Not kidding

Tonight, I ate an éclair filled not with creme, but with butter.

It was actually fine-tasting, but...it was butter!

Искусство

Everything looks cooler when it's in Russian. The title of this entry just says, "Art."

Today I saw some Very Important Russian artist's house (Vasnetsov's house), and maybe I should be a little more respectful of the fact that he was Very Important, but--it was not terribly exciting. He produced some neat paintings of fairy tales, sure. But I also had to listen to our guide talk about things like his dining room table. And his oven.

The really good part of the day was meeting up with Anya at the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts. Okay, tangent here: FREAKING EVERYTHING is named for Pushkin. There are two Pushkin museums (one of them is Pushkin-related, so I guess that's okay, but he didn't actually live there), a Pushkin metro station, Pushkin street, and a Pushkin cafe. Wikipedia tells me that there's a planet and a crater on the moon named after him, but those things aren't in Moscow so I guess they don't count. But the people who named them--probably in Moscow. They're obsessed with him here. Why is this relevant? Because the museum I went to today is a visual arts museum. And it's named after a writer. This makes absolutely no sense.

Anyway, the reason we went to the museum--they have a HUGE Picasso exhibition going on until late May. There are 240 pieces, and it was wonderful. The painting at the top was one of my favorites. The exhibition seemed to focus a bit on Picasso's involvement with Russia and the ways in which he was inspired by Russia--I hadn't known that he had worked with the Russian ballet. He designed, I believe, the set and costumes for a show (at least one? I don't know). Darcy told me that the dancers performed to Satie (I didn't take the time to read the information on the walls, because I could only understand some of the Russian and the other language was French, which Darcy can read). What a show! Hearing Satie and seeing Picasso. I can't imagine. I really would like to have lived in the early 20th century.

Soviet Kitsch

I hate to admit it, but I was a bit dull this weekend. I still haven't gotten out to the clubs and bars at night--but I'm working on ideas for this Friday. I'm thinking I'll go back to Masterskaya for dancing (with friends, of course) and see what happens from there--the metro doesn't re-open until 6, so it'll be an experience. Saturday is Anya's birthday; I have already been warned not to make any plans.

This past weekend, though not exciting to retell, was really delightful. Anya and Grisha really wanted to go swimming on Friday, so we dropped Lyova off with Grisha's mother, picked up his 9-year-old sister Varya, and headed to a nearby fitness club. Mostly it was not notable, but a few things struck me: it cost 400 rubles (over thirteen bucks, yikes), we had to put plastic things over our shoes when we came in (presumably because the streets are so dusty), we had to shower before we went into the pool (likely for the same reason), all of the women wore bathing caps (...I looked terrible), and the sauna was SO ridiculously hot. My bathing cap started to burn my ears after a while. I'm not much of a swimmer, so I just spent most of the time watching Varya goof off or floating on my back.

On Saturday, Anya, Grisha, Lyova and I headed out around 11 for a flea market that they were really excited to show me. It was a long trip--we took a bus to a Metro stop, took the Metro to a suburban train (элестричка) station, and took the train a few stops to the market. Best part of the train: they sold ice cream. For real. The market was delightfully run-down, just a long street dotted by sellers' tarps, on which were clothes, knick-knacks, dishes, jewelry, furniture, vinyl, army uniforms. Anyone into stuff from the Soviet era would've had a field day. I kept thinking, "Well, I won't buy that now, in case I run into something else I want. I have to take all of this stuff back to the US." But that screwed me in the end because I didn't buy anything, and after a while it started raining and most of the sellers began packing up. I left empty-handed, but I hope to go back. I want one of these (click for picture). They're metal holders for glasses. Why? I have no idea! But they're an old Russian thing, and some of them are really lovely.

After the flea market, we came back into the city and walked around other stores. I got a pair of tights to replace the ones I'd ripped on Friday (putting tights back on after being in a pool/shower is sort of difficult) at this great store which is basically just stuff for feet and legs. By the time we headed home at about 10, I was exhausted. 11 hours of walkin' around. Anya had wanted to watch Kill Freud, a Spanish film she loves, but we settled down in the kitchen for a snack and didn't leave until 2, when we couldn't stay awake any longer. We spent the whole time talking about relationships openly, and for some reason Anya and I were really giggly at some points. It was wonderful. I feel closer to them every day; it's going to be very difficult to leave.

More

I apologize for the infrequent posting. Due to personal life stuff (unrelated to my stay here) and political news from America, I have been tired and a little down, especially when I have free time. So my blog is taking a hit. I've been feeling much better, though, so I'll do my best to post regularly again now.

Today, we went on an excursion to the old Tretyakov art gallery. I'll be honest--it was pretty boring. I just can't dig pre-20th century art. I understand why others do and I can see why it's good, but it's never been my thing. We took a guided tour, which made it worse, and it was led by an employee of the museum who spoke fine English but interjected a high-pitched "Yes?" into her speech about every 30 seconds. I started a count, but I stopped at 67, about halfway through the tour, because I was tired of paying attention. After the tour a few of us realized that there were rooms of early 20th c. art that she had totally skipped, and I'm glad we found them. Modern-era art is some of my favorite. I loved this piece by Filipp Malyavin (click for the whole thing):

There is a new Tretyakov elsewhere which houses avant-garde 20th and 21st c. art, but we won't be taking an excursion there as a group, so I'll have to make time to go one of these weekends.

After the museum, some of us went to a restaurant called Ёлки-Палки--which is pronounced Yolki-Palki. Yeah. It was aptly described by someone at the table as a Russian Cracker Barrel, although it's certainly more expensive. I ended up shelling out about $20, which is entirely normal for Moscow. It wasn't the food that got me, but the juice. I had two TINY TINY glasses of grapefruit juice which ended up costing me about $6. Unfortunately, just drinking water wouldn't have been much cheaper, as the water was 120 rubles ($4). You can't get tap water here (because you shouldn't drink the tap water), only bottled. This is probably why people drink so much beer here--it's cheaper than or comparable to anything else.

From Yolki-Palki we walked to a park that had been recommended to us by the woman who organizes our excursions. She said there was a very interesting sculpture there, and she was right. It's called "Children are the victims of adult vices" (click title for Wikipedia article) sculpted by Mikhail Shemyakin. I think its greatest value for foreigners is the insight it provides into the values of Russian society--though it was very controversial when it came out, according to Wikipedia, and so of course it's not representative of all Russians. Still, artists don't make art outside of society's influence.

Covering some impressive distance, all things considered, Darcy and I led the group over to a great little place Anya showed us on Sunday. It's called, I kid you not, Beard Papa's. It is a Japanese cream puff place. They sell only cream puffs (and not even much of a variety), and I only know it's Japanese because the women behind the counter say thank-you in Japanese and because Anya told us it is. Wikipedia, however, confirms this. But the thing is--the cream puffs are heavenly. They're not the little melon-ball-sized ones you get from the grocery store. I hate those, and the stuff inside is too light and weird. I won't try to describe how awesome the cream puffs from Beard Papa's are, but if you ever come to Moscow please do swing by metro station Kropotkinskaya (not the most attractive name, I know) and hit up this tiny, inexplicable little bakery. Their website indicates that there are about a billion in California and one on the Upper West Side in New York and some in other US locations, but it just wouldn't be the same as eating a really good cream puff at a Japanese bakery with an English name in Russia.

Before being introduced to Beard Papa's on Sunday, Darcy and I met Anya at Arbatskaya to head over to Old Arbat, a pedestrian-only street, where they were holding a Flash Mob event. People had been told to wear bright colors and blow bubbles starting at 2:00 in the afternoon. We didn't get there until 4, but man, people were still going strong. There weren't a ton of bubbles then, but the excitement included:

1. Young kids, maybe junior high- and high school-age, playing a traditional Russian game in a huge group
2. Girls and some guys carrying signs that said, "Free hugs!" and sometimes, "Kiss me!"
3. A guy doing yoga-like poses on his hands, feet, and head on top of broken glass. We left when he picked up a meter-long nail-like thing that he was apparently going to swallow.
4. A drum circle
5. A quartet of young woman, probably from the music academy, playing classical music
6. Hilarious costumes and skimpy clothing in celebration of the spring weather
7. People actually smiling, even laughing and screaming and singing and dancing

That last one is a big deal in a place like Moscow. Smiling for no reason in public, especially at complete strangers, is practically verboten. This morning when I was thinking of depressing things while waiting for our group to assemble in the metro station, our excursion guide looked at me and said, "You already look like real Russians!"

The whole Arbat experience felt like recharging.

Edited to add: Still loving my host family. Grisha just came in with a glass of freshly-made grapefruit juice.

Парк Победы

Important features of Park Pobedy:

-Tanks that you're allowed to climb all over

-More rollerbladers than you've seen since 1996

-A really lovely, incredibly deep metro station (clink the link for REALLY COOL facts about it, as well as pictures)

-A group of four violinists, one violist, and one cellist playing perfect classical music in the area of the station below the street, before you leave or as you enter

Famous Dead People

Graves I saw today: Boris Yeltsin, Nikita Krushchev,* Anton Chekhov, a bunch of other people of varying degrees of fame whom I'd never heard of

I will post pictures if I can steal some from the blogs/Facebooks of my friends here. EDIT: Here's one Hannah took of Chekhov's:

Fun fact: The city of Moscow has deployed its fence- and curb-painting army, which has descended upon almost all neighborhoods with terrible, acrid paint that gives off the strongest fumes imaginable.

Another fun fact: Car alarms go off ALL OF THE TIME here.

*I don't know why his name is transliterated that way and not Krushchyov, which is closer to how it sounds/is spelled in Russian.

Oh, I'm in Europe

I can't decide which is stranger: the ubiquitous smoking indoors, or the ubiquitous drinking outdoors.

Last night, our program director, Vera, led us to a club owned by a friend of her daughter's. It's called Masterskaya (Мастерская, or The Studio) and is located in the center of town. The city at night is so beautiful, and the area we walked through to get to the club looked so very European. Inside the club: dim lighting, pale walls, a cloud of smoke hovering above the tables, just crowded enough to be cozy. It was only 300 rubles, about 10 dollars, to get in. Not long after we arrived, the band began playing. A cellist, violinist, pianist, and accordion player gave us two hours of tango music that simultaneously broke and soothed my heart. All four were outstanding musicians. I've never seen an accordion played that way, and the cellist was superb--such a stereotypical artist, all floppy hair, passion, and effortlessness. I sipped my drink and smiled at my friends and felt beautiful in my nicest dress. I needed it. It couldn't have been more perfect.

I'm paying for my lazy weekend now, but somehow the homework just doesn't seem like such a big deal.

Finally, time to relax

We had a lot of visitors to the little apartment yesterday. In addition to two deliveries (food and Anya's contacts): Grisha's friends, one shorter and round and loud, and one tall and thin and quiet; the cleaning people, who are from the Philippines; a couple of the kids from my program who go to OSU; and Anya's fashion-designer sister.

So Grisha's friends. They spoke English, too! Geez. Or at least the shorter one, Alex, did. The taller--I can't remember his name, it was very unusual--greeted me in English, but hardly spoke at all even when everyone was speaking Russian. After Alex had thrown himself across the couch (which is really a sort of large bean bag thing) and snuggled up to Anya, getting a dirty look from Grisha, he said, "So. All I know about you is that you're from Ogaio (Огайо, the Russian word for Ohio)." And Grisha said (you'll have to imagine his thick accent), "That is not all you know! You know she has long legs and is redhead." Which was very funny. Alex was dramatic and funny and seemed really good-natured. Grisha's other friend--I feel so bad that I can't remember his name--seems sweet as well. I hope I see them again. Anya and Grisha are considering having a party for Anya's birthday, in which case I'll meet more of their friends.

I left not long after the cleaning people came, so I didn't talk with them much--they spoke English with Anya. I went on a walk with Graham and Hanna, who are from OSU. They came back, but Hanna had to leave before dinner. Anya made Graham and I some traditional dish whose name I can't remember. It was not unlike tiny pirogies, and Anya set sour cream on the table and laughed at me. I'm trying to like it, I really am. It's eaten with EVERYTHING here, even more often than I was expecting. Graham seemed to enjoy it just fine. I had a little and then ate the rest plain.

Anya's older sister, Masha (Маша), came over after 8:00. She mostly played with Lyova at first, but then Anya hard-boiled some eggs for us to paint and Grisha came home from the gym and visiting his mother. Grisha, Masha, and I sat down in the kitchen and painted our eggs while Anya put Lyova to bed. Traditionally, Russians paint either end of the egg a solid color and write ХВ, the abbreviation for the Russian phrase meaning "Christ is Risen." I did so, at least on one end. On the other I painted an exclamation mark. My egg was striped white and mustard-yellow. The biggest stripe in the middle was white, and I painted purple swirly things--I wish I had a picture, I'm very proud of it. Masha said, "I like your style." Grisha painted a Star of David at one end of his; he and Anya are both ethnically Jewish, although Anya is also Orthodox by heritage. They are not religious. The rest of the egg he decorated with other symbols and patterns, such as a very well-executed zebra print. Masha painted an absolutely perfect heart on one end, and on the other a third eye symbol with an Aum on it. The rest was striped with various shades of yellow and red.

Masha was fabulous in the exact way I would expect a fashion designer to be. She called me "darling" and said things like, "I don't know, I hate everyone right now" in an absurdly charming, low, heavily accented voice. She is elegantly dramatic, and I can tell I would have a hard time knowing her personally but she was much fun to hang out with for one night. It's apparent that she is a strong, resilient but volatile business woman. There's a lot to like about her. Also, she's a babe.

Anya, Grisha and I watched O Brother, Where Art Thou and ate ice cream. The ice cream was SO DELICIOUS! They put some topping on it, but even alone it was nice, had a stronger cream taste than American ice cream. They gave me the largest serving of ice cream I've ever eaten in one sitting, I think. The movie was sort of dubbed. The original sound was still there, but there was a track laid over it of a man translating into Russian--it was odd, and it seemed like it would be difficult to understand who was saying what. Anya said that it was, but that they could mostly figure it out. I can't imagine enjoying a movie like that, but when it was over, they said they loved it.

This morning, Anya and I will eat the eggs we painted as well as a traditional Orthodox Easter cake called kulich (кулич, I would imagine, though I haven't seen it spelled out). I can't tell you how much I adore Anya. We're very good friends after just over a week.

Night life

Sort of.

Last night, handful of my friends and I were planning on going to Kruzhka, a bar, and then over to Propaganda, a club in Kitai-Gorod. I'd been to Kruzhka on Tuesday and liked it--60-ruble ($2) house beer (which I wouldn't drink more than one of, anyway, so it's quite cheap for me) and it's such a dive. In a very charming, pleasant way. Not much different than the Skull in Athens--only beer, for instance--but about 5 times larger. Anya and Grisha said they'd never go there. Cheap, they said--which is, of course, why we go there. Anya thought it was the sort of place that would have rowdy drunk men who want to fight and hit on young women. But we weren't bothered at all while we were there, and mostly the patrons were young, many of them women. The tables were lit by long candles stuck in beer bottles, and the light actually made the place look pretty classy. Plus they have bathrooms with toilet paper that you don't have to pay for, a rarity here.

I started getting stomach pains on my way to Kruzhka that made it difficult to stand up. But I powered through and made it to the bar. On the ride/walk to Propaganda, it just got worse and worse, and we weren't far when I realized there was no way I'd be able to dance. So Rachel and I took the metro back to our station. I called Anya and stumbled home. When I got there, she was waiting with a box of medicine labeled "Живот" (stomach) and gave me something that tasted like Mylanta. "I hope it wasn't our food!" she worried over and over, suggesting maybe the mushrooms were the culprit. But I'd been eating that dish for the past few days. I didn't say so, but I think the problem was that for dinner, Grisha poured a bunch of leftover vegetables into a skillet and warmed them up with A LOT of cheese. It was so good that I ate the whole pan that he made, and I think that's what did me in--I have a suspicion I'm developing a mild lactose intolerance. But I really hope I'm wrong.

But the night ended up being AWESOME. We talked about movies and music, and sat around for hours sharing music with one another. Anya gave me a bunch of CDs to listen to (including 5'NIZZA, woo!), and when the conversation died down she started watching Friends in Russian on her computer! She said she wants to buy it in English. We are amusingly alike--they don't have a TV, but they watch House on the computer, and now I find out she likes Friends. Grisha and I have very similar taste in movies. We, improbably, share a love for the Jim Jarmusch film Dead Man. He's more into Tim Burton than I am, but he also likes the Coen brothers. I was shocked to find out that Anya hasn't seen any Coen brothers movies, though she certainly knows who they are. I'm going to try to convince her to watch O Brother, Where Art Thou with me today in Russian. She found it on the Russian Facebook, В Контакте (I think). They can, apparently, stream almost any movie very easily. Their licensing laws for movies and music are much different than ours--they can get almost anything free or at least cheaply.

I feel better this morning and I'm excited for today, even if I just end up watching movies with Anya at home.

I look like a slob

While waiting for a friend at my metro station today, I started keeping track of the footwear of the women walking by. At least 90% of the women around my age were wearing heels--and I mean HIGH heels, at least three inches but more often four or more. I'd also guess this was true of around 3/4 of the women under the age of 50.

I feel really, really frumpy here.

My friends and I are planning on going clubbing tomorrow, and I have no idea what I'm going to wear. No time to shop--I forced myself to come home right after class today to get in some real studying.

So there's a song I've assigned to be the official song of my trip to Russia (to be honest, I made that decision before I left). I don't usually go in for inspirational songs, but this one's different for some reason. Click here for the lyrics, but you should really find it and listen to it, because it sounds less corny if you get music + vocals + lyrics together. Here's a bit of it anyway:

"People are just people

They shouldn't make you nervous

The world is everlasting, it's coming and it's going

If you don't toss your plastic

The streets won't be so plastic

And if you kiss somebody, then both of you'll get practice

The world is everlasting

The dirtballs in your pocket

The dirtballs in your pocket and take off both your shoes

Because people are just people

People are just people

People are just people like you"

-Regina Spektor, "Ghost of Corporate Future"

Anyway, I like it.