twenty-something years of "what have you been up to?"

Month: February 2009

  • maslenitsa

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    The sun is gaining on us, four minutes a day right now, it's the week before lent, post, time for Malenitsa. I wish I had a picture of Mrs. Issakov at the stove with her four doll-house sized iron skillets she uses specifically for blini. Traditionally we are suppose to dress in folk costumes, sing and parade around a straw "Lady Maslenitsa," visit family and friends on specific days, (in-laws one day, god parents the next) go for Troika rides, make bonfires (tossing in the Lady Maslenitsa on the last day), eat up all the meat and dairy in the house using blini as a vehicle, and have fist fights. You can run from some of it, but you can't hide from the blini. They are serving them in the Embassy cafe.

    Prost post.

  • st petersburgers

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    Now that I've had a glass of wine and kids are asleep it seems okay, but IS the worst day of travel better than the best day at home? 

    The idea was to meet Peter a 20-minute walk away for Japanese food for lunch. Then go to the Yusupov Palace to see where the best friends of the Tsars lived, and to see the room where Rasputan a. drank poisoned wine, b. was shot, c. tried to strangle the guy who shot him, and d. was tied up and dragged to the river. Amid all kinds of elaborate finery.

    I had two breakfasts, one before 8:00 with Peter and Stefan, one around 10:30 with Camille and Stefan. We spent most of the first breakfast having a guy come fix the lock of the room because I'm afraid to leave Camille asleep in the room, someone surely will kidnap her into a white slave ring while we are in the hotel dining room drinking lattes. This means we don't have time for lattes. At the second breakfast Stefan eats his 5th croissant of the day.

    Around noon, stuffed with croissants, we head towards the restaurant where we are suppose to meet Peter. The streets have no signs, and I wouldn't be able to read them anyway. It's sunny and ski-slope cold. We are underdressed in down jackets. We find a Japanese restaurant, but I'm not convinced it's the right one. We wait, Peter doesn't show, further convincing me we haven't found the right restaurant and we head home. Waiting for Peter at the restaurant, the kids comment that they aren't hungry, hmmm, I wonder why. As soon as we leave the restaurant, they are starving.

    I buy them something from a street vendor, what the heck is it? Whatever it is, it's cheap! Around 50 rubles, maybe a dollar fifty. Sausage wrapped in dough and fried. Oh my gosh, it's like crack, the food of the gods. And my kids won't eat it. 

    They want to go to McDonalds. I haven't been to McDonalds since last summer (when I needed a really good bribe) except for yesterday. So this is a record for me, supersizing my kids twice in two days. Strangely, it's the nicest McDonalds I've ever been in. In my defense, it's more like a Starbucks. Also, everyone is wearing fur, so that classes the place up somewhat. I, however, do not, in my bright orange ski jacket.

    Okay, here's the thing: in St. Petersburg, I'm not only the worst dressed person in McDonalds, I'm also the dumbest. I am so dumb, I can't order at a McDonalds. Why have I not learned the word for "chicken strips" in Russian? Forget Russian! Who needs it? "Happy Meal" and "Mcnuggets" are esperanto.

    We head to the Yusupov Palace, the very house of Rasputin's demise. (They also cut off his penis which is now on display in a jar in some museum, but we have to save something for next time.) We walk all the way down the Nevsky Prospect, we walk and walk. It starts to get dark, and really cold.  Right as we are at the Yusopov Palace I chicken mcnugget out and turn us back around. It's getting dark and Stefan's cheeks are bright red with cold. If we make it to the palace, that will an hour at least and it's freezing in the daylight along the frozen canal. And the metro here doesn't have the stops posted, you have to listen for your stop, and none of the stops is Beeg Mak. Sorry kids. 

    We fortify ourselves by stopping at grocery store for yogurt, wine, apples and cheese. When people buy flowers here, the florist wraps the flowers so they don't freeze on the walk home.

    Peter comes home and tells us that he never made it to the restaurant.

    So, what did we learn today? If you come to St. Pete's in February, stock up on fur. It's a sparkly, San Francisco-Portland kind of town, not as full of itself as Moscow. I really like it here. And I can't wait to ride the train back to Moscow. But not until we have lattes in the morning and go the Hermitage tomorrow. I hope.

    Some more pictures of us in St. Pete's here. 

  • church of the spilled blood

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    Kids don't mind looking at architecture, as long as a Tsar was murdered on the very spot. It's all about story.

  • headed for st. pete’s

    Land of my forefathers. 129 years ago, my Grandfather, Dr. Peter Soudakoff, was born in St. Petersburg. My Grandmother, Nina Grave was born there too. Both fled during the Russian revolution where they met in China. Today, we travel by train to the place of their birth. 

    It is 4AM and I can't sleep. Thoughts of my ancestors flood my mind. A symbol of who I am. Can the one way mirror look both ways? Many of the streets and boulevards will be the same. A scene from Ana Karenina. 

    There is no land to reclaim. Only a link to the past and a few souls. 

  • fresh snow for valentine’s day

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    I set up wii and Camille is a national bowling champion material.

  • mind the gap

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    Stefan lost his second tooth last night, while we were on the phone with Grammie.

    David Cook + Carrie Underwood + Fleetwood Mac. See if you sit and watch it with big stoopid smile like me.

  • russian encounters

    Da Darlink! Many Russians speak pretty good English. As with any foreign language, they sometimes make innocent but comical errors (as we do when we speak Russian). And some expressions are quotable. Just like when Stefan was playing a charades game (Catch Phrase – not for 7 year olds) and said he couldn't act out "sex apple" (sex appeal) because he didn't even know what it means! Here are a few gems along with; "You are pushing my leg!"

    – "small by small" (little by little).
    – "please to help!"
    – "The glass ceiling falls on house of cards."
    – "He's always shooting from the hips!"
    – "Go down next isle and follow smells."
    – "My Betty-button hurts" (belly-button).
    – "Of course I know about confidentiality. When you verk for big oil: You talk. YOU DIE!"

    And my latest favorite: "Because bureaucracy demands it!"

  • we fall behind

    Sometimes we fall into a writers block. I fear the blog might sound repetitive and perhaps a bit boring. But our readers remind us that they are waiting. Thank you Clay!

    Our embassy life is a bit like living on a reservation. All amenities are supplied to us and most socializing happens in our teepees with occasional powwows and tribal stomps. So it takes some effort to get out and experience this city. We fall into routines; our kids go to school, we go to work, and dinner still needs to be made at the end of the day.

    But we do get out some and hopefully more so once the weather warms up, the days get longer, and we get our license to drive. In the mean time, there is plenty to see by metro and walking. 

    Yesterday evening we were invited to our friend Moscow Mom's for dinner.  The trolly driver was unusually nice. She got out of her booth to show us how to use the ticket to get through the turn stye, told Stefan to duck under for free, and asked us which stop we needed so she could signal us to get off. The windows were splattered with grit but we still made out some beautiful buildings and wooded parks. 

    Their apartment is small nice with views of the river and forest, beautiful! Our children played games together while we enjoyed each others company. We enjoyed handmade pasta and a vegetable tartine (eggplant, red and yellow bell peppers, and glazed carmelized onions), and for dessert, a chocolate tart and a lemon tart. Fantastic! Fun.

    The taxi ride home took a different route and we asked what was that beautiful fortress all lit up that we passed. The driver said it was a monastery. Beautiful!  All walking distance from our house and we didn't even know it.

    It's good to get out.