7 April, 1995: Ihad the thought the other day while standing on the shore of the Gulf of Finland that the circular motion of every wave upon the sand could be a metaphor for the pattern of human life. From the moment we conceive of a separate identity which seems to distinguish us from the collective sea of human existence, our egos propel us up and out in an arcing ocean, believing ourselves distinct. The time comes when we are again water molecules in the same sea. I like to focus on the connectedness of things when it gets discombobulated around here, which often happens in the rush of trying to see and do everything in this incredible city of St. Petersburg. We've been here since March 25 -- a fact I still can't believe!
Life is great here, and I'm starting to settle into a semblance of routing with my classes. My teachers are warm and patient; they seem genuinely excited to have us as students, which is a good feeling when the country at times seems inhospitable. It continually shocks me to think that I'm in such a foreign place. It's like a third-world nation superimposed on the skeleton of one of the richest cultural histories of Europe. I have already seen sight that have taken my breath away: the sun breaking through cloud banks to illuminate the gilded cupola of St. Isaac's Cathedral, the Winter Palace covered in fresh snow, sunsets on the Gulf of Finland, the solemnity of Piskariovsky Cemetery where they buried the victims of the 900-day siege of Leningrad during WWII, whole walls and ceilings of Menshiokov Palace covered with hand-painted tiles, and its parquets floors so intricate that they appear to be three-dimensional. I can't even list all that I've seen -- and there is a much longer list of things I will experience before I leave!
For all of the opulence and cultural richness here, Petersburg is also a city of obvious failings. While a ticket to hear the great masters at the Bolshoi Zal Philharmonic costs sixty cents, the streets are riddled with potholes that could swallow small cars, the buses run against all odds due to lack of maintenance, there is trash floating down the Neva, and everything is dirty, dirty, dirty ... There are consumer products available (at least right now), but I feel ashamed that I can afford to buy them. My conversation teacher wore exactly the same clothes all last week. It is a good thing to be made more conscious of taking so much for granted back home.
I'm really glad to be here. Of course, we all have our ups and downs. We call the downs "bad Russia days," but we help each other out by laughing at things that would normally exasperate us. It's a different life, but I feel like I'm starting to know how to live it.
