Petersburgian Case File #3: Going Home [without my burden]

Newton, or one of those smart science people they forced me to learn about in high school to little avail, said that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. I must have been absent for that lecture as I walked a friend home last night not really contemplating that I would then have to walk myself back to my house after doing so. It is one of those walks that seems perfectly fine to make, when you don't think about the fact that the minute you are done you are going to have to make it again in the opposite direction. So there I was, walking the streets of Petersburg near midnight, bundled up in my gray Ecko hoodie* - very tasteful - hood on my head to protect myself from the cold, slight slouching of the back to keep away the wind. Now they say St. Petersburg is as safe or unsafe as any other big city but of course when one is out of their element they feel a little less comfortable, a little less safe, a little more hyper-aware of their surroundings. And so I shuffled along trying to walk at a decently quick pace, gray Ecko hoodie over my head, a bottle of water I had recently bought in a cafe in my pocket. And as I turned onto a new, not particularly well lit street, and found myself walking about 30 ft behind somebody else - another male, probably mid-20s. Assessing the situation as best I could I tried to maintain the distance between us. And then he turned around to look at me. And then he turned around to look at me again. And then he turned around to look at me a third time. And as I started slowing down, anticipating he would do likewise, and started thinking about how I could run across the 3 lanes of traffic to the other side of the street if necessary he began to...speed up a little and I realized that in my gray Ecko hoodie (various inane writings scrawled over it - very tasteful), and my slouch against the wind, and the unidentifiable bottle in my pocket, he wanted to get away from me as much, if not more, than I wanted to get away from him. To quote a popular television series, in that moment I realized that I had become the one who knocks. And just like it did for our dear friend Mr. White it felt absolutely wonderful. Maybe next time I go out at night I'll couple that hoodie with some baggy sweatpants and a few clanking chains, start grumbling to myself about Trotsky whenever I pass anyone by. No more half-measures.

*Its warm and its relatively cheap, and its made of cotton, damn it! Don't judge me.

Petersburgian Case File #2: Fortified, for your protection

You know you feel very safe when the number of bouncers standing outside a dive bar equals or exceeds the number of total occupants that can fit into said bar. [Its simple mathematics really. The owners just assume that the sort of people who frequent their bar may, at one fine moment, collectively (this is Russia after all) become violent and so they try to maintain a 1:1 ratio of enforcers to customers to put down any such revolt.] And the dive bar is, of course, playing all of your favorite American hits of the 80s and 90s. I'm all for immersing oneself in the culture but with the average lifespan of a male here being 58, I must admit I don't care all too much to set my sites on being a statistical median. So there we stood, my friend's bag being searched by one of these 6 foot tall, quite likely former god knows what [KGB?], as we tried to get into a small, crowded, smoky bar full of very hip looking Russians who were listening to the Rednex version of Cotton-Eyed Joe.

Petersburgian Case File #1: Bon Appétit!

We went to our first restaurant in the city a few nights back. When we attempted to sit down at a table the waiter, seeing four decently dressed, not repulsive looking (if you allow me the indulgence to say so myself) Americans, decided that having us sit in the front of the restaurant would negatively effect the sophisticated ambiance of the establishment created by the 'dapper', 60-something, sweaty Russian gentleman with the massive hookah on their table, and conveniently moved us to a table behind a column - for our dining pleasure. Before dinner we ordered drinks. I indulged myself with a lovely red wine. Though it didn't say so on the menu I imagine it was a Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, 1997 Vintage as it tasted like a drop of vodka mixed with Robitussin and a crushed Maraschino cherry. Granted, not knowing local customs or having the keen intellect necessary to properly convert things by 30, I realized after we left that we ended up leaving a tip of about $3 on a more than $50 meal. Maybe he was right to put us in the back after all.

Bienvenidos!

Bienvenidos niños y niñas. Mi nombre es...Shit I think I got that wrong. Let me try again. здравствуйте - there we go. Translate text or webpage

Alpha