Things I remember about Russia
The pervasive smell of laquered wood
Women in footwear that eclipsed even my own in impracticality
Dinner for 15ยข
A dead dog's corpse lapping gently on the banks of the Yauza
A fellow student trying to explain to the Professor, in his intermediate Russian, why we were all staring at the river. He said we were looking at a "soboka kotoraya ne zhivyoht" - a dog who doesn't live.
Feeling the presence of Stalin, despite Khrushchev's best efforts to eradicate him
Living here
The opulence and the tragedy
Old widows selling produce on the steps of the metro
Mayonnaise: condiment, dairy-substitute, gastrointestinal doom
The amazing long, swift, and steep escalators on the metro
Talented but unemployed musicians performing for spare change everywhere - on street corners, in the perehod, whereever there is room to stand
A young beggar fiddling in front of Ismailovsky Park, saying the only English phrase he knew to all of the tourists: "Hello, my friend."
The Militsia
Being mistaken for a Chechen rebel each and every day. I know I'm terrifying-looking, but come on already!
The surly old man who checked our student IDs in front of Mendeleev University
My host mother asking me if I had ever met any black people, because she heard that America was "just full of them." !!
People laughing at my patronimic
An overnight train ride from Moscow to Saint Petersburg
Dancing with Yakov
Wishing I had kept a journal
Wanting to cry at the beauty and strangeness of it all
Women in footwear that eclipsed even my own in impracticality
Dinner for 15ยข
A dead dog's corpse lapping gently on the banks of the Yauza
A fellow student trying to explain to the Professor, in his intermediate Russian, why we were all staring at the river. He said we were looking at a "soboka kotoraya ne zhivyoht" - a dog who doesn't live.
Feeling the presence of Stalin, despite Khrushchev's best efforts to eradicate him
Living here
The opulence and the tragedy
Old widows selling produce on the steps of the metro
Mayonnaise: condiment, dairy-substitute, gastrointestinal doom
The amazing long, swift, and steep escalators on the metro
Talented but unemployed musicians performing for spare change everywhere - on street corners, in the perehod, whereever there is room to stand
A young beggar fiddling in front of Ismailovsky Park, saying the only English phrase he knew to all of the tourists: "Hello, my friend."
The Militsia
Being mistaken for a Chechen rebel each and every day. I know I'm terrifying-looking, but come on already!
The surly old man who checked our student IDs in front of Mendeleev University
My host mother asking me if I had ever met any black people, because she heard that America was "just full of them." !!
People laughing at my patronimic
An overnight train ride from Moscow to Saint Petersburg
Dancing with Yakov
Wishing I had kept a journal
Wanting to cry at the beauty and strangeness of it all
posted by Liz at 6:48 PM
2 Comments:
Who's this "Yakov" fellow, hmmm?
"In Russia, car drives you!"
I was on a gig last weekend with a black bass named Michael who had been to Russia once - with his gospel group. Everywhere they went, people stopped and stared because they'd never seen black people before. He said a lot of the locals came up and asked if they could please have their picture taken with a black man!
(PS, this is Jenny. Who doesn't have a blog and must commentavatz anonymously.)
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