way from paradise.
The other thing is, we Americans are inostrani-foreigners. The poor shape of the economy has driven many Russians to ultra-nationalism, which is a natural complement of xenophobia. Some of us have bought Russian clothes (how to dress like a Russian: Leather jacket with optional fur collar, leather pants, leather shoes, leather hat with furry lining, and just to be on the safe side, a leather shirt and leather socks), but the fact that we speak almost no Russian kills the impression of Russian-ness whenever we open our mouths. And when we do speak English on the street, or haul out the map or camera, the looks we get are not pleasant. People look at you, glance away, then look back, and keep their eyes locked on to you for threefourfivesix seconds- far too long. It's an ugly look, a look which says, "You're not from around here. You're different. You're bad. I don't like you." It's no different from the looks a Russian or German or Japanese tourist would receive on the streets of any place in the US where tourists aren't common. The two groups of Americans in Petersburg are basically academics like us and businessmen who come to Russia to invest money and look for trophy wives. I'm not exaggerating - that's what they do.). But from my standpoint, a relatively young, relatively sheltered person from a fairly homogeneous small American town, getting the inostrani look is not pleasant. I don't think anyone anywhere likes it- the question really is, why does anybody give it?
My situation, though, is in general not too bad. We live in a large apartament with 15-foot-high ceilings, which looks out onto Nevskii Prospekt. Nevskii Prospekt is to St. Petersburg what 5th Avenue is to New York; only Nevskii is wider and more crowded. For a more local analogy, imagine Lisbon Street multiplied by a factor of about 40,000. School for me is a language class in which I am the only student, and a history and culture class taught by my father- a somewhat embarrassing circumstance, especially when he does his impression of a mosh pit in front of everybody (don't ask). Russian language learning style is a little different from ours- I speak only the bare bones of Russian (as in, "I don't understand." "I do not speak Russian." and so on...) whereas the Russian students of English who have been studying our language for the same amount of time that we've been studying theirs already know enough to severely embarrass us in social situations. That's because they're used to Russian teaching style, which is basically, "YOU WILL LEARN. LEARN THESEWORDS. MEMORIZE THEM. KNOW THEM. BY TOMOROW." A little bit of a change from Latin I with Mr. Fortier.
Well, I seem to be out of space. In fact, I was probably out of space three or four pages ago but I sort of got carried away. Anyways, next time (if there is a next time) I will have been to Moscow, and surely have some sort of insight or lame joke (While cleaning apartament, to Mom: "Are you going to do the...Lenin? Or are you just...Stalin?" Get it? Get it?) or some random gibberish to fill the empty pages of the Blue Blaze. Oh yeah, and by the way, I'm getting back December 9th, which means... I DON'T HAVE TO TAKE THE MEAS! I DON'T HAVE TO TAKE THE MEAs!  NEENER NEENER NEENER

By: Jacob Parakilas
Am I actually here? I pinch myself often, just to make sure. Every time the answer is the same, yet even after more than two months in Russia, I can hardly believe it. What am I, a high school junior from Lewiston, doing in St. Petersburg?
There is an answer, of course. My father, a professor at Bates College, is part of a Fall Semester Abroad program which takes students to different countries where they study language and culture in a total immersion environment. Not wanting to miss out on the excitement and adventure, my mother and I tagged along. But still... what exactly am I doing here?
I suppose the surreality comes from being basically dropped into an environment completely and utterly different from Lewiston. Living in an apartment instead of a house, getting around by subway instead of by car, going to two classes instead of eight, hanging around with college students instead of people my own age, paying virtually nothing to go to the theater or a concert, looking out the window and seeing onion domes and Cyrillic writing... it's all so amazingly different I can still hardly believe it.
Mostly it's wonderful. The Russians, once you get to know them, are amazingly generous, open-minded, and friendly- though trying to get onto a narrow escalator simultaneously with about 2000 of them is a little tiring. Many things are astonishingly cheap- CDs are 70 roubles a pop (about $2.50), most concerts cost so little that they're basically free, and so on. The weather has been exceptionally nice and many parts of the city are beautiful.
But there are some things that aren't so good. The police force is underpaid and suffers from the left over oppressiveness of the Communist era- I've been stopped and searched for absolutely no reason; others in our group have had money stolen as "fines" by corrupt cops. The incredible pervasiveness of alcohol consumption, and total lack of a drinking age means that drunks are everywhere. The sudden disappearance of social welfare programs has left many people out on the street, with no choice but to beg for change and sleep on the floor of the metro. Many buildings appear to be on the verge of falling down; the waters of the River Neva which flows through the city are a sickly brown color, much worse than the Androscoggin, and the average Russian car has no brakes to speak of, which makes being a pedestrian considerably more dangerous. It's wonderful, but it's a long

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