I wasted time for the last couple of days in St. Pete, to be honest. I was completely worn out, I had picked up a cold at some point in Kyiv, the weather was cold and rainy, and I had nothing I needed or wanted to do. I tried to go to an internet cafe the day before I left, but was unsuccessful in finding one that was still open and not being raided by the authorities (speaking of which, Cafe Maxx on Nevsky may not be open next time you visit. Just a heads up.), which is why you are reading all of this after the fact. I went to dinner on my last night with Pete and a couple of his friends who were visiting from Denmark, and we had a nice, if unremarkable time. I also had one last beer in the beer garden Christine and I frequented this summer, said my good-byes to Tavrichesky Park, and got packed up.
Thursday was a day full of travel, but it all went remarkably smoothly, thankfully enough. I did get stopped by the customs service on my way out of Logan International, and the guy kind of acted like a dick, unfolding all my neatly folded dress clothes and throwing them into a pile, et cetera. However, he also insisted that I open up every doll in one of the matryoshkas (the nesting dolls), which led to the hilarity of me opening the first five or so until he got bored and just let me move on through. Thanks to Elizabeth and Jessica, I had a quick trip back to Jayson and Greg's house to spend the night. The next day (yesterday) I moved in to my dorm, and now we are here. So that pretty much wraps up my summer.
I figure no short-term journal can be complete without a bit of retrospection, but I'll keep it brief. Working in St. Petersburg was in many ways a very good experience. Even when not always as interesting or exciting as some seem to have thought it must have been ("but you are working in RUSSIA!" is a phrase I heard on several occasions), I certainly learned a lot. My Russian improved, I got valuable job experience and strong recommendations from the top two officers at the consulate, and I got to waste time in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Not too shabby.
People occasionally ask me why I got into doing Russian stuff. Now that I actually think about it, people, either face-to-face or via applications, ask me this question constantly. Usually, I've answered with sort of an askance look and exasperated shrug, or some overly-academic essay to the tune of "well, I've always been interested in foreign cultures, and I vaguely remember the collapse of the Soviet Union and the thought of a giant country with great literature and a fascinating political situation appeals to me, blahblahblah..." But I've finally started to get a grasp on what it is. And unfortunately, try as I have for a while, there are no words that really suffice to explain it. I could construct a really trite and belabored metaphor, but I'll spare us all that indignity. No, such an interest in Russia, and I'm sure many of my compatriots feel the same way, doesn't bear thorough description.
Ultimately, Russia is a cruel and exacting mistress. And for some reason, despite the flaws; the dirt and grime; the wild mood swings that range from cold, dark stares to sweaty, profuse displays of affection; the tests of strength, patience, and willpower; I love her.
C
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