October 19 – Day 32 – Part One

Last night after a much needed nap, Jenna, Steph and I hit the streets of St. Petersburg and wandered around in search of comfort food, in this case anything green. The Russian diet is pretty beige and when accompanied by the grey sky, it can start to become debilitating – it is my theory as to why Russians always looks so glum walking through the perrihotes. We had a lovely time and returned to the hostile just in time to find our program coordinator, Colleen, as well as a good majority of the female students drunk beyond belief. The one thing that seems to unite all women regardless of age or experience is the topic of relationships, so dozens of us girl-talked about love and loss into the wee hours of the morning. The conversation, however, spread into my dreams and I woke up today with that feeling of uneasiness about the future that had been plaguing me yesterday. We started off first officially planned day in St. Petersburg with a bus tour of the city, which in retrospect might not have been the wisest choice of the travel coordinators. The group was uncomfortable and irritable and ready for separation. We have an ongoing issue within the classes of ensemble. Everything in the Russian work is about the ensemble – we hear that word over and over and over every single day – the problem being that ensemble is not necessarily an American ideal, particularly when people are young and used to being a lead. I was having a private discussion on this topic, spurned by yet another skirmish in the group, when one of the young men in my class interrupted and began pestering me to have a conversation with the group. I didn’t want to engage in this debate with him and tried to explain that at this point in my life whether or not we sing or dance for the student show case just doesn’t matter to me but ended up receiving a lecture on why I should oblige myself to such arguments because to forgo them would mean I don’t care about the ensemble. How do you tell someone who is still so in the throws of this process, that in life you have to choose you battles and fight for what really matters but recognize when issues are superfluous and unimportant to the greater scheme, especially when you have just figured this out yourself. I tried to tell him that I no longer desire a life filled with unnecessary drama but the message didn’t seem to translate and I just felt pompous and full of crap. And so very ready to get off that bus. There are some really great people on this trip but there is one shining beacon of hope for me in all this madness. My classmate Katherine, or Katiya as the Russians call her, is probably one of the neatest – yes I said neatest and I don’t mean tidy – girls I have ever met. She is an old soul and a valuable confidant and a breath of fresh air in the midst of ego. She was sharing my feelings of tension on the bus so when we finally got off we bolted away from the group and found the most amazing Irish pub. We wasted several hours drinking beer, eating the best burger and fries I have had here, (okay, the only real burger and fries I have had here) and talking about life while she tried her best to convince me to give up LA and live with her in New York. We has so much fun, so much so we barely noticed the man who pulled up a chair at the table next to us and proceeded to watch us like a reality TV show right before his very eyes. By the time we left, we were a little tipsy and a lot poorer and ready to check out the Russian Art Museum. I have never experienced an art museum inebriated before and while I would not say it would be something to do on a regular basis considering all the invaluable artifacts I could have easily tipped over, it did seem very Russian and quite fun. (I did get completely ripped off buying what I thought was a Russian art book only to later realize it was German but at least I got a story out of it.) After we sobered up we went to the Cathedral of Spilled Blood, which one of the most magnificent sights I have ever seen. The entire interior is one giant mosaic and while I was able to take photos, it doesn’t come close to doing justice to the feast of color the tiles created. After the Church, we met up with Stephanie and ran through the rain looking for a place to get dry and warm. We found this tented garden café with cozy couches, a live jazz band playing English tunes in the vein of Diana Krall, and big screen TV playing American sports with English subtitles. I was in heaven, I cannot even begin to explain. I get so excited any time I have the slightest clue what someone is saying, let alone when things are in English. This language here has proven to be a near impossibility for me and even when I know for a fact that I am saying things correctly, people stare at me like I am crazy and just walk away. It is beyond exhausting so these little moments of pleasure and understanding go a long way to keeping me sane. Well, the Irish coffee didn’t hurt either.