Living in Florida for all of my life, I am used to being surrounded by different cultures, especially Latin culture. It’s something I love most about living in America; however, when I came to China, I noticed the seemingly homogeneous landscape. This led me to question how it must feel being a minority in China.
On my way to my favorite “baozi” restaurant, I passed a Hispanic woman. I stopped her and asked her several questions on what it must feel like being a minority in China. She told me she had been living in Beijing for six months because of her job. Originally from Colombia, she desperately missed hispanic food, particularly arepas, a very popular dough-like food. She said while Chinese landscape seems the same everywhere, it isn’t. Each city has its own characteristics and typical foods. For example, people from Sichuan like spicy food.
After the usual introductory small talk, she started to open up about how it felt to be a minority in China. She felt very lonely a majority of the time, because she still hasn’t found anyone from her hometown to identify with. Most of the foreigners in Beijing are American or Australian, according to her. After her first couple weeks in Beijing, she got sick of Chinese food, so she started cooking some traditional Colombian foods in her kitchen, but the ingredients in China are very different compared to Colombia. While they might both be “beef”, what the cows eat, how often they are allowed to exercise, their environment, etc are all different. This impacts the taste.
While there are a lot of disadvantages, there are also a lot of benefits. She gets a lot of attention. For example, last weekend, she was walking to Element Fresh, a very popular American-style restaurant, in Sanlitun when she was stopped by two businesswomen looking for a model to take pictures wearing their company’s sunglasses. She made $200! Perks of being a 外国人！
In summary, she says being a Colombian woman in Beijing is incredibly lonely, but rewarding.
As important as subjunctive conjugation and indirect object pronouns are, today in my Spanish Grammar class we learned about a topic far more impactful: The Spanish Civil War. We took a site visit to Bunker 307, one of the only remains bunkers of the 2,000 built by the people of Barcelona to protect themselves from air bombings during the war.
The Spanish Civil War is really a misnomer. On the nationalist side, Germany and Italy sent aid in the form of aircrafts and weapons to test their airstrike and civil bombing strategy that had never before been used. On the side of the republicans, the Soviet Union did the same to represent their idealogical opposition to the rising wave of fascist powers.
As we walked through the cold damp tunnels we were told stories of the people who spent hours and evens days at a time in these bunkers. One of the most powerful stories was that of a mother who was leading her 3 year old daughter and newborn into the underground shelter, but in the rush of frantic people, her newborn was knocked from her arms and lost behind her. Unable to stop to search for her child and fight the crowd all moving towards the bunkers, she had to enter before the air raids started, and spend 48 underground not knowing what happened to her newborn baby. After the air raid had ended, a man, who had seen the child get knocked from the mothers arms and rescued the child, approached her with her child in hand.
These tunnels were filled with the ghosts and horrors of the Spanish Civil War. But also filled with a triumphant and fighting spirit of the people. All 2,000 of the cities bunkers were dug by civilian volunteers who refused to submit the the terror and hopelessness of airstrikes and labored relentlessly to protect their neighbors. In 3 years of bombings, in Barcelona 3,000 people died. Although any lives lost are still too many, relative to the span of attacks and the population of the city, it is truly an incredibly low number of mortalities.
Although now this bunker serves as a powerful memory of the people who fought and died to protect their families, neighbors, beliefs, and freedom, during the years of Franco it was prohibited to speak the stories of the victims of the war.
Thank you Bunker 307 and the City Council of Barcelona for reminding us of the courage and conviction of the citizens of Barcelona then and always.
Before Spain existed with the borders that we know today, Catalunya was a nation that controlled mediterranean coast of the Iberian peninsula from southern France to Alicante, along with parts of northern Africa, the balearic islands, and even corsica and sardana. They spoke their own language, also a derivation of latin, had their own history a greek and roman colonies and ports, and were a key force in driving the moors from the Iberian peninsula in the reconquest of Spain. However when King Ferdinand of Aragon married Queen Isabella of Castile in 1492 and sieged the final moorish stronghold in Granada, a new conception of a united Spain led the nation on its course to its modern state. Brimming throughout the 500 years since the uniting of Spain, has been ganas to obtain sovereignty for Catalunya. As the different regions of Spain have varying cultures, distinct histories, and unique languages, for many living in Catalunya and Barcelona, centralized power in Madrid is frustrating in that it is unable to meet the specific and often competing needs of different areas of the country.
As you walk the streets of Barcelona, the balconies above proudly displays flags were similar to that of the catalan region, however in addition to the red and yellow stripes, they boast a blue triangle and a white star. This flag is the symbol of the movement for independence of Catalunya. Modeled after the flag of Cuba after their separation from Spain, the flag is a symbol of solidarity with other provinces and nations that were at one time conquered by Castile.
The Catalan people are very proud have refuse to relinquish any part of their culture or language. Classes in public schools are taught in Catalan, with Spanish taught as a separate subject. Those born and raised in Catalunya are bilingual in Catalan and Spanish from a young age. In Catalonya, Catalan in the language of business. I had the opportunity to attend a reception for an association of lawyers who were looking to transform the leadership within their association and at this reception all of the keynote speakers spoke in catalan as well as the majority of conversation within the lawyers
To gain more insight into this tense, sensitive political issue that is steeped in culture and history I spoke to a family friend and my host mother who would be comfortable sharing their opinions with me, one who was opposed to independence while the other was strongly in favor.
My family friend from Barcelona, Mari Carmen, who has grown up and lived in the city her whole life, believed the idea of independence to be rash. While she understands the cultural frustrations she believes that Catalunya is too integrated into the economic and political systems of Spain to successfully secede from the nation. While she understands the cultural pride and economic frustration of some, she views those who want independence as a bit radical.
My host mother, Montse, holds the opposite view of Mari Carmen. She proudly flies the Catalan flag of independence from her balcony and participates in yearly demonstration of Catalan pride every September 11. Montse was always eager to answer any of my questions about the issues and it was very obvious that her opinions have been strongly formed by her deep family history rooted in the same neighborhood of Barcelona for generations. Montse explained to me that the issue of sovereignty for Catalunya is a political conflict, not a conflict with the people from any other region of Spain. While cultural pride drives the movement, the main issue to her and many other Catalan people is the federal tax system that takes their locally earned money and redistributes it to Southern provinces of Spain that have a stereotype of a cultural laziness.
Come October of 2017, Catalunya hopes to hold a referendum to gage the opinion of the Catalan people. However the central government in Spain is making efforts to stall or eliminate the vote.
After spending many weeks here in Catalunya and comparing their cultural heritage to that of other regions of Spain, it is very obvious to me how unique Catalunya is within the Iberian Peninsula. For videos that display the pride of the Catalan people and their yearly demonstrations for independence check out this link: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iffJ1TgljE0
It’s hard to come to Tokyo and pass by the opportunity to visit the Tsukiji Fish Market. This is the market with the famous tuna auction that tourists lined up to see in the early hours of the morning, and where the cost of some tunas could go up in the millions. Many renowned sushi restaurants and chefs in Tokyo shop here for fresh ingredients, and it’s not hard to see why.
Like many neighborhoods in Tokyo, the Tsukuji Market is also imbued with its own set traditions and history. Its origin could be traced all the way back to the Edo period, when fishermen sold seafood near the Nihonbashi. The current controversy surrounding the market is the decision to move the market to another location.
Early on a Saturday morning, as the market unfortunately closed on Sunday and on some Wednesday, I made my way over to Tsukiji Station via the Hibiya line. As with all touristy spots, the place with hopping with people from all over the world. However, there was a good mix of local people just shopping at the market or browsing around. The market has an outer market and an inner market. The outer market has an opened-air/farmer market feel to it, and has a lot of cool snacks/food shop. There were delicious looking daifuku and tamoyaki on a stick and matcha ice cream and grilled seafood on a stick. I knew that I couldn’t go the Tsukuji Market and try some sushi, but the amount and types of sushi restaurants/stalls available to choose from was overwhelming. In the end, I decided to eat at Sushizanmai, a kaiten sushi chain store that’s pretty well known. Their tuna nigiris were delicious.
While China has 56 different ethnic groups, the largest group Han Chinese represents about 94% of the population. As a result, minorities are often far and few between. During our programs trip to Xi’an, we took a trip the the famed Muslim street. Traditional food and tea from the Chinese Muslim background lined the street, right along side small trinkets and souvenirs. After talking to both Muslims and tourists to the area, it seems that the general attitude in China towards minorities is keep the two cultures peacefully separate.These different lifestyles, belief systems, and customs are able to coexist but very little intermixing of the culture occurs. With so many ethnic groups coexisting in China is seems somewhat strange that such little interaction between lifestyles occurs, but with Han Chinese representing such a large proportion of the population, the traditionally ‘Chinese’ life is almost exclusively derived from the Han background.
Another interesting characteristic of the Chinese majority is whether a person is classified as Chinese or not. A minority that exists in Chinese is the children of ex-pats of ex-pats who have lived in the country for more than a decade. In America, an individual merely need to immigrate to the country and they can be considered an American. This is not the case in China, however; if a person does not look like the Han Chinese ethnicity, they are immediately assumed to not be Chinese, and to not know how to speak the Chinese language. Even if someone born and raised in China will be told that they are not Chinese due to their ethnic background.
This characteristic of the general Chinese population may seem somewhat uninviting and closed off, but it is just a reality of life in China. For over 5000 years, the Chinese culture has grown and changed into many different factions, each with unique customs and characteristics. While the majority of the Chinese population views their country’s minorities as separate entities, the remaining 55 ethnic groups are still vibrate, important parts of this ancient culture.
As my time in Iceland is coming to a close, I am both reluctant to leave and ready for my time of living out of a suitcase to be over. I have really grown comfortable in Reykjavík over the past several weeks, and my Icelandic has definitely improved greatly. I only with I had more time here!
View from the tower of Hallgrímskirkja (Hallgrim’s Church) in Reykjavík.
My favorite assignment for the Icelandic course was the “Interview with an Icelander” assignment, in which we had to ask an Icelander questions (in Icelandic), record the answers, and present our findings to the class (in Icelandic). I had been dreading this assignment the entire course because I am not the sort of person who feels comfortable accosting strangers in any tongue, let alone one in which I am only beginning to attain a tenuous competence. After completing the assignment, I was completely stunned to discover that this was my favorite part of my entire stay. I had to get over my fears of speaking to random strangers and manage to small talk with them for an extended period of time (again, something I hate doing in English anyway). They understood my Icelandic and clearly enjoyed talking with me (and correcting me, ha).
After one of our interviews with Icelanders, my friend and I treated ourselves to delicious waffles at a café!
In fact, my friend and I interviewed a total of five Icelanders for the assignment: three who the traditional wool sweaters, one who owns a bookshop, and one who works at Iceland’s Blue Lagoon skin product line. Three of these people worked at Kolaportið (the downtown flea market), four were born and raised in Reykjavík, and 5/5 say they like tourists (well, at least tourists bring in a lot of business). They all find Reykjavík expensive (this is definitely true). One dreams of moving to Italy where summers actually get really warm (she jokes that her ideal weather is 40 degree centigrade). Another has sung in a church choir ever since she was a little girl. The bookshop owner houses his bookshop in the same space where his grandfather had owned a printing press, and they want to open a museum about the history of book publishing in Reykjavík someday. Most of these Icelanders do not eat traditional Icelandic food very often (this includes delicacies like fermented shark and sheep’s head), except maybe skyr (which is kind of like Greek yogurt, and totally delicious) and pastries [rúgbruað (a sweet ryebread) and kleina (like a dough nut)]. I gained great insight into the great variety of interests and priorities of Icelanders in these conversations.
One of Reykjavík’s quirks: an American-style eatery with a laundromat in the basement.
While Reykjavík is quite a small city (about 220,000 in its greater metropolitan area), it didn’t feel like a small city to me. As I was busy in class for hours five days a week AND going on field trips during the weekends, I felt like I never ran out of anything to do. There are still many things in Reykjavík I have not done, but I really hope to come back in the future to continue my exploration of Iceland and its fascinating (and difficult) language!
Bless Bless! (Bye bye!)
I was lucky enough to catch a rainbow in this photo of Gullfoss, one of the most beautiful and gigantic waterfalls in Iceland. It is part of the Golden Circle Tour, an easy day-trip from Reykjavík.
When people think of the black market, they usually think of back alley drug deals led by tall, muscular tattooed men; however, in China, this couldn’t be farther from the truth. Huge shopping centers filled with individual venders, mostly middle-aged women under 5’5, occupy Beijing.
One of China’s biggest issues is counterfeited products, also known as “fake goods.” Name brand products are a very popular commodity all over the world, but China is one of the only places where you can get the latest trendy Louis Vuitton backpack for 1/20th of the price. Who’s buying these products? Foreigners from all over the world. How’s the quality? Indistinguishable from the real thing. Where can you buy them? Everywhere, but two very famous places are Hong Qiao Market and Silk Market in Beijing. You might be thinking, “hmm good quality…cheap price…readily available…what’s the catch?” Well, if you aren’t careful you can be easily fooled.
Last weekend, my friend, Sarah, and I, two third year Chinese students, ventured off to Hong Qiao Market. With around 400 RMB (roughly $60) in our pockets, we began to look around. At first glance, you see a hallway filled with nice looking, “mom-type” Chinese women; however, once you get close enough, they become ferocious. I was physically pulled (yes, they grabbed my arms) into their small stores while they screamed, “GIRL, HEY GIRL YOU WANT TO BUY BAG? HEY GIRL YOU WANT NEW GUCCI? HEY GIRL GIRL GIRL LOOK AT ME YOU WANT ADIDAS?!” First I was petrified, but after ten minutes, I was screaming right back at them in Mandarin. When they figured out I spoke their language, they were much less aggressive, and showed me back entrances to their better quality goods. After choosing several bags, I would bargain with them for 20 minutes at least, cutting down their initial price from around 500 RMB to 50 RMB. After several hours, those 400 RMB were well gone, but instead, I had 2 Gucci handbags, 4 Adidas sneakers, 1 Louis Vuitton phone case, 2 basketball jerseys, and 1 soccer jersey. Not bad right? Feeling pretty pleased with myself, I looked over at a 50 year old Russian woman speaking English with the Chinese shop owner. The Chinese woman sold her 1 bad quality Gucci purse for 4000 RMB. THAT’S $600! After that, Sarah and I quickly left the market filled with new “luxury” items.
While we managed to get good deals, we left the market completely exhausted. American malls are less work, but so much less fun!
First, I’m going to say that I’m extremely sorry that I haven’t updated this in quite a while. Life just keeps happening here and it seems like it won’t ever stop!
Second, let me update you finally!
After all the initial craziness and the first couple days of classes, I began to go to nearby coffee shops to do my work. Olga (my roommate in case you forgot) had mentioned that she had never had Starbucks before (WHAT?!) so we went there to do some work together. I was s-t-ruggling with my work and luckily a guy came over to help me with it! Olga and I got his contact information and ended up going to the Dead Sea with him! I know this sounds sketchy, but being a foreigner, it’s very common to have people approach you and want to become your friend since you speak English! Besides, how often can you go to the Dead Sea in your life? I guess as many times until you’re…. DEAD. Okay, that was bad.
Photo creds to the random lifeguard who took my phone without asking!
The weekend after that, Olga and I were invited by our friend Elias to go to Madaba, an area north of Amman, where we could go on a mountain and take some pretty sweet pictures. (If you look carefully, you can see the Dead Sea again). It was so nice because after we went to this amazing place, we went back to the home of his friend, Mohammed. I have NEVER drunk so much coffee and tea in my life. I’m not joking when I say I had about 6 cups of tea and 5 cups of coffee. Now these aren’t necessarily large cups, but still, continuously drinking coffee and tea can get kind off tiring and uncomfortable when your stomach becomes the size of a watermelon.
And this is what happens when they tell you to dance for some promotional video for a DJ in Russia!
Of course, my time here in Jordan wouldn’t have been complete if it didn’t continue the craziness that it had started with. Olga and I had decided to cook some noodles for dinner and we didn’t have a lot of bottled water left to boil so we used the water from the sink. Now, before you think that it wasn’t a good idea, I googled it to see if it was okay and everywhere I looked, I saw that you had to boil the water for 30 minutes. Not too shabby, I mean I even saw that you could purify water by adding bleach to it?! I was not about to drink bleach so I figured boiling it would be no problem. WRONG. After 40 minutes (I needed to be extra sure), our water had GREEN FOAM. GREEN!!! This next part was where I went wrong… I decided to pour the foam out and use the water anyways because how bad could it be? It was boiling for a while! Let me just say, it was pretty bad. I suffered the consequences of my mistake for about 5 days with only so much anti-nausea medication, but al-Hamdulilah! I finally overcame that just in time for our next trip!
Random photo shoot after some guy walked up to me and put some dust from a rock on my face! More natural than Bare Minerals!
That week, we went to Wadi Rum and Aqaba! I’ve already been to these places, but let me say, these are by far my most favorite places in all the world. In my opinion, I think they’re better than Petra, but of course, several others would disagree. Wadi Rum is a desert where there are several Bedouin camps for tourists to stay. That weekend, I was your typical tourist taking pictures of EVERYTHING. We first arrived in Wadi Rum and hiked around the rocks to get a pretty fantastic view of the camp and our surroundings. Afterwards, we went on this “Jeep” excursion (really, it was a pick-up truck with two benches in the back) around the area and saw some really cool things! For instance, in case you didn’t know, you can use the rocks to make make-up! There’s also a place where the Martian was filmed as well! AND there’s a plant that you can crush up and mix with water and make soap! You’ve got everything you’ve ever needed. Plus, at our camp, a great dinner was provided for us and following dinner was a HUGE dance party in the middle of the area. The best part was going out in the middle of the desert where there is absolutely no light, laying down in the warm sand, and looking up at the stars. You can see EVERYTHING—the Milky Way, shooting stars, constellations, airplanes, or whatever comes to your mind. It’s a beautiful time for reflection and relaxation, which you don’t really get while you’re here. It’s honestly my favorite feeling in the world because even in an unfamiliar country with so many crazy things going on around me, there’s a sense of peace that overcomes me. I can’t help but realize that regardless of how well things are going, there is a much larger picture of life that I can’t quite see, but I know that God has a mysterious way of fulfilling His will.
If you look closely, this is taken in front of the same rock that is in the other picture!! HOW COOL!
Photo creds to the amazing photographer riding in the other vehicle, Freja Ingelstam!
The morning after an extremely hot night in Wadi Rum, we headed to Aqaba for a luxurious day at the Red Sea! This is also the most beautiful and clear water I’ve ever seen, which is a good thing and a bad thing for me. In case you didn’t know, I HATE fish! I mean, they’re okay to look at but if they are anywhere near me, I will lose it. I definitely lost it quite a few times that day because a group of us decided to go out on a boat to see the coral reefs and swim further out in the water. Let’s just say I also learned how to swim REAL quick because I was NOT about to let some fish get anywhere near me. Despite all that, I absolutely loved the Red Sea and can’t wait to go back! Also, pictures will be coming your way in the next post!
The food was much more appealing than the awkwardness that appears in this photo
I also can’t forget to mention my language partner, Abeer! Her family was kind enough to prepare the traditional Jordanian dish, Mansaaf, for me to try and eat until I couldn’t eat anymore! Then they also made kataif for dessert, which is only made during the month of Ramadan. Talk about being welcomed with open arms! It was probably one of the best dishes I’ve ever tried in my life. Both of them! AND I ate with my hands, which is another one of my favorite things to do.
Every day, I always feel a range of emotions. Sometimes I want to cry because I’m going to miss this place or maybe the day was just very difficult for various reasons, other times I’m overwhelmed with joy because people will show me so much kindness that I’m so undeserving of. I can’t describe this trip in one word quite yet, but once I process everything, I’m sure I could describe it in a few words… I hope anyways! One thing that’s for sure is that I am learning more and more each day. Looking back, in the beginning, I didn’t feel confident in speaking to people at all. I’m not saying I’m the best or even good quite yet, but the amount of improvement that I’ve seen is something I’d consider an achievement. I’m able to understand significantly more now than I was before; now when people speak fast, I’m beginning to process the sentences as a whole rather than trying to translate every single word. THIS IS CRAZY TO ME! People can speak to me and I’m at the beginning stages of processing things in Arabic instead of English! The keyword here is “beginning.” I’m also learning patience in so many aspects. I expected to leave here almost fluent (wow, why did I actually believe that?), but I realize that there’s a lot more to learn to become fluent besides just vocabulary; I need to learn the culture in its entirety. Not just a short immersion, but I need to acquire every detail about this culture and language, or at least as much as I can! Stay tuned for my last couple weeks here!
This week marked the midpoint of my SLA, and I have to say I have the same feeling of dread about leaving Rome as I did last year at this time.
Gelato earlier this week with Huda
Besides beginning the second half of the semester, not much went on during the week. I did, however, make it to Nemi on Saturday! Getting there and and back from Rome was pure hell. I had taken the train from Rome’s central train station to Albano Laziale, the place where I should have changed busses last weekend. Upon arriving in Albano, I was greeted with closed shops and restaurants due to the month of vacation that Italians take in August, the feria d’agosto. I walked around the city for about 15 minutes and finally found an open bar to ask about the regional bus. When I entered, there were three men inside. I asked the barista where I could catch the bus, and then followed his directions to the bus stop outside. After about 5 minutes of waiting, someone drove up and waved to me to go into the car. I shook my head and he drove away. Five minutes later, he returned and asked if I was the girl from the bar trying to get to Nemi. I responded that I was, and he told me he was heading in that direction, so he would take me there.
Nemi!
Greeted by the frutti di bosco!
Skeptical as I was, no busses had been passing and the whole town seemed dead, so I got in. I ended up meeting Paolo, who was heading nearby Nemi to pick up a set of keys from his wife. He reassured me that I shouldn’t be skeptical, and that it was an off-day for the busses, so who knew if it would even pass. He dropped me off about 10 minutes later in Nemi. Once I got out and saw the cute, strawberry decked town, I shook of the stress of getting there and decided to walk around. The town, situated on a hill overlooking small Lake Nemi, was very local. I stopped first in a bar to have a lemon cake with fragoline, the sacred fruit that had driven me there in the first place. I sat outside and ate my cake in front of an unforgettable view of the lake.
Lago di NemiLemon cake with fragoline!Torta limone con le fragoline
Having previously researched some of the town attractions, I set out to find the remains of an ancient temple. After exiting the town gate, I found a panorama. I walked five minutes down and found a hiking trail. Using trusty google maps, I descended into the trail. Thirty or so minutes later, without a water bottle and facing the stifling heat, I felt so dehydrated. I was minutes away from the temple, and decided I should go anyway because there would probably be a concession stand there. I found a gate with an inscription of the Temple of Diana, and walked through. At the end of the drive, I found what seemed to look like a park shelter. Outside, there was a woman playing with a dog, and when I came back out, she asked me what was wrong. I explained to her that I was looking for the temple remains. She informed me that I was on private property–the temple was in the other direction–and that it was actually closed. Disappointed and thirsty, I thanked her and turned back toward the hiking trail that would take me back to the town center.
Nemi!Lakeview from the hike downSign for the Temple of Diana Remains
Uphill was worse, and the angle of the sun made it impossible for me to get back up without taking multiple breaks. By the time I reached the center and the drinking fountain in the piazza, I felt sick. I took a long drink of water and sat down at the bench. After sitting there for about 20 minutes, I decided I should figure out a way to get back into Rome. I opened up a taxi app that I had and requested a taxi for the next half hour. After rehydrating and learning that the taxis could only be requested to leave from Rome when the drivers didn’t show up, I decided I needed to find a way to get back to Albano Laziale to get a train back to Rome.
A site on my hike downhillCity gateFontana della GorgoneChurch gardens in Nemi
Google maps had a pretty clear walking route. After I bought a bottle of water and two containers of fragoline, I began the two hour walk back to Albano. In the end, I made it back to Albano and was able to catch a train back to Rome a half hour later (ironically, on the walk back, three regional busses passed by me when I wasn’t at a bus stop). Thankful to be home, I marveled at how strange the day had been and concluded that the universe really hadn’t wanted me to get to Nemi, and since I had arrived (against the universe’s wishes), it wasn’t going to be an easy trip. In the end, I can say that I got some nice photos and a lesson. If it’s too difficult to arrive, better to choose another destination! My fragoline ended up being smashed up by the time I reached my apartment, so I just made jam with them.
A fountain in Genzano di RomaGenzano di Roma, one of the towns on my walk back to Albano LazialeAriccia, on the way to Albano Laziale
Over the course of my time here in Saint Petersburg, I have had the opportunity to meet a variety of locals and tourists, see several holidays, and take part in the culture of the city. I have attended 5 major music concerts. First, I saw the last concert of the season by the St. Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra, playing works by famous Russian composers. I watched an open-air, free-to-the-public performance of the early Russian opera Ruslan and Lyudmila. Then, over the span of just six days, I saw Tchaikovsky’s famous ballet Swan Lake, Gounod’s French grand opera Faust, and lastly, Eugene Onegin, the most famous Russian opera. These were interesting experience not only musically but also linguistically. Opera is not easy to understand even in your native language, and trying to follow in Russian was a steep challenge.
The past week saw two holidays: Navy Day and Paratroopers’ Day. While I tried as best I could to experience them, this was not very easy. Navy Day, or День Военно-морского Флота (Den’ Voenno-morskovo flota), is a major holiday; Putin was present, along with dozens of navy ships. Unfortunately, this also brought remarkable crowds filling the streets and bridges. I gave up on trying to get to the Neva River to see the ships after about an hour. I was able to watch the fireworks display that night from my room. Luckily, I had previously seen several of the ships on the water on prior days.
Two of the several Russian Navy ships which I passed while on a boat cruise.
I did have the chance to learn more about the holiday and its significance. I talked to Sergey, the primary tour guide for my program’s excursions, about Navy Day. He told me about the history of the holiday, specifically its Soviet origins and now how it has spread to numerous other countries. It still marks one of the biggest days of Russian national pride: after all, Russia Day, their independence day, is not strongly celebrated—it marks freedom from itself, something many struggle to find pride in. Especially in the context of increasingly strained relations with the U.S., Navy Day is also a chance for Russia to flex its military might, another tradition dating to 1939, the first Navy Day in what was then the Soviet Union. Its primary and most official purpose, however, is for honoring the Russian Navy, just as with Memorial Day or Veteran’s Day in America. I also talked, while trying to weave through the crowds, to a Russian I met about the holiday. He viewed it less as a solemn celebration of the past and more of a chance for nationalistic braggadocio. For most Russians, he told me, it is primarily a chance to drink lots of vodka, see some cool military ships, watch fireworks, and feel patriotic pride. I related it to the way that many Americans celebrate the 4th of July.
Additionally, Paratroopers’ Day, in Russian День Воздушно-десантных Войсков (Den’ Vozdushno-desantnykh Voyskov, generally shortened to День ВДВ, Den’ VDV), occurred on Wednesday. While technically a celebration of the Russian Air Force—it is literally the Day of Air-landing Forces—in practice, most do not celebrate the holiday. Those who do are generally young men who wear light blue striped tank tops, drink large volumes of vodka, and swim in some of the many fountains around the city.
I, per the advice of those familiar with the holiday, avoided the celebrators, called paratroopers; I instead finally visited the Hermitage, the largest art museum in the world. There was far too much to possibly pick a favorite work of art, so I will cop out by showing not a painting or sculpture, but rather a throne: the Hermitage is housed in what was once the Winter Palace, and this is the throne room of the Russian emperors of old.
The Throne inside the Hermitage, once the Winter Palace
up going to the Dead Sea with him! I know this sounds sketchy, but being a foreigner, it’s very common to have people approach you and want to become your friend since you speak English! Besides, how often can you go to the Dead Sea in your life? I guess as many times until you’re…. DEAD. Okay, that was bad.
