro-Themed club Fidel I kept awkwardly avoiding a Russian guy who was whispering in my ear. When it was time to leave, two Moroccan guys who had apparently fallen in love with two of my friends followed us out so we chatted until we could get them to stay behind as we walked home.

I realize that everything sounds less exciting as a blog and I've lost the drive to write about Sunday, which wasn't as interesting.

So… it’s official. I’m homesick. And I feel guilty about it.

I’m not homesick for important reasons at all. I could forgive myself for being homesick because I miss family and friends, and even though I do miss everyone, that isn’t the cause of my blues. My homesickness is also not caused by patriotism, politics, the weather (it’s unusually warm and sunny here) or any academic or rational reason. I’m homesick because I want to watch “Jon and Kate Plus 8” and “To Catch a Thief” in my bed made up with my flannel sheets, make myself dinner with my George Foreman, take a nice temperature-stable shower that doesn’t come from a hose, and then buy an Izze soda at Target with my Chase Visa, or better yet with a $20 and no change… Oh, and take a nice stroll outside without being overwhelmed by car fumes and cigarette smoke.

Although I am obviously learning some Russian, I’m not learning as much as fast as I’d wanted to. I have also learned that unless I live here for an entire year (which I don’t want to do), I will most likely never be fluent and I am certain that my future career will not extensively involve the Russian language. I have also learned I don’t like living in the city. I’ve known at heart I was a suburban girl, but I’ve always thought everyone should live in a big city for at least a portion of their life… I now think 4 months might just be enough time for that.

I’ve also realized even more how important food is to me. (Hey, I am the one who oddly said “cooking is my life,” when I was like 7.) Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure I don’t want to work in a restaurant or be a chef, but I really, really miss cooking. Even improvisational dorm room cooking sounds amazing right now. I’ve never manage to appreciate how diverse American cuisine is until I got here. Although the food I get at home is delicious, I really miss having tacos one night and spaghetti the next. I realize that my normal food is only a watered-down version of whatever ethnic food it was inspired by, but Russian food is pretty limited. Although there are nice ethnic restaurants, (that are very different from their American counterparts… and I feel in my heart that ours are somehow more authentic…) eating out is generally more expensive in Russia and it isn’t normal to eat out unless it is someone’s birthday.

One thing that I don’t have to miss is reading, although I’ve purposely been reading really slowly so that I don’t run out of English materials. I can buy English literature here, but I’m trying hard not to buy money on things that I don’t need, can’t take with me, or eat.

I just bought my second bag-lady purse because my first one broke. I feel that large purses are the best way to conceal my laptop, but they are expensive and my first one already has a broken handle. This time I decided to buy one for almost twice the price of the first, but I still couldn’t bring myself to spend enough to be sure that it wouldn’t break (it would have to be all real leather…). Keep your fingers crossed for my new bag – I’m going to go write myself up a budget for the rest of my time here.