Wonderlust Queen

Shalom, Israel!

2008-06-05T14:16:42Z

On Wednesday morning, we packed up to head back to Tel Aviv to catch the flight back to New York. I wasn't in good spirits about it, and even now, writing from New York, my heart longs to be back in Israel. On the 3 hour drive down from Tiberias, we stopped at Caesarea National Park, a Phoenician settlement from the third century that passed between Jews and Romans and was home to gladiator events and Dionysian orgies. The waters of the Mediterranean were of the bluest blue I've ever seen against the backdrop of the ruins, and I thought of Hannah Szenes and her Caesarea-inspired poetry and songs. Hannah Szenes was a Hungarian Jew who risked her life by joining the British Army and parachuting into Yugoslavia to save the Jews of Hungary from deportation to Auschwitz. She was tortured and executed by a firing squad at only 22 years old, and refused to wear the blindfold when the Nazis shot her. From “A Walk to Caesarea (Eli Eli)”, which you might be familiar with because of Regina Spektor's version: “My God, My God, I pray that these things never end, the sand and the sea, the rustle of the waters, lightning of the Heavens, the prayer of Man”. At Caesarea, it all made sense.

I'm going to miss Israel pretty badly, but one day I might return. Birthright was an amazing experience, and I highly recommend it to anyone with one drop of Jewish blood. Of course, I recommend Israeli to anyone of any ethnicity, but Birthright is 100% free for anyone wishing to travel to the land of milk and honey. If you're eligible, you should definitely go. It's a beautiful thing that philanthropists have funded, and won't brainwash you or necessarily help you find God or make any sort of breakthrough, but will certainly awe you in every way and steal a little piece of your heart. It was an incredible, life-changing experience, and I found spirituality and personal identity. Pictures soon! I'm not sure how to say goodbye to this journal and conclude my writings again, but I think Wikipedia might have the answer.

Shalom (שָׁלוֹם) is a Hebrew word meaning peace, Nothing missing, Nothing broken, wellbeing, and complete, and used to mean hello, and goodbye. As it does in English, it can refer to either peace between two entities (especially between man and God or between two countries), or to the well-being, welfare or safety of an individual or a group of individuals. It is also used as a greeting to either say hello or farewell, and is found in many other expressions and names.

Shalom, Israel!

Tel Dan Nature Reserve? Tel Dan what?

2008-06-05T14:06:43Z

Monday morning made me feel really warm and fuzzy, when we volunteered at the Hazon Yeshaya soup kitchen. The kitchen caters to Jews, Arabs, and anyone else alike, feeding those from poor children to Holocaust survivors. I peeled a ton of potatoes in the kitchen, while others helped prepare food. We then left Jerusalem for the two hour drive north to Safed, the center of Jewish mysticism and Kabbalah. I learned how to control the media with Jewish magic! Just kidding – we walked around the Old City, its artists' colony, and its synagogues. There were a lot of Orthodox families with little children dressed all orthodox, and it was strangely adorable. I bought a really sweet glass hookah for quite cheap, and it'll look nice for show. Safed is a myriad of alleyways connecting the streets and buildings, and I loved exploring where scholars have tried to unlock the secrets of the universe for centuries. Kabbalah is hard to explain but it goes way beyond Madonna's little red bracelets. I don't know how to define Kabbalah, but Wikipedia probably does a good job. Our guide said it was like taking the blue pill in the Matrix. In the evening, we drove to Tiberias, near the border with Lebanon, and near the gorgeous Sea of Galilee. I wish I had more to write, but the second we got back to the hotel, I ate some hummus and passed out cold in my bed. Israel is exhausting!

Tuesday, was unfortunately the last day of our stay, but definitely one of the best. The group drove up to the Golan Heights, an area disputed with Syria during 1967's Six Day War. Despite 41 years passing, there were still acres upon acres of minefields remaining, some with cows lazily grazing. During the war, Syria violated the Geneva Accords by never giving Israel the map of where it planted its mines, so Israel can only suspect certain areas of mine activity and close them off. However, since they're merely suspected, and the wild grasses grow free, the cows are allowed to wander about. I suppose if one blew up, you could wait by the side of the fence with a bun in hand. Har har. At a monument site, our group stopped for a conversation about relating to Israel and what it is to feel safe or endangered. After mentioning some of the things I've dealt with in life, that's when I had the epiphany I posted about earlier. It was a beautiful thing. We worked our way up a hill by the border with Syria where they invaded Israel in 1973, and explored an abandoned army bunker. Living underground while defending your country from attackers is probably not quite fun, at least from what I saw. Next, we proceeded to the Tel Dan Nature Reserve, a fantastic park with babbling brooks and canopies of plant life. It's amazing that Israel is the only country with more trees now than it had 100 years ago. The hike was short, but I was equipped with good sandals I'd bought at a shoe factory we'd stopped at prior. The shoes were made on a kibbutz, which is a communal settlement where one gets free food and shelter in exchange for work. Those sound real neat, and a good back-up plan in case for some reason I need to get out of America, i.e. if McCain wins. I never actively disliked him until he voted against the Fair Pay Act, stating that women ought to have better skills and training and that's why there shouldn't be a law guaranteeing equal pay between the genders for the same job. I believe this action makes him an enormous jerk. I'm (mostly) kidding about fleeing America, but eh, if I could peel all those potatoes, I could make a pair of shoes.

From the nature reserve, we trekked to a nearby outdoorsy entertainment park, I tried my hand at kayaking for the first time and absolutely loved it. Everyone had the opportunity to kayak or raft down the Jordan River, and my friend Sharon and I tried our hand at a two-girl kayak. I'd never kayaked before in my life, so I was scared I'd make a huge mistake such as flipping it over. In actuality, our teamwork was supreme and we were able to complete the course without running into anything (save for other kayaks and rafts, when the river was narrow) or any other issues. The best part was when the rapids got a hold of our kayak for a minute and they sent us zipping down the riverbank. We surprisingly finished before most people, alongside the athletes. I'm no athlete, but I guess I've got more strength and stamina than I thought. Excellent!

When we finished kayaking, there was a stopping point with a rock climbing wall, archery, and a zip line. I donned a harness, climbed five stories on a ladder, and zip lined across the river's tributary to the other side. Zip lining is when you grab hold on to a handle attached to a cable spanning a wide length, grip it, jump, and zoom down the cable while flying in mid-air. It was absolutely amazing, even though my bikini bottom fell off a bit when I hit the water. I love how Israel made me realize that nature is awesome, and there's so much to do outside that I oughta get up and do. Once I get back to New York, I'm going to check out what's available in the area (even though it's Manhattan, I wouldn't mind taking the Metro North railroad upstate), and go do it. My muscles are aching, but Israeli food and all of the activities have done my body a world of good. Now I really understand why you can't get a bacon double cheeseburger here!

War and Peace

2008-06-05T13:56:35Z

Whoa, I'm officially a Jewish woman. Unlike most girls, who become women at age 12, I became a woman at 20. Slow development! In all seriousness, the ceremony was pretty nice. There was a synagogue within Jerusalem's Shalom Hotel – yes, that sounds cheesy to use a hotel's synagogue, but any nearby ones would've been filled with ultra-Orthodoxers – with a real nice Torah and all. I said the prayers, and gave a speech that made a ton of people at the service weep. So many people that I didn't know came up to me afterwards telling me how much it moved them, and hugged me. I felt like Obama! Basically, my speech, which I just gave off of the top of my head, explained why I never had real religious eduation growing up and how my tumultuous childhood kept me from ever feeling as if I belonged to any family, and how Israel made me feel that the Jewish people on a whole are my family at large. At the military cemetery at Mt. Herzl two days prior, our guide explained how immigrants came to Israel after the Holocaust with no family left whatsoever, and when the country was attacked upon declaring independence in 1948, they joined the army and fought like hell for a place where they belonged, knowing that they themselves were the only ones who would fight for them. I used this story, and some other choice stories of Jewish survival of hard times, as a metaphor for my move to New York on my own and how despite my circumstances, I've kept on fighting. I can't believe I got a standing ovation and affected so many people like that! Someone even said I oughta run for politics. Shucks.

Later Saturday evening, we went to Ben Yehuda market and I picked up some souvenirs. I also got a cup of mint tea at a street cafe – they put real mint leaves in the tea here, and that amazes me. Sunday wasn't as comforting, when we walked to Yad Vashem, the Holocaust Memorial. I keep thinking about specific events, such as when 100,000 Jews and Ukrainians were slaughtered wholesale and thrown into the Babi Yar ravine in Kiev (thank you, Great-Grandpa Benny for fleeing Kiev in 1913 so you weren't one of them!), and the meticulously planned death factories such as Treblinka. There were disturbing images of starved, skeleton-like survivors taken by the Americans upon liberation, and films of hundreds of dead bodies being shoved by a plow into a mass grave. What shook me the most were the films of Jewish communities prior to the Holocaust, and the personal belongings of the victims. I saw movies of children dancing and singing, and of couples ice skating together, as well as wallet photographs of happy families. For the life of me, I cannot comprehend what could possess human beings to do this to other human beings. I held back my tears until we reached the children's memorial and saw pictures of little ones who had been exterminated. It absolutely broke my mind, and I wept bitterly, full of anger. I can't even properly express how I feel in writing – fucking Nazis. Motherfucking Nazis. That's all I can say.

That day, after lunch, we drove up to the wall between the Israeli and Palestinian territories on the West Bank, where there were bullet holes riddling the houses nearby. It wasn't a planned excursion by any means, but our guide wanted to take us outside of our comfort zones, and it was interesting to stand somewhere where a year ago, I'd have been killed. The wall was unfinished in this area, and I was able to stand on the hill overlooking the Palestinian settlements. I always thought when hearing about Arab and Palestinian settlements and villages that they'd be made up of shoddy shacks, but they're actually rather nice Mediterranean-style houses with pink roofs. Those West Bank settlements really looked like the wealthy suburbs of South Florida, and that's food for political thought. Either way, it's strange how this country is such a war zone, when aside from the occasional pockmarked wall, it's serene and beautiful in the majority of places. Quite the paradox.

In the evening, Taglit Birthright held the “Mega Event 2008”. There were 7,000 Jewish young adults from all over the world, gathered in a small stadium. Finally, I learned about the philanthropists who made this free trip possible for so many people. Israeli Prime Minister Ehud Olmert, who will likely resign soon due to a corruption scandal, addressed the audience on how he hopes they love Israel, and that Israel loves them. The event was also host to fireworks, great singers, and surprisingly non-cheesy sing-a-longs about peace in English and Hebrew. Something unsavory unfortunately occurred, and but I'll put it in another post. Regardless, there's something to be said for singing John Lennon's "Imagine" alongside thousands of others on a lovely summer's night in Jerusalem.

Nietzche, not Kanye, once said that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger

2008-06-03T07:39:50Z

I'm in the Golan Heights, near minefields with cows grazing in them, and I just realized that I wouldn't trade my life for any other. I now really appreciate every one of the terrible circumstances I've been through, because they've led me to fight harder to make life awesome, and to appreciate who and what I do have. Most of all, it's made me who I am, and I love my personality. Hooray, epiphany!

Werewolf Bat Mitzvah -- girls becoming women, women becoming wolves!

2008-05-31T08:44:44Z

Continued from the previous post!

After the camel ride, we visited the Beit Guvrin caves and took part in an ongoing archaeological dig. We mostly found 2,000 year old pottery, but some found animal bones. The really exciting part was spelunking through a newly surveyed cave that hadn't even been mapped yet, and we climbed up and through tight holes. Of course, the innuendos flew. The cave wasn't a tourist attraction – one of the archaeologists had actually been lost in the caves for 18 hours – but I'm glad that the caves were actually an underground lair made by man in Biblical times so they weren't full of scary cave animals. It was so much fun that I'd really love to go spelunking like this in America, and I might look into it. In the least, I'll have a good excuse to say 'spelunking' over and over.

Wow, this two-part entry is super-long and I've only covered Wednesday and Thursday so far! I'll try to finish up, but it goes on. From the caves, we drove back to Jerusalem to Mt. Herzl, named for the father of Zionism, Theodor Herzl. At Mt. Herzl lie the graves of all of the great Jewish leaders, as well as the IDF soldiers. Honestly, from being involved with political movements at school, “Zionist” has always been thrown around as a dirty word – probably because Hunter has a lot of left-wingers involved with supporting the Palestinian Authority. However, Herzl's goal was simply to help Jews escape oppressive lands in order to be in a safe place, and that's something everyone ought to agree with. Oh well, I won't get into it. Either way, the tears were rolling down my face at the military cemetery after hearing individual stories of courage and valor. Whether or not Israel has been right or wrong in its actions, it hurts to see graves of perished 18 year olds who died to defend their country after their parents had been slaughtered in the Holocaust.

After the cemetery visit, we piled back into the bus and finally returned to the hotel. Now, after mountain hiking, swimming in the Dead Sea, desert sleeping, camel riding, and cave exploring, I was absolutely filthy. There was a shower at the Bedouin tents, but our group leader failed to inform us, so I didn't bring shower shoes or any soap. My group is full of spoiled sorority girls, and they immediately turned catty and cliquey once the hotel rooms were assigned. They played some sort of cup-and-ball switching game with some of the other girls, and kicked people out of their rooms to switch them around so they could be with their friends. I was dying to wash all of the dirt off of my skin and hair, but I had to sit in the hallway for an hour with all of my bags waiting to find out which room would finally be mine. Ugh. I finally got a room with two other girls, but I was absolutely infuriated at how long I had to wait to wash off. We then had “Bar night”, which involved sending all of the Birthright kids to some reserved bar with no one else in it. They blasted Soulja Boy and Flo Rida, while the fratties kept yelling about how they were going to cheat on their girlfriends and get plastered as hell -- when we had to wake up at 6:45 the next morning. It was disgusting how drunk they got, and completely embarrassing. I've written in the past about how American students drink for the sake of getting trashed as opposed to drinking for the sake of enjoying time with friends or meeting someone, and this night was no different. One guy wound up calling the group leader the C-word, made out with two girls at once, and puked during the Western Wall visit the next morning, so apparently he'll be on a flight home on Saturday night. Good. I wonder what kind of lives these kids have where getting hammered far outweighs intellectual and spiritual pursuits?

Friday morning was the best of all. Since I only had one glass of Merlot as opposed to pint after pint of beer, I was up and ready to visit the Jewish quarter of the Old City of Jerusalem and the Western Wall. The Old City was built over 2,000 years ago, and the buildings look about the same as they ever have, save for the private residences, small shops, and Yeshivas (Jewish schools) tucked away within their nooks. Walking around the Old City, we saw King David's tomb, the room in which Jesus ate his Last Supper, Armenian Christians selling souvenirs, and the work-in-progress excavations of the Southern Wall. In case you're unfamiliar with the walls I'm referring to, they belonged to the Second Temple of Jerusalem, which was destroyed by the Romans 2,000 years ago. The Western Wall is the holiest place in Judaism, even sans temple. Thousands of Jews of all denominations were gathered at the Wall praying and tucking notes with prayers into the wall's cracks, while on the other side, a Muslim prayer was called out over the loudspeaker for the devout followers of Islam at the Dome of the Rock. The feeling in the air was magical, and it sounds wacky, but I definitely felt the presence of God. Hey, there's gotta be some reason why three religions consider Jerusalem the holiest place on earth. Something really hit me when I got to the Western Wall, and I realized some very important things about myself, the world, and life in general as I slid my prayer between its bricks. It was an incredible, life-changing experience, to say the least.

The Machaneh Yehuda street market was our next destination, a bustling street market with vendors selling all sorts of fruits, vegetables, sweets, and Judaica. It was packed worse than the 6 Train at rush hour, with people being just as pushy to get what they needed. The big rush was in preparation for Shabbat, the Jewish holy day of rest, which starts at Friday at sundown and continues til Saturday at dusk. I ate some street shwarma, which is a delicious Middle Eastern chicken pita sandwich that has a very unique, spiced flavor. We left the market with goods in hand to prepare for Shabbat, and after hearing the Shabbat siren ring throughout the city, we lit the candles, attended services, and had a lovely Shabbat dinner complete with tasty challah bread. Mmmm, challah bread.

Right now it's Saturday morning, and therefore still Shabbat, and today I'll be having my Bat Mitzvah! I was never really formally religiously educated due to how tumultuous my childhood was, so here's my opportunity to become a real live Jewish woman. That's pretty cool, because I became a woman body-wise several years ago and it's about time I caught up spiritually. I can't believe that I'm having it in Jerusalem! I called my Grandma about it, and she said she was flabbergasted. I asked about my father's Bar Mitzvah so I could find out his Hebrew name, and she told me she couldn't remember much about it except how he got to have his after-party at a Chinese restaurant, That's okay, because the name she gave him will be fine for the ceremony. As for my Hebrew name, I chose the name Aviva, because it means “spring”. I think I've been through a hell of a lot of winter, and now is the springtime of my life when all is hopeful and promising. It's sort of an informal Bat Mitzvah, but it still means a lot to me.

Don't worry though, I'm not going to become crazy-religious. I like Reform Judaism because it's pretty liberal, and keeping Kosher would drive me absolutely insane. I could never give up shellfish, my wardrobe, or not has cheezburger. The scholar Hillel said back in the day that Judaism all comes down to the Golden Rule, and the rest is just commentary. As one who's not prone to following archaic laws, but believes in the essentials of Judaism, God, and said Golden Rule, that's why I think I make a good Reform Jew. Yay for making my grandma proud!

Time to study my Bat Mitzvah prayer and enjoy the day of rest. Pool time, too! I can't wait for Tuesday, when we go to the Golan Heights and then zip-line off of a cliff by the Jordan River. Israel rules!

Dead Sea make you float -- one sip of the salty wine, Dead Sea make you choke.

2008-05-31T08:40:52Z

My muscles are aching in a wonderful way, and it feels good. The past three days were packed with activities, with barely a moment between it all. I'm writing this on Saturday, or Shabbat, while the memories are still fresh because I know that there probably won't be any other time today or tomorrow. So it's time to rack my brain and re-cap!

At 4:30 am on Wednesday, we woke up and departed for the mountain known as Masada, in the Judea desert. King Herod built a fabulous mountain palace there about 2,000 years ago, and it was the site of the Jewish Zealots' last stand against the Roman Legionnaires. The ruins remain, and one can only imagine the lifestyle of the rich and famous up there. The valley, whose name unfortunately escapes me right now, is so deep that once you climb up the mountain, you're actually just at sea level. It's all part of the enormous Great Rift Valley that runs from Sudan to Turkey. Not that that fact made hiking Masada any easier. We hiked up the “snake path” (read: black diamond route) of the mountain, in the pounding sun and 90 degree heat, at around 7 am. The mile-and-a-half climb kicked my ass, and since I'm still recovering from being sick, my lungs felt like they were going to explode as I pushed myself to keep going. I had to chug three water bottles to combat the desert air, and once I post pictures of the breathtaking views, you'll understand why I'm so proud for making it all the way up there. And I will never complain again about living on the 5th floor with no elevator!

After Masada, we hopped back in the bus and continued on to the Ein Gedi spa for lunch and floating in the Dead Sea! I can't describe how awesome the Dead Sea is, but it really does keep you buoyant no matter what. The water is thick with minerals, and the sea floor is covered with a crystalline layer of salt. Floating on my back and stomach felt like weightlessness, and if I tried to put my feet down to stand, the water popped me back up to otter position. The Dead Sea is also the lowest point on earth, so now I have a new joke to make when I'm feeling blue. I didn't get a chance to put any of the free mud on me, but the water made my skin feel soft and strange, and some cuts I had burned like hell from the salt killing any germs. I could spend every day of my life coming back here!

Then, we trekked through the desert to a Bedouin camp. Bedouins are desert nomads, and the first Muslims; for centuries, they've packed up their lives and circled around the desert seeking food and water for their animals. The experience wasn't all that authentic since we were staying with a group hospitable enough to host all of us beneath their tents, but with running water in the bathrooms. By the time we arrived, I was wiped, and wound up passing out immediately after dinner despite the drumming circle going on outside my tent. It was pleasant sleeping outside with everyone, and in the morning, we got to ride camels! Camels are huge, nasty creatures with bad attitudes, but one still allowed myself and another Hunter girl on his back. Unfortunately for my friend Sharon, her camel threw her off his back, but she turned out okay. Yeah, camels are total jerks.

Next, our group picked up the several IDF soldiers who are accompanying us for the remainder of the trip. They're male and female, and in their early 20s like us, but far more mature and respectful of others than most of the students in our group. That sounds mean, but I have a few things to say about the other students as time goes on. Regardless, I really like the soldiers for being so friendly and wonderful with us. One of them bought me some Kinder chocolate yesterday. Hooray soldiers!

Post continued in new post...!

Jerusalem, of gold

2008-05-27T20:41:07Z

Shalom from Jerusalem! It's been a long and strange night and day since getting in to Tel Aviv. Yesterday, our plane arrived at Ben Gurion Airport after11 hours in the air, during which I felt miserable due to my sinus infection, but once we got into Tel Aviv and I breathed the warm, sultry air of the Mediterranean climate, I began to feel much better. I picked up an Israeli cell phone provided by Birthright, and exchanged my dollars for sheckles. Once on the bus with my group, we drove north to Netanya, a city by the sea, to stay at the Margoa Hotel. Given our exhaustion, after reaching the hotel, we chomped down our chicken and eggplant, and passed out immediately. Netanya looks strangely like Fort Lauderdale, in terms of the architecture, weather, and seashore life. Oh yes, and the old Jewish people, of course. If not for the Hebrew letters all around, I wouldn't have been very surprised if someone revealed that it was South Florida all along.

During the middle of the night, after attempting to sleep for a bit, I woke up to take a bath so my nose would stop being so cruel to me. I suppose it's a good thing I was awake at 5 am, because some pervy old man came into the room in the middle of the night. The girl I was sharing with was passed out, but I growled “Who are you?!” at him, and he left. Apparently, this guy walked into a few different rooms throughout the night, and though he didn't try anything with anyone, managed to creep us all out.

Otherwise, Israelis have offered nothing but the warmest reception. The metaphor I've seen in the travel guides comparing the Israeli attitude to the sabra cactus – prickly on the outside, sweet on the inside – is in some ways true and false. I don't think Israelis are rude, I think they just get to the point, like New Yorkers. Life is short, and there's no time for being roundabout. However, Israelis do know how to kick back and relax. For a country torn apart by war and bombings, Israel has an abundance of beautiful locales where one can lay back and live for the moment. The expanse of the glittering Mediterranean as seen from Netanya and Tel Aviv is brilliantly blue, and absolutely alluring. The Old City of Jaffa, a port dating back 2,000 years, is composed of ancient stone buildings connected by hideaway tunnels and staircases. There, on the wishing bridge, I took part in the old tradition of standing on a mosaic of my zodiac sign (Pisces, the fish) and looking out at the sea to make a wish. I took a lot of gorgeous pictures of Netanya and Jaffa, and if one needs a good reason to go to israel besides religious purposes, these cities could attract the most strigent atheist.

Between Netanya and Jaffa, we briefly visited Rabin Square, where Yitzhak Rabin was assassinated after making grand peace accords with the Palestinian Authority. Our guide explained how the vast majority of Israel believes that the Palestinians should have the right to rule over their lands, whereas a small minority of Israelis believe that the promised land is the promised land no matter what -- and that constant violence is fine as long as those lands are in Israel's hands, is preferable to peace. Sure enough at that moment, a man walked up to the memorial, spat on it, and yelled the Hebrew equivalent of “Fuck Rabin!”.

Next, we walked around the Tel Aviv Carmel market, and I picked up a few souvenirs. I wandered about on my own, haggling regarding a hat in Russian, and being literally meowed at as some sort of cat-call, no pun intended. I sat on a bench and ate a falafel sandwich with melt-in-your-mouth hummus, and spoke to a woman from Kurdistan. Tel Aviv is full of eclectic architecture, and beautiful people of both genders. The IDF soldiers are particularly attractive, most likely because they're so fit and tanned, and the guns and aviators are an added bonus.
After the market stroll, it was the late afternoon, and I was absolutely exhausted from jet lag. Still, there was a brief scavenger hunt for historic buildings, and I found a Max Brenner Chocolate Bar. That's an overpriced restaurant in my neighborhood, and I think that's the only other location outside of New York. As my little team and I passed a water fountain, a possibly-Palestinian little boy of about 7 years old who was swimming in it decided it'd be hilarious to flash all of the girls. He even ran after us for a minute with himself in his hand, which was quite unexpected. Somehow we still wound up at Independence Hall, where David Ben Gurion first proclaimed Israel a state in 1948. The story of Tel Aviv's founding and struggle was portrayed on film, and was quite the tale.

From there, the bus headed to Jersusalem, over the very modern highways and between the carved grooves and valleys of the rough hills. We stopped on Mount Scopes, and I could see the Palestinian settlements, the Dead Sea, and Amman, Jordan, as well as Jerusalem itself. The view was breathtaking, and I contemplated the thousands of years of history that took place in this calm, lovely town.

Finally, we got to the Shalom hotel, from which I am writing. I'd love to write more about feeling spiritual and connected to my roots, but I keep nodding off, and we've got to wake up at 4:30 am for a hike through Mazada and a swim in the Dead Sea. I can't believe that we did all that I mentioned above within the first day! The one thing I will mention before going is how pleased I am at how environmentally-conscious Israel is. Toilets have two flusher buttons; one for #1, and one for #2. There are also massive recycling displays, and water restrictions. It's all tied into the idea of tikkun olam, or taking care of the earth, an integral tenet of Judaism. Al Gore would approve.

The internet connection at this hotel is horrifically expensive and terribly slow, so I probably won't be updating as much as I'd like to be. If it were working well, I might be getting more than 4 hrs of sleep tonight. Oh well, I'm in Israel, and it's a once-in-a-lifetime trip! Hooray!

"Chai" means tea in Russian, but "life" in Hebrew. He-brew Chai would be a good brand of tea.

2008-05-25T06:05:23Z

Hey everyone! I haven't posted in this journal in 23 weeks, over half a year ago. Returning to America was great. I got back with Joey, and I absolutely love him with all my heart. I readjusted to the land of Nerf, freedom fries, and hot dogs covered in bacon and eggs, and yeah, New York City is a wonderful place to call home. I'm writing in this journal again as opposed to my boring everyday life journal because tomorrow, I'll be traveling to Israel through Taglit-Birthright! I'm half-Jewish, which was good enough for them to send me on a free trip to the holy land for ten days.

I'm pretty excited, but anxious as hell. "Wait, you hitchhiked through Moscow at 3 am, and you're anxious?" "Wait, you screamed at a crackhead in Bushwick at midnight, and you're anxious?" "Wait, you survived a drive-by when you were 15 and you're anxious?" Yes, yes, and yes. I've got guts, but they're still a little shook up from the thought of being blown to smithereens, Dexter's Lab style. However, I know at least ten people who have previously traveled to Israel, and they've still got all of their lovely limbs. I oughta be perfectly fine.

I just can't wait to swim in the Dead Sea and ride a camel. I think everything about this trip will be wonderful. The only upsetting thing is that Afghanistan, Algeria, Iran, Iraq, Kuwait, Lebanon, Libya, North Korea, Pakistan, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, Somalia, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen block passports containing Israeli stamps or visas, as these countries do not recognize Israel. So I can never travel to any of these countries! Drat, and I was totally planning to get mortally maimed in Mogadishu.

So yes, here goes my travel journal once again! Exciting. Shalom, and shalom.

*(That's me on my roof, yesterday. Proof that I finally lost all that Russia weight I was ranting about, ha!)

Decemberist Revolution

2007-12-15T09:00:28Z

I'll be coming home tomorrow! Pizza Party. Two Boots on Avenue A. 6 pm. Be there. I can't wait to see everyone! As for Joey, this will be our year -- it took a long time to come. I'm going to probably accidentally kill him with hugs, Lenny-from-Of-Mice-and-Men style. If not that, then it'll be suffocation by kissing. Beware, boy.

This goes out to Sarah, who teaches English at an inner-city high school in Brooklyn and often goes through hell: Remember my British friend and how he teaches English to little kids here? At the end of the term, all of the parents gave him fancy whiskey and wine. Apparently, this is a common European thing. Just letting you know.

Almost all of my closest friends left over the past few days, I'm actually one of the stragglers. It's a little lonesome. Bittersweet. On a lighter note, funny story: This guy left an economy-sized pack of condoms behind, which is unforunately funny in itself because he was one of those Night-at-the-Roxbury type guys with the ladies. Regardless, my conservative Texan RA went around the dorm offering the condoms to everyone, instructing them to practice safe sex. Excellent quote of his, when offering them to a girl: "You might not want them though, because they're male condoms." Yes, I know that female condoms exist, but they're so rare, and the way he said it showed that his public school system had seriously failed him. It was hilarious in an awkward way, like on the Office when Dwight asked about the "female vagina". I apologize to any family members reading this, but I could not help writing about it.

I leave campus tomorrow morning at 8 am. Delta 31 flies out at 12:40 pm Moscow time (read: 4:40 am EST), and arrives in NY at 2:55 pm EST (read: 10:55 pm according to my body clock). The wonderful Des, onetonnoodle, will be giving me a ride home. I can't wait!

I guess this is it for this journal, at least, for now. This is only the end of one journey in what will likely become a tome of Russian, and world, adventures. Stay tuned, folks.

I love you, Moscow. Da svidanya.

Cunning Linguists

2007-12-13T11:43:39Z

I didn't pass the TORFL, and I know why. There were 5 parts to the exam: Grammar, Listening, Speaking, Reading, and Writing. I rocked the socks off of Listening and Reading, but my Grammar wasn't the best since I suck at verbs of motion. Russian has different words for "to walk", "to go via transport", "to have returned via transport", and so many more, and I just can't remember all of them. I like English's lax use of prepositions with verbs of motion. You come/came. You go/went. Curse you, verbs of motion. My Speaking was also terrible because the woman who administered that portion was the one of the program's head honchos, and she scared the hell out of me. I clammed up, stammered, and blanked out. Oh well. The test doesn't mean anything for me since I still have all of the credits, and a lot of knowledge. For someone who only started really studying the language here in September, I think I've made enormous progress. At least, that's what my professor said. Yes, I took Intensive Elementary Russian at Hunter over the Spring '07 term, but that professor spent the entire time joking around in Russian with all of the immigrant kids who came to get easy As, and ignoring myself and the others who were there to learn. Thus, I believe that relative to the amount of time I've been seriously studying the language, that I'm quite alright at it.

I've also learned quite a lot from my Russian Politics, Civilization, and History classes. In the very least, I was able to smile to myself every time they mentioned the Decemberists. The band named themselves for a failed Russian revolutionary group of the 1820s, who were exiled to Siberia but lauded as heroes during Soviet times. Anyhow, I'm ready to return to my Geography studies at Hunter to continue my focus on Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union. What'll I do with this? Eh, despite how much I can't stand her pandering to Bush, Condoleezza Rice also specialized in Russian and Russian studies. To cut her story short, she rose quickly from being a professor, to the government's specialist on Eastern European affairs, to now, Secretary of State. That's a life of possibilities. I'm still striving for the dual BAs in Geography and Russian, and after this, the MA in Geography.

The Hunter Geography graduate advisor and I have been emailing while I've been here. I got to know her when I got an A in Geography of Russia in Spring '07, and I did some of work for her over the summer by cataloguing every book in her office on Excel. She just happened to be born in Moscow, so she's taken me under her wing with my studies, and has even invited me to her house for dinner after I get back so I can tell her how I felt about coming here. I'm so happy for this, because not only is she an admirable woman who encourages me academically, but this also means that entering graduate school will be much easier, especially if I stay at Hunter.

When I return, I'll also be starting up French again. Some of my friends I've met while over here have made me a little jealous over their language abilities. Andy has studied Russian, French, German, Italian, and Japanese. Ryan has studied Russian, Greek, and Chinese, I believe. And Will is currently studying Russian and Chinese. If they can have all of these opportunities open to them and handle all of this academically, why can't I? I got straight A+s in French in middle and high school for 3 years, and though Russian has pushed most of it out of my head, I'm ready to get back in the game. Miss Teen Wordpower. This sounds silly, but I realized how much I missed learning French not only from speaking it here and there in Russia, but mostly from watching this song from Flight of the Conchords. Ridiculous. So now I've got to get my old high school to fax my transcripts to the Romance Languages undergrad advisor, and he said that once he's recieved them, that he'll let me jump right into French 102 this term. But oh no, what'll I do about this 300-level Geography class that I had to drop for French? Looks like I'll just have to make it up during the next winter's 3 week study abroad trip to Hawaii, which is covered by my financial aid (get orphaned as a child, and you'll get govt money too!) and counts just as much towards my major. Oh, the horror!

Last night I got to say goodbye to my Russian pal Ildar, and also hung with two people I'd known from SA, an American named Andy and a Spanish guy named Pablo. Pablo knows Spanish, English, Catalan, French, and Russian. He's traveled all over the world, translating. He drew a linguistic map of Spain for me in my notebook and gave me a brief lesson on the many language regions of the nation. I don't care how geeky I've gotten in this post, it was fucking awesome. I'm glad to have introduced Andy to Ildar since they spent a while talking Linux. Ildar gave me a ceramic cat, awww. I'm gonna mail him some sweet stuff from America. Hopefully, it'll get here by next Christmas. Joey sent me a package on Nov 12th - it's Dec. 13th, and still no sign of it. One might say that I'm about to go postal about it, hurr.

And on another negative note, Ildar and I shared a ham-and-pineapple pizza, and I got horrific food poisoning sometime around 4 am. I woke up shivering something awful, which I know seems like it'd be normal in Russia, but I have a thick comforter, a space heater, and two radiators in my room. Then, my body decided to expel everything I've eaten in the past five years. Ugh. I didn't sleep at all, and though I'm better now, I'm exhausted, dehydrated, and weak. Staying in today, but hopefully I'll be better by tomorrow so I can see this Soviet history museum, and the cat circus with Amy. Today was supposed to be class and graduation, and I felt bad about missing my last class since I love my professor, but she didn't come anyhow because she broke her leg. I really hope she's okay, being that she's a babushka and well, subject to the Russian health care system. I left her a nice Christmas/New Year card for her regardless. I somehow also made it to graduation, and now I have a diploma from the program and a little keychain gift they gave me. My friend Margaret also did a little awards ceremony afterwards, and my award was for best Garbage Day impersonation.

Yeah, I'm the biggest nerd you know. At least I'm kinda cute. I fool everyone with that sort of thing. 3 days til NYC!

If you only read one post in this journal, read this novel of one.

2007-12-10T17:57:46Z

When I return home, describing Russia to my friends and family will be an impossible task. There's no way to properly express how rich the culture is, but I'll make a quick attempt. Despite some of the issues that have befallen me here financially, and despite the weather (it's no wonder that the Russian word for frost, мороз (moroz) sounds like morose!), I still adore the motherland. So here's a list of what I've learned from Russia, with love:

Traditional Russian music is amazing. It's a unique mash-up of European, Asiatic, and Middle Eastern sounds. I'm terrible at writing about music and can't really direct you to any specific things to download, but take my word for it that it's such a beautiful and soulful concoction. But hey, even Paul McCartney wanted to hear them balalaikas ringing out! Also, if not for traditional Russian music, we would not have the theme song for Tetris, which is the greatest video game song ever. And don't forget that Tetris itself is Russian too!

Russian is beautiful. The Russian language has a bad reputation with English speakers as a harsh consonant-filled tongue, and that's a terrible misconception. Did you know that the Russian alphabet has 10 vowels for its 33 letters? And despite such words Americans may be familiar with, such as гласност (glasnost) and борщ (borscht, which I'll crave like a junkie upon my return), there are some really sweet-sounding words to be heard. My favorite words that I know so far: картинки (kartinki): paintings, чуть-чуть (choot-choot): a little bit, чай (chai): tea. Yeah, "chai tea" is pretty redundant. There are a ton more that I love, but I can't remember all of them now! I should also note my love for diminutives: the cutesy form of words, which just basically involves putting "ka" in it. Bird is птица (p'teetsa; it's adorable out loud), and little bird is птичка (p'teetchka). A female cat, as I mentioned, is кошка (koshka). A female kitten is котёнка (kotyonka). It's also a more lovey way to refer to something, like "kitty" for "cat", which is sweet.

Russian is also incredibly logical, and has far less exceptions than English. Once you begin to learn a non-romance language, you really learn how illogical English is. It'd be a long-winded diatribe if I went on about sentence structure and grammar, but to borrow a bit from George Carlin, just think about how "bomb" "comb" and "tomb" all sound entirely different. Or consider the words "enough" or "sign", whose spellings make no sense whatsoever. Russian is only incredibly difficult because of the vocabulary differences -- of course it's easier to learn French, since 40% of English came from French thanks to the Norman invasion. However, sentence structures always follow distinct formulas, and the majority of the words are pronounceable on the first try. I took French for 3 years and loved it, but I'd always have to hear a word aloud before I had any idea how it was spoken.

The Russian people absolutely adore and respect their great masters. A large number of Metro stops in Moscow and St. Petersburg are named after authors and composers -- okay, the majority still also carry Soviet-era names such as Proletarskaya and Marxistskaya, but that's besides the point. If you've been in Russia and haven't heard about the poet Alexander Pushkin or have seen a statue of him, then you must have been in Siberia. I love this love that Russians have, and I wish that it were the same back home for people such as Twain or Whitman. You can give me examples of different dedications that we have, such as the popularity of the Hemingway house as a tourist attraction in south Florida, but the cultural attitude overall is what's entirely different, and what I can't convey. Though Hemingway's cats are pretty sweet.

The Russian people, for how hard they may seem on the outside, are warm and generous once they open up to you. I've mentioned Russian generosity many times in this blog as it is. There was a theory I heard a few months ago about why New Yorkers are perceived as rude while everyone else in America is so danged friendly: it's because New Yorkers encounter more people per day than middle Americans encounter in the span of a week, month, or year. There's no point in wasting your energy on so many random people whom you'll never encounter again. For the opportunity to live in one of the world's most wonderful cities, New Yorkers have to squeeze next to unhygienic idiots on the subway, and have bums yelling obscenities at them on the sidewalks. It's the same deal in Russian cities, so I've encountered. However, 9/11 showed New Yorkers' true colors as kind on the inside; at least, that's my opinion from living there at the time and seeing what mere acquaintances did for each other. And after all, the majority of city folk are liberal and open-minded. It's the backwater folk who tend to be least accepting of different customs. But I digress: Russians are nice people deep down, even when alcohol isn't involved.

One more note on the similarities between NY and Moscow: the juxtaposition of the cosmopolitan and the impoverished is quite unnerving. In New York, it's how a five-minute walk will take you from million-dollar townhouses to crack-riddled slums. Here, it's the mink-coated Prada-toting girl who walked on by the leper with the dying face. I'm not kidding. I saw my first leper about twenty minutes ago, and it was horrifying. This sounds facetious, but he resembled one of the zombies from Planet Terror. I wish I could have done something. I always wish I could do something, for the guy with no legs propelling himself on the skateboard with irons in each hand, or for the amputee war veterans. Jesus, I am truly jaded towards the horrors of the human body now. I give when I can. I bury my nose in a book, or walk faster when I can't. That's city life for you.

Transit geek blurb: I don't know if I've said this enough, but the efficiency of the Metro system here is mind-blowingly awesome. The stations are so gorgeous and well-lit, and the chandeliers and art make even the super-squashed rush hour commuter a museum-goer. And for only 68 cents a ride! The train lines are also laid out in the most efficient manner, unlike New York's, whose train lines were built by 3 different companies when the subway system was privatized. Sorry, conservatives, but urban planning should be left to the government, and the Moscow Metro is definitely on the Top 10 list of Things That the Soviet Union Got Right. Although, New York does win in terms of maps throughout every station, express trains, and above all, doors that'll reopen if anything gets between them. Moscow's subway doors will, but only if you fight them. Most times, you'll lose. They once almost ripped a purse from my body, but at least the door-fear makes people get in and out faster. Oh, and two intersecting lines have different station names for the different platforms, which annoys me. It's physically one station and you don't have to pay to switch trains, so why can't it be named as one too? There are 8 different trains that go to Union Square, and if I had to remember 8 different station names for the one stop, I'd go insane. Regardless, I'm not looking forward to going back to the NY subway system, sorry to say.

Rock me, Amadeus is now stuck in my head forever, thanks to the Moscow Circus. They played it while a woman descended from a giant disco ball, over a pool of synchronized swimmers. I took a video of it. Hilarious. The circus' theme was Around the World, and it was pretty funny (of course the portion representing America was rodeo and line-dancing, hurr) and a little mind-blowing. Somehow the stage turned from being solid ground, to being a lion cage, to being an ice rink, to being a swimming pool. I have no idea how they transformed it so quickly. It was awesome. They even had cats twirling sticks of fire! The only thing I didn't like was how sickly the lions looked, but otherwise, I've learned that the circus is serious business here. It was a nice final excursion for our program, and a nice treat before the big exam. I mustn't forget that it was a children's circus, and they played some American song with the repeated lyric, "would you go to bed with me?". All of the Russians kept clapping, and all of us Americans had our jaws drop, and then cracked up.

Today I took half of the TORFL test, the Test Of Russian as a Foreign Language. Between my money woes and the time spent in preparation for this test, I haven't been going out very much at all However, since I'm leaving on Sunday, I'm going to try my hardest to see my friends before I go, even if I can't afford to eat/drink very much with them. I need to go to Belfast and talk computers with Ildar, and go to Jagganath and eat soy goulash with Julia. I think they're my two favorite Muscovites, and I'll miss them badly when I leave. I admire Ildar a ton for his infinite computer knowledge, and I admire Julia to the moon and back for her English abilities. I'd give anything to speak Russian half as well as she speaks English. I'm excited to see her DJ at the Cavestompers show Saturday night, which'll be my final outing before I board Delta flight 31 on Sunday afternoon. Oh oh, and I finished all of my Christmas shopping! I'm in terrible debt now, but once I slay the dragon of bureaucracy currently holding me down, I'll be able to pay it off within 2 weeks. I just really wanted to give things to people, even if it meant going beyond my means. I'm so excited for the holidays, it's unreal.

And may I add, I'm very excited to see Joey. I can't wait to give him this fantastic mix I made. It's all hey-I'm-back-from-being-gone-a-long-time-I-still-like-you-a-lot-I-hope-you-like-me-too-let's-be-ultra-cute-together-and-go-on-sweet-dates-and-have-awesome-times. On another note regarding my heart, I'm not bringing my little котёнка back to America. Cost and effort, but other students are taking good care of her, her mom, and her kitty siblings. We've been feeding them meat and cuddling all of them, aw. Here's a picture of me and said kitty! Eeeee.

Lastly, I'm considering reaching into my mouth with a knife and a wrench, and taking my wisdom teeth out myself. They're really painful. I can't wait to come home, despite all the love for Russia. I miss New York so bad, and I really need a dentist rather than tetanus. 6 days!

You're a kitty! Tey kotyonka!!

2007-12-07T14:14:19Z

I was feeling really down earlier about my money situation - I skipped class, and was lying in bed half-napping and half-freaking out, when Chase came in the room and said "I have something for you!". Suddenly, he dropped the tiniest little kitten onto my bed! It was like taking a shot of pure sunshine. She snuggled and cuddled me and made me feel sooo good! This little kitty is the most affectionate kitten I've ever met in my life, and she loves to fall asleep on my bed and in my arms. I've only known her for about 3 hours, and my RA is going to flip out and kill me when he finds out, but I absolutely adore her and I want to bring her back to America so badly. I sound insane, but if you saw how lovey-dovey she was, you'd go crazy too.

This is how I feel now:

I'm going to call Delta's International Pet Line tonight and see what they say. It's a long shot, but it doesn't hurt to ask. If I can't keep her, her family is living inside of my dorm building, so I can give her back to her family. But she's a kitty! And she likes to sleep in my bed with me awwwwwwww. She has a tuxedo just like Ray, so I'm sure they'd have International Friendship if they met. And by marrying him, she can get her kitty green card! Yay! Her name is a source of argument because I keep insisting that she should have a Russian name (Sasha? Katya? Koshka, the Russian word for female cat?) but Margaret keeps insisting Veronica or Kathy. I hate the name Kathy, it reminds me of that horrible comic with that fat woman always screaming about shoes. Veronica is tolerable, but still if I adopt her, I'm choosing the name. And if she turns out male, his name will be Skrut -- it's the name of a gnome from a story we read in class, and sort of a silly inside joke. Or Misha, short for Mikhail. Or Pushkin, after the author. We'll see! I just hope that if I am able to bring her back, that it's not expensive, or that I could pay Delta or the US or whoever at a later date. Gosh, kittens make me retarded.

Also, my roommate lent me $40 and saved my life.

Happyhappyhappyhappykittykittykitty!

It's the Final Countdown!

2007-11-25T19:24:34Z

3 weeks. 21 days. Daaamn.

I'm really looking forward to going home, for a number of reasons. The weather, surprisingly, isn't really one of them. I'm just tired of spending nearly every hour of every day with the same group of 25. There are people who I've grown quite fond of in the group, namely my roommate Ashley, and my friends Amy, Andy, Chris, Ryan, and Will. And then there are a few others who I absolutely can't stand, but I've gone on enough about the main offender. I can't stand the petty dramas, or the absolute lack of privacy. It's just so many little things from what the pillows do to my neck to having to always travel so far to use reliable internet to the rotting food in the fridge that make me so glad to be coming home soon. I guess all of my dorm frustration is really coming to a head now that it's that time of year where everyone is staying indoors all day. Aside from all of this, I really miss the hell out of America. There are push-pull factors abounds, to use Geography jargon. Moscow, I love you, but I gotta go home.

Stuff I miss most about the USA/NY/FL: My friends, family, and cat. Mexican food, Indian food, Israeli food, good pizza, pad thai, ketchup and tomato sauces in general that aren't sugary, and healthful salads. Sharing my shower and kitchen with only one other person. The Internet at home. A cell phone with a contract. The efficient heating of my room. Access to new music and movies and TV shows. (I have so much Office to catch up on!). The simplicity of food-shopping and doctor appointments. The low low cost of clothes. Animal control. A police force that doesn't scare the living daylights out of me.

Stuff I'll miss most about Moscow: My Russian friends, of course. The efficiency of the Metro and the brilliance of its layout compared to NY's, as well as its cleanliness. The cheapness of caviar, and the ability to go out and see shows and have fun without being age-restricted. The music scene, and all of the fabulous local bands. Blini! Goulash! Borscht! Pelmeni! Tea tea tea. Black bread. Underpasses beneath busy streets so you get momentary warmth and there's no fear of getting run over. The lack of high-fructose corn syrup in foods and drinks -- have you tasted European chocolate? Oh my god.

But aw, the 3 weeks will go by fast, I'll have a nice reunion (at Two Boots pizza the day I return -- I already sent out the Facebook invitation, and I don't care about the jetlag -- I NEED NEW YORK PIZZA) and I'll be happy to be home and snuggled with everyone and everything I've missed. It'll be nice. And when I return to Moscow to study more in the summer, it'll be warm and gorgeous, and everything will work out fine!

Oh, here's a brief story: Last Friday, I was on the Metro en route to The Zebra's show, and some Dostoyevsky-looking senior citizen was reaching his hand out for a pole. It was in sort of a fist, and when the train jarred, his fist went right into my nose! It hurt, but it happened in such a way that the two of us looked at each other and started cracking up. Of course, he had no way of knowing my nationality since I had a Russian pin on my jacket, didn't speak at all, and wasn't reading anything in English. So I remarked in Russian, "Oh, it's because I'm American, right?" All of the sudden, he stopped laughing, and looked very ashamed. That in itself was pretty funny to me. Because of the older generation's lingering anti-American sentiments, I think maybe he felt bad for unintentionally acting upon his dream of punching one of us? I have no idea, but it was silly.

I'm taking the TORFL (Test of Russian as a Foreign Language) soon, at the elementary level. It doesn't count for anything, but if I can work my way up to Basic and then Level 1, 2, etc. in the coming years, the certification will look damn good on my resume. I'm a little nervous about it though, to say the least. Gotta start cracking down!

Lastly, PICTURES! For the first time in a month! I'm too harried right now to make a whole picture post, but please visit my Flickr!

"You look like an angel but you will not eat potatoes?" "Tomatoes!"

2007-11-14T14:29:57Z

Yesterday was the first time in a while that I left my neighborhood for a reason other than using the internet. That sounds terrible, but I had one hell of a cold keeping me in the dorm all day. I missed Saturday's all-nighter at Duma, boo. It was making me really depressed to hang around there all day, but now I feel much better after some good times and exploring more of Moscow in her infinite beauty. Everything was blanketed with sparkling snow last night, and it looks magical here.

So last night, Pasha of local Cavestompers and Zebras fame invited me over his apartment to hang out, and we had good conversation, wine, beet and herring salad, and saw the '60s Soviet slapstick movie, "Операция Ы". Inbetween, he also played a lot of guitar while we sang songs by the Beatles, Blur, and the Kinks. Oh, and "My Humps", ha. Because of the ridiculous amount of snow and worries about me taking the Metro at midnight, I wound up staying over. He was a real gentleman and made a guest bed all nice, and tea in the morning. It was so beautiful outside this afternoon, and we walked through Yekaterinsky Park. I wish I'd had my camera on me to capture the frozen lake and the Soviet history lessons on signs along the walkway. Afterwards, he treated me to lunch at a good stolovaya, and I took the Metro home. Actually, I'm inbetween there and the university now, because I stopped midway at a mini-mall to use the internet and buy some hair stuff. I'm sure when I return, everyone is going to imply that something happened between us, but nyet, nothing happened.

I don't feel too bad about missing class this morning since I had a lot of lessons in the time being regardless. For example, that movie that we watched was entirely in Russian with no subtitles, so that taught me a few things! Pasha also sat and tried to teach me a lot of words after he felt bad about me missing lessons. On top of all this, spent a lot of time speaking to the woman that he and his brother Mitja share the apartment with, a teacher who studied and lived in the US for decades. She taught Russian to Americans then, and teaches English to Russians now, and gave me some pointers. Great conversation was had. However, she wasn't there when I faced the difficulty trying to explain "Back in Black" and "You should cut down on your pork life, mate, get some exercise!" (from Blur - "Parklife") in limited English. I figured "We have returned, wearing black clothes!" and "Stop living a bacon life like Homer Simpson and go get up from the couch!" were good enough translations, even if the first one just doesn't sound as metal...

Oh, oh, oh, and I started working out daily! I'm a little angry at a guy I call Captain America -- this uber-conservative bodybuilder in my program -- for making the school "sportskomplex" sound like it was a godawful place. He said there were only about two weights to lift and no weight machines, treadmills, or stationary bikes for cardio. It turned out to be absolutely false, but his insanely high expectations and incredibly wrong description kept me from going for so long. Grr! It turned out to be even better than my high-school gym. I can't say I feel entirely comfortable there because of the language barrier and how ridiculous I always feel like I look while working out, but I can say that physically, I feel extremely good right now.

And lastly, the forecast for the next week, which no one can say is surprising in the least!:

Face Controlled

2007-11-11T21:00:30Z

You know you've been in Russia too long when you walk down the street on a snowy day, eating an ice cream bar, and thinking nothing of it. And when you're surprised for a second when an American friend thinks you're high-class for eating caviar. After all, it's just this stuff you get for $2/jar at the little market across the street, isn't it?

I really should think of an entire list... it won't be difficult!

Three guys from my program just had the shit beat out of them by some soccer hooligans. They were trying to get into some club at 3:30 am on Friday night, and apparently had some sort of run in with face control. Face control is what most Russian clubs have -- it's basically some guys out front who decide if you're attractive enough to enter. Obviously, the guys who attacked them were horrible people, but I can't help but wonder what exactly happened. Eh, I just hope their faces recover.

The Ice of Moscow

2007-11-09T14:20:58Z

Long time, no write. The days have been growing far colder, and now that the weather refuses to budge from the low-to-mid 20s, I haven't been going out very much. That's okay, I've got a bunch of wonderful books. I just finished Bulgarov's "The Master and Margarita", a 1930s satire about the Devil playing terrible pranks and generally wreaking ridiculous havoc upon Moscow. I really loved it, because it had great philosophical humor regarding what happens when the devil is harrassing an atheist society which doesn't even believe in him. The Devil's evil talking cat, who drinks vodka and plays cards, has now become one of my all-time favorite literary characters. I highly recommend the novel to anyone who enjoys satire, novels that were banned within the Soviet Union, evil talking cats, or who has an interest in Russian literature but is petrified by Tolstoy, etc.

I also just finished a book written by a professor I had last term at Hunter, "Geography for Dummies", and my very first New York Times crossword puzzle, ha. Usually I'd always start it and give up or forget about it, but I found one in an English-language newspaper and just kept doing it. Now I'm going to read Nikolai Gogol's "Dead Souls", and Joseph Heller's "Catch-22". Good stuff. I should be really spending more time studying Russian, but given the 3-4 hours a day spent in class, sometimes I'm just so Russian'd out that I feel like I'm vomiting Cyrillics. Actually, that part about going to class doesn't apply to this week, since between a 3-day weekend (Unity Day, or what was formerly known as Revolution Day), an essay for Russian Politics on corruption and bribery that kept me up all night at a 24-hour internet cafe, and getting the dorm cold that's been going around, I haven't been in class all week. This cold sucks, but Russian cold medicine has some powerful stuff in it that they've probably banned in America, let me tell you. It was enough to make my usually stone-faced stoic RA walk around the dorms singing songs about Texas and quoting Harry Caray from SNL. Well, I know what I'm doing this weekend! This is the 3rd cold I've had in the past 5 months, so I made an appointment at the ENT for the day after I get back home. In the meantime, at this point I might just coat-hanger my damn tonsils out. I told you I was hardcore.

Halloween was absolutely awesome. I didn't bring a costume since I heard that there was no Halloween in Russia, which is true outside of Moscow. However, here, a lot of people have heard about it, and some clubs had parties. I made a makeshift costume involve a polka-dotted dress, a black flower in my hair, and a metric ton of eyeshadow and lip-gloss all over me. The result? I was some sort of 1950s zombie girl with a bleeding neck. My friend Will, who also had no costume, grabbed a dress out of my closet and went as me. Good photos on Facebook and MySpace. Speaking of Facebook, I met my friend Ivan from there, who is Canadian and volunteering with orphans in Yaroslavl, 5 hours east. He'd come to Moscow last weekend with his volunteer group on an excursion, so I showed him around the city.

I think I'm ready to go home now. That's not to say that I don't want to stay the next five weeks I have left. I love Moscow, and I loved learning what I've learned here. However, I feel like at any other time (except maybe during the stolen-wallet dramas), I would have been completely torn-up over going back to New York. Now, I'm perfectly fine with it. I miss New York. I miss my friends, my boy, my apartment, and my cat. I'll miss Moscow too, but I'm anticipating my return home, not dreading it. Eh, it's hard to explain. I miss Fort Lauderdale really badly too. Seasonal Affective Disorder, anyone? I should have studied Hawaiian.

After sorting through a ridiculous amount of bureaucracy, Hunter readmitted me for the Spring semester. Thank god! Classses I'm taking next term: Russian 202, 19th Century Russian Literature, Weather and Climate, Population Geography, and Migration and Ethnicity. Good.

Oh yeah, and if I play my cards right money-wise and keep staying in and not spending a kopek, I might just be able to see Gogol Bordello in Helsinki, Finland! I'm in love with them -- after all, this LJ was named for one of their songs. I'm prayin'. I'd also be seeing Architecture in Helsinki, hurr hurr.

Picture Post 5, Pt. 2

2007-10-30T18:49:36Z

Here are the rest of my St. Petersburg photos, and towards the end, some random photos I happened to have on my camera from right before and right after the trip up.

Bridge over the Moyka river

The Admiralty

Crisp autumn day

It's not hard to understand why St. Petersburg is called the Venice of Russia.

Город-Герой Ленинград = Gorod-Geroi Leningrad = Hero City Leningrad. I think that the city, regardless of its current name, is right in keeping this sign up, after that whole 900-days-of-siege-and-starvation-by-the-Nazis thing.

The Vladimir Cathedral

The Church of the Spilled Blood

This is the Grand Choral Synagogue, where I met Dima and Sergei

Inside the synagogue

A second, smaller synagogue, which was hidden behind the big one. Clever!

This is Dima, looking his most serious, outside of the Hermitage.

What do you do when you encounter a bear? Usually the answer is to play dead, but my strategy is to pose like an idiot.

That was also my strategy upon meeting wax Catherine the Great.

This is Sergei getting hilariously harrassed by an angry babushka wielding a Soviet flag and some sort of alcohol.

This is a terrible menu from a terrible Chinese restaurant. The light is blocking the word "chitterlings". Never trust a place that prints its menu in Comic Sans, but also never trust any place that uses the adjective "flacky".

Two-headed fetus skeleton, courtesy of the uber-creepy Kunstkamera museum.

This is Moscow's Starlite Diner, which creeps me the hell out for being an exact replica of my high-school hangout, the Moonlite Diner. Awesome place, though.

But order a salad in Russia, and this is what you'll get, 9 times out of 10. Terrible chopped-vegetable concoction smothered with mayo and molded into a shape. Don't forget the dill!

Sometimes my roommate walks around wearing a fur shapka, drinkin' some apple juice. This is when it's proper for me to harrass her.

Oh yeah, I cut my hair! And now it's RED ARMY RED, as opposed to before, when it was simply Red Square Red. Note the lack of caps there.

Hair hair hair.

Yes, someone graffiti'd a Pokemon on a wall in my neighborhood. Meowth, that's right!

I figured I should end with this. "On this panel, there is nothing interesting. It's different on LiveJournal." Yes, LJ advertises in Russia, and this was spotted on Moscow's Tverskaya street, their equivalent of Broadway. Hilarious.

Lastly, I forgot to write in my Petersburg post that on Saturday morning, after I was digging through my black hole of a purse for money (with no wallet, it was floating at the bottom in a horrible way) and apologizing to Dima for taking so long to pay for something, he did something very surprising. All of the sudden, he gave me a brand-new hand-crafted leather wallet from Israel. I don't think I'd told him about the theft beforehand, and I tried to ask if I did or if he just happened to have this wallet in his bag, but he didn't get what I was saying so I never found out. Still, random acts of kindness! He completely made up for the guy that swiped mine. How sympateechnee!

Picture Post 5, Pt. 1: The Hermitage and Tsarskoye Selo

2007-10-30T18:18:46Z

Because I have too many damn photos from the past two weeks, I'm going to split up the posts. First up is the Hermitage Museum, and pictures of the Summer Palace of the Tsarinas in Tsarskoye Selo, about 45 minutes from St. Petersburg. Here we go! Note: The Hermitage is located within the Winter Palace.

The Hermitage's room dedicated to Russia's War of 1812 when Napoleon decided to invade, and failed. I don't know the official name of the war, but it's the one Tolstoy wrote War and Peace about.

A Buddhist prayer booth

A real-live DaVinci! I forgot the title, but so did everyone else, since this painting was named after its owner. Amazing.

Another DaVinci. Indescribable.

The gilded dining room of the Tsars, in the Winter Palace.

The outside of the Winter Palace.

Icons? In a Russian museum? Who would have expected this?!

German knights in shining armor!

Greek mosaic floor in Catherine the Great's quarters

Another shot of the exterior of the palace. I admit that the photos are out of order, but it doesn't really matter.

If you were Russian royalty, this is where you would have chilled.

Russia's greatest tsar, Peter the Great, walking alongside a Muse.

Aside from being a great ninja turtle, Raphael also did some nice paintings.

Raphael also made amazing frescoes in Venice, which were reproduced in the Hermitage.

More frescoes!

An explanation on the frescoes. They're really something in real life.

Enter the Hermitage, and this is what you'll see.

Stunning statue room at the Hermitage.

Royal dining area. GOLD GOLD GOLD.

Now it's on to Tsarskoye Selo and the Summer Palace...

Russia's favorite (and argued, greatest) poet, Alexander Pushkin, went to school near the small town royal playground. Thus, his bust.

There's just never enough of Pushkin!

Outside the Palace. Prime real estate!

A closer look at the exterior. Here's where I should note that the Nazis burned most of it to the ground, and the Soviet government as well as today's government, have worked extremely hard to restore it. Stupid Nazis.

A haunting ballroom of gold and mirrors.

If you were Russian royalty, you'd have played chess with this set.

Russian architecture rocks the rococo.

Outside, a man feeds a pigeon.

Герой-герод Ленинград

2007-10-27T20:39:42Z

On Thursday after updating from the Hermitage, I went on a walk around the city center alone with my map, snapping photos of a city just begging to model. I can't wait to upload and post them! Usually in Russian cities, the first thing people do is seek out the gorgeous churches to snap photos, but instead, I sought out the Grand Choral Synagogue. When I got to the gates of the gorgeous historical building, two nice Jewish boys (Dima and Sergei) let me in so I could go inside. I told them a bit about my father's side of the family and their Russian-Jewish immigrant history and about how I'm currently studying in Moscow. They told me that they'd be in Moscow next month themselves for "Jew camp", which I giggled at. We exchanged numbers, and I continued my walk along the city's rivers. It's strange how familiar and comfortable this city is to me. I definitely feel like I've been here before. I took the Metro for the first time, all by myself, and it was entirely easy. Funny, I'd say I lived here in a past life.

Later that evening, I went to a cheap yet tasty Indian restaurant while everyone else went to Pizza Hut. Whenever I think about how people in my program are constantly going to American fast-food restaurants, I remember one of my Geography professors and his rant about how Americans refuse to try new things and will travel 5,000 miles to experience a new culture only to go to a Dunkin Donuts. It's true. At the end of the meal, I had to reach into a bag with my eyes closed and pull out a free gift. The gift turned out to be a poem, and it was about how it is better to go hungry than to eat bad food, and how it is better to eat alone than with people you're not fond of. Forgive me for sounding pretentious, but it was extremely appropriate. I guess I'm just fed up with nearly everyone else in my group. It's really annoying to go out with them and deal with how obnoxious and disrespectful certain people can be. Maybe it's just that when you spend every hour of every day with the same group of thirty in class and in the dorms, you just need some space. I certainly do.

On Friday, my group went to the town of Tvarskoye Selo, about 45 minutes away from Petersburg. We saw Tsarina Catherine I's summer palace and gardens, restored from what the Nazis destroyed of it. Afterwards, I went to a little restaurant with two American friends (yes, I still like a good number of people) while a bust of Lenin watched me eat. Creepy, but not as creepy as the museum I went to afterwards where I saw Rasputin's severed, uh, pride, in a jar. Dima and Sergei then texted me to come hang out with them and see a band called "The Cartoons". They were excellent, and the night was spent impressing them by knowing White Stripes songs by heart and the silly rap song "Because I Got High" (how did THEY know it?), trading rubles for dollars to be able to use a jukebox, going on a quest for late-night blintzes, and more.

Today was pretty simple. This morning, Dima and I saw the Kunstkamera museum, Peter the Great's collection of terrible things. There was a two-headed fetus in a jar. Uhh, yeah. Basically, Peter, Russia's greatest tsar, decided to make a museum in the early 1700s to teach people that the reason why some babies come out completely horrifying is not because of evil spirits, but because of drinking and violence to the mother. Thus, the intent was good, but that museum was just the creepiest place ever. Just in time for Halloween! I wanted to see some other museums, but unfortunately, the good ones closed too early.

I wound up meeting up with a group of Jewish kids at another synagogue on Petrogradsky Island, and we went to a "cafe" that turned out to be Carl's Jr. So I did wind up going to eat American fast food after all, ha. MTV was on, and they played the video for "Who Let the Dogs Out?". According to Joey, that song has staying power here because it's a frequently asked question. HA.

Gotta wake up at 6 am tomorrow for the flight back down south to good ol' Moscow-town. Picture post tomorrow!

Purloined in Petrograd!

2007-10-25T11:41:35Z

Posting from the Hermitage museum, the second-largest museum in the world. We spent the day here viewing a portion of its 3 million pieces, but it'd be impossible to see it all. The Museum is housed in Peter the Great's Winter Palace, so we saw a lot of fantastic 18th century imperial gilded palace rooms, as well as the masterpieces within by Da Vinci, Raphael, Matisse, Cezanne, and more. Stunning. Brilliant. I can't even begin to describe it all, but I'll upload pictures once I'm back in Moscow.

So yeah, the museum has an internet cafe. Ha. The hostel that we're staying in does too, but this is better. We got in yesterday afternoon after an hour-long flight north. If you're not familiar with Geography, St. Petersburg is Russia's port to the Atlantic via the Baltic Sea, very close to the Baltic States (Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania), and Finland. There is a lot of Scandinavian influence here, and the land the city is built on was formerly ruled by the Swedes before the czar Peter the Great (for whom the city is named, of course) took it back for the Russian Empire. It's about a ten-hour drive north of Moscow. Basically, I'm reaaaally reaaaally north right now, but the weather isn't bad at all, thanks to the Baltic Sea. Maritime!

The flight was good, and it was much less confusing than I thought. The tiny domestic airport outside of Moscow, Vnukovo (Vnuk = Grandson. Grandson airport?), was really modern and much easier to get through than most American airports. Well, the toilets were still glorified holes in the ground, but you know, they at least had flatscreen TVs.

A tour bus picked our group up immediately after touchdown, and I fell in love with Leningrad at first sight. What a gorgeous city it is! The architecture is like if Amsterdam, Paris, and Venice came together in the middle of Russia. It's great that Stalinist architecture never spoiled the imperial feel of this city of 42 islands. I think when I come back to Russia next summer, I might live here. You know, having lived in south Florida and Manhattan's Lower East Side (once a marsh), I guess I can never avoid loving places that were built on swamps. One might say that I have a "swamp thing". Oh god, there I go with a 46-year old dad pun.

I'm going to go now and explore the city! I'm looking forward to the Peter and Paul island fortress, the Museum of Political History, and the Museum of Anthropology and Ethnography. The latter is Peter the Great's collection of deformed babies and other weird science. Remember Pavlov's dog, who salivated at the sound of a bell? He's there -- stuffed. Peter understood how messed up his museum was, so he gave a free glass of vodka to the male visitors, and wine for the ladies so that they'd be able to stomach it better. Speaking of weird science, there's also another museum that houses the most famous part of Rasputin (Ra-ra-rasputin, lover of the Russian queen) floating in a jar, but naaaaah. Yeesh!

All in all, the city of Peter the Great really is just pretty great.

Она что-то

2007-10-22T17:15:15Z

Facts:

Any car in Russia is a taxi. Yes, hitchhiking is legal, and everyone does it all the time to get around. There are very very few "real" taxis, and it sounds dangerous and horrible, but here, it's the most average thing. You just stick your arm out, and sometimes as many as 3 cars will pull over to negotiate prices/locations with you. You also mostly want to look out for Soviet cars. Last night en route to the Cavestompers show, George and I accidentally took the wrong bus to the Metro and wound up in the middle of nowhere. Luckily, we were able to hop in the first gypsy cab we flagged down, and the driver was a professor at MGU whose son is studying to be a lawyer. Interesting conversation. Honestly, it's the random rapid-fire question-and-answer sessions that bolster my language skills much more than talking slowly in class. Oh, and another gypsy cab driver asked if I was Uzbek or Kyrgyz. Apparently my hair made me look Central Asian, and my glaring American accent apparently wasn't audible. Really, since when does Uzbekistan export blue-eyed redheads?

Ram's heart is delicious. I now have the fearlessness of the ram. Seriously though, there's a restaurant rumored to be run by the Armenian mafia near the university, and I couldn't resist swiping some of the aforementioned delicacy from a friend's plate, if only to be able to ask if I could go on and take a little piece of his heart.

It's important to trade cultural experiences. And by that, I mean that when in Russia, hang with Russians and drink Soviet champagne and gorge yourself on pirozhki. Too many Americans here, as I've probably mentioned before, don't take the opportunity to leave the dorms and meet people. It's a shame that they don't, because I've met some of the coolest people I've ever known, and I'm not just saying this because I know Alla is reading this right now. Alla Ackbar! But I digress. In the morning, after a night of dancing to soul music while partaking in the aforementioned, the important thing for yourself and your fellow American friend is to go with said Russians to the Starlite Diner, an eerily accurate American diner that is exactly like my old Florida hangout, the Moonlite Diner. Absolutely surreal, save for the $8 fresh-squeezed orange juice, the pelmeni, and the Vestern omelette.

Moscow garage rock is supreme. The Cavestompers and their opener, the Twisted Sticks, were fantastic. I wish they had albums I could bring back to America. The show and its energy were dead-on late '60s, and I hung out with some of the Cavestompers after the show. The sweetest thing is to hear the Velvet Underground's "Stephanie Says" sung to you by two brothers, regardless of the not-very-Lou-Reed accent, aw.

Lastly, I'm going to cut my hair much much shorter tomorrow, and I got a package in the mail from my grandma. Yay Grandma! I just bought the "Khello Mama" phone card so I could thank her. Khello Mama, Khello Fadda. I'm soon going to Leningrad-a.

October Revolution

2007-10-20T11:55:09Z

Whew, I finally got some dengi/rubles/cash/currency/life-support!

In short, Bank of America is run by total asshats, and Bank of Moscow is run by wonderful people. They're fantastic for understanding me despite the fact that no one there spoke any English and despite my lack of banking vocabulary (really, when in school do you learn "cash advance" and "PIN number"?), and for taking 20 minutes to call Visa and carefully work everything out with them. If they hadn't, I would have gone home with only the equivalent of 80 cents to my name. When I come back to America, I'm switching to CitiBank immediately since they have Russian locations and according to popular opinion, employees who think. I have cash now, and I can breathe again. Also, my school approved my new student loan, so I'll be absolutely 100% fine very soon. Phew.

This morning, my program took a visit to Lenin's Mausoleum, in Red Square. That's where the body of the father of the Soviet Union lies, perfectly embalmed and guarded by silent soldiers. I can only describe it as one of the eeriest experiences of my life. Everything I'd learned about Lenin from my Politial Science classes and courses on Russian history didn't prepare me to look at the man's face. Because I'm used to seeing dead people at funerals and crying while seeing them (That sounds really strange, but who isn't? Morgue workers?), I felt very depressed for a second, until I realized once more that it was Lenin. I'm still not sure how I feel about him as a person and about his life, times, and actions since that's a huge source of debate, but Jesus, I really just can't describe this. I suppose all I can say is that it's unnerving to look at the preserved bodies of former political leaders. By the way, if you don't know who Lenin was or what he looked like, come to Russia. You'll know almost immediately.

On Wednesday morning, we're flying to St. Petersburg! I'm excited. It's disappointing that we're flying instead of taking the overnight train for the "real experience" I've heard so much about, but no matter. I can't wait to see the Hermitage and that crazy science museum with Pavlov's dog (stuffed). I got two books today to keep myself occupied en route -- a English version of Bulgakov's "The Master and Margarita", which stuck out because of the cigar-smoking black cat on the cover in front of the Kremlin, and a dual-language book of Russian stories by Pushkin, Gogol, Tolstoy, et al. Hooray for book-learnin'! Life is better now. I feel rada, and by rada, I mean the Russian word for happy, but I guess also totally raaadicaaaal, dude.

Oh, and I remembered how much I love this city last night after crazy adventures involving flagging down Soviet gypsy cabs, more hilarious arguing between grown Russian men about SpongeBob, and joking accusations that I'm an American spy. Not to mention some great lessons in Russian cursing now recorded on my phone for future reference. Ochyen ochyen rada.

Rubleless in Russia.

2007-10-19T18:32:25Z

The money saga continues.

Today after class, I went to Tverskaya Street (which is basically Moscow's Broadway) to go to a bank for a credit card cash advance. The fun started when Master Bank said that they couldn't do anything because their computers were down. No worries, I thought -- I've only done the cash advance thing at Master Bank before, but other banks will surely do the same, won't they? I walked to six different banks trying to get cash, and none of them would give me a kopek. Sure, there are ATMs here, but because this is a new card that I got after my other one was stolen a month ago, I never recieved the PIN from Bank of America. They never sent one out -- apparently, I had to request one, but was never informed of this. I called Bank of America three different times trying to get my PIN from them, but it was impossible. BoA has their system set up where it's impossible for any of their employees to get to any PIN numbers -- the system generates customer numbers and automatically mails them out. Thus, I'd have to wait a week for them to mail Erica my number. I begged and pleaded for any way for them to get to it since I have no other means of money, but nope. Some Visa emergency guy said that they'd Western Union me emergency cash from my account, but it'd take a couple of hours to process and they'd call me when they were ready to send it. This was five hours ago.

After trying everything, I gave up and exchanged my last emergency $20. Because I want to hold on to every ruble, I sought out a place for dinner that would take my card. Since this is a cash economy, the only place I could find was an overpriced sushi bar. No problem, it was a nice treat anyhow. However, when paying, my card was declined. "Shto?!" ("What?!") Luckily, I had my international phone card on me and called BoA customer service from the restaurant phone. Turns out that their brilliant bank staff not only blocked my stolen debit card, but also, the credit card. I was on the phone for 40 minutes arguing with them.

Me: "You guys blocked the wrong card. I have no other means of paying. Please unblock it, thanks."
BoA: "Uhhh we can mail a new card to your New York address..."
Me: "No, this card wasn't lost or stolen. It's right here in my hands. You blocked it accidentally. Please let me use it."
BoA: (puts me on hold for twenty minutes) "Ma'am, the new replacement card already started processing."
Me: "BUT NOTHING HAPPENED TO THE OLD CARD! I HAVE IT RIGHT HERE! JUST UNBLOCK IT!"

Finally, they unblocked it and I paid, but since I was on the phone with them anyhow already reveling in 50 minutes of humiliation, I tried once more to get my PIN from them. I actually got a hold of a supervisor and explained everything to her, and after twenty more minutes of "No, they're NOT giving me a cash advance I JUST NEED MY PIN, PLEASE JUST TELL ME WHAT IT IS", she was preparing to have emergency cash wired to me. Thank god! But of course, because they had me on hold for so long, right when everything was going smoothly and they had cash coming to me, my phone card ran out.

I wish only the worst upon everyone who works at Bank of America. Whoever came up with that PIN system should seriously eat some undercooked hamburgers, or maybe step on a rusty nail.

I'm going to try again tomorrow, and if I still can't get money, there's going to be an Amerikanka taking a flying leap off of St. Basil's Cathedral.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

2007-10-18T18:06:04Z

The first time you get your wallet stolen, people care. The second time, everyone just thinks you're an idiot and doesn't want to help you out. How would I know this? Because my fucking wallet got stolen again, along with my iPod (which Apple won't replace because the Service Plan I paid $50 for doesn't cover theft). I was at a restaurant last night with some friends to see the Russia vs. England crucial soccer game, and to see an excellent surf-rock band, the Silvertones. We hung out with the band after their set which was a whole lot of fun, but that's when it happened. Someone reached right into my purse while my back was turned, unzipped it, ransacked it, and returned it. Thank god I had my credit card and passport in another pocket of my purse, so I can at least live off of cash advances for sometime. Woohoo, debt!

Regardless, I'm very angry, and very broke. And very jealous that if this happened to any of the other kids, their uber-rich families would bail them out immediately -- but of couuuurse it had to happen to the only one without a bottomless trust fund. Now I have to take out another student loan to assist me with all this pickpocketing/medical/ridiculous-ATM-fees-rapidly-depleting-my-bank-account nonsense. Once again, woohoo, debt! Urrrgh. I'm going to smash something.

Dear Russia,

I love you, a lot. You're really pretty, and really cool. But if you want me to keep loving you and to keep being interested in your language, history and culture, then please tell your people to stop stealing my fucking things every month. Thanks.

Love,
A Poor American

P.S. Stop the presses, motherland! A poor American?! I just blew your stereotyping mind!

Идёт снег сейчас!

2007-10-15T19:10:30Z

In all of Indian summer's nominative political incorrectness, it was good and warm, and died about two weeks ago. Between then and now, Moscow has been stereotypical Eastern Europe; persistently gray and rainy, and, you guessed it, cold. Not that I didn't see this coming, and it's not as if New York doesn't have that so-called cold November rain coming up soon. But despite whatever mental preparations I made, the weather was undeniably infinitely depressing. Luckily, yesterday, Moscow had its first snow! Snow makes me so happy. I love the snow -- it's absolutely beautiful, and much nicer to walk through. I guess despite the colors of the leaves, winter has begun. I even started wearing The Coat, in all of its ankle-length furry sleeping-bag-looking ridiculousness. Love love love it. I hope the snow doesn't turn back into rain soon! Remember, there are five seasons in Russia: The usual four, plus Russian Winter. I won't be here for the full brunt of it, which starts in late December, but it's what stopped the Nazi army in their tracks when they tried to invade. I believe that's why Russians are somewhat proud of it. I think I'll survive it.

While purchasing winter hats on Friday, I embarrassed myself when the store's credit card machine wasn't working. A bit worried, I asked the cashier if my card itself was going through. Unfortunately, the words for "card" (карточка; kar-toech'ka) and "potato" (картошка; kar-toesh'ka) are pretty damn similar, so I actually inquired as to if my potato was working. I'm shocked that no one laughed, and that they were all disturbingly polite about it. Lord knows if I were still working retail and someone said that, I'd have burst out laughing.

Things have been really great lately. On Wednesday, we went to see traditional Cossack dancers perform, and I enjoyed the cultural insight and the balalaikas ringing out. Saturday, our program went to the State Historical Museum in Red Square -- absolutely fantastic. I was salivating over all of the Russian history from ancient times onward, and after seeing the gilded artifacts from the Romanovs and tsarist Russia and comparing it with the state of Russian peasants at the time, I thought about the Revolution and how it was unmistakably inevitable.

Sunday, I hung out at a restaurant for a few hours with my friend Ildar. His English is pretty good but still somewhat limited, and it was pretty interesting to try to discuss such deep topics as race relations in America and computer programming when talking like Simple English Wikipedia. We had a good time, and one of the funniest moments was when he tried to tell me about an ailment in Russia known as "Mirror Disease". He looked absolutely serious when trying to find the English translation on his Pocket PC, and I was worried that it was some terrible disorder I could come down with over here. Then after being unable to find a proper translation, he looked me in the eye and with utmost sobriety: "It is ven a man ees so fat, zat he look in the mirror, and he cannot see genitals." HA. I'm not laughing at his English since I've been laughed at many a time for my language foibles here, but rather, just the fact that they have a slang term for it. Daaamn!

So though I'm not enrolled at Hunter this semester, I have unused FinAid money for the term. Remember kids, if you come from Circumstances, the government will give you sizable funding for filling your brain. I was looking at the registrar's site for intersession Geography classes (a 3 week term during winter break) that would lighten my load next semester from 16 credits to 13. Turns out that there's one class that'd help me out: Ethnic Geography of Hawaii. Yeah, Hawaii. That'd be absolutely insane, especially going 12 days after my return from Russia. Still, lightening my Spring load would be good so I could focus more time on a prospective job or internship, and next year, I doubt I'd be able to do the class since I'll be tied down. And of course, an internship and doing actual Geographic field work is very very very very crucial for grad school and my future career. Hmmmmmmm. If all signs pointed to go financially, the only thing stopping me would be wanting to see my family, Erica, and Joey around winter break because I miss them all pretty badly. I feel a little guilty for wanting to do such crazy ventures in the name of education, for various reasons. I won't get into that right now, but I just like following once-in-a-lifetime opportunities. Okay? Okay. Yeah! Maybe next year!

Anyway, picture post, picture post, it's time for a picture post!

From yesterday. Moscow's first snow! That's the view from my window.

Me, yesterday. God bless the raccoon who died for my educational sins.

I'm trying my hardest not to make a white powder joke here, but you know the options are endless.

From the fire escape.

I'm an American Badass for standing outside in the snow on the fire escape like this.

Old Soviet cemetery near my professor's house, where we went for lunch two weeks ago. Note the lack of religious symbols. Hmm!

More cemetery. Eeeeeeerie.

Gorgeous garden outside of the following church, near my professor's house:

Just your average stunningly beautiful Russian Orthodox church!

This picture, and the following pictures are all from the State Historical Museum in Red Square -- and I'll reiterate: if you're a huge Russian history geek like me, you must visit before you die. This is a prayer booth from the 1500s, from the time of Ivan the Terrible. The photo does no justice to how mind-blowingly beautiful it is in real life. Speaking of grozny old Ivan, did you know that he kept a black book of all of the hundreds of names of his victims? I saw it at the museum. It was copied and distributed to monasteries so monks could pray for them, and for his salvation. Yeah, like he got into Heaven after all that. Pssh.

An icon of Jesus from the 1700s. Once again, the photo does no justice. Amazing.

More icons, this time, of the disciples.

Even the museum's ceilings are fantastic. Painted in the 1880s, I believe.

A medieval map of the city of Vladimir, which was the capital of the medieval Russian state Kievan Rus until the rise of Kiev itself.

An icon of Mary with baby Jesus. From the 1400s, I think. There was no sign, unfortunately.

Another medieval icon.

A medieval mural, whose date I did not learn.

A book of government documents from Novgorod, from the 1500s. It's written in Old Church Slavonic, the language that modern Russian stems from.

The Mongols ruled over most of modern Russia and its surrounding areas from the 1300s-1600s under the Golden Horde. Here's a map of their reign.

This is a photo album owned by one of tsarist Russia's important families. Mind you, they had things like this while the majority of the nation was living in absolute filth. Revolution, anyone?

We're leaving next Tuesday on a five-day trip to St. Petersburg! That's the city formerly known as Leningrad. (And yes, also formerly known as Petrograd, but only from 1914-1924 because Russia didn't like the original Germanic name, and then Lenin died and they changed it again.) It's about eight hours north by train. I'll be right below the Arctic Circle in Russia's most "European" city, ooh. Can't wait!