Salutations from Russia! Yeah yeah I know-- there are three
Lenz brothers and you aint one of em so who are you? Well, dear reader, my name
is Patrick, infamous cousin of the Lenz family. Introductions aside, it’s
probably worth providing a little context as to why a young Irish American is
studying in Russia. I attend university in the United States, and study
political science and economics; with the intention of working in international
business in the future. Russia is a great language to learn not only because of
the country’s relevance to the global economy, but also because the language
itself is quite beautiful. Any questions? Great. We’ll jump in then.
On August 27th, I landed in St. Petersburg’s
airport Polkovo on a plane from Heathrow with thirty other odd individuals
studying abroad. My Russian is by no means brilliant, but it’s passable and I’m
good at charades. Anyway, getting off the plane, everyone hops into passport
control lines, where a stoic blond officer looks at your visa, says you’re here
legally, and gives it back to you with a gesture to the gate. Luckily, I was
one of the first people through to baggage claim, and all of our bags have
these handy green tags to help us identify them. I grabbed every bag with the
green tag and as people from the program came through they could take their bag
and be on their way instead of waiting by the conveyer belt. But dear reader,
no good deed goes unpunished. After everyone got their bag and went through, I
was still missing a bag.
So begins the saga of dealing with Russian authorities…
The bag wasn’t on the conveyer belt, so I’m assuming it’s at
another belt or it’s my unlucky day and my bag is in Germany or Estonia. A
Russian TSA type man was standing by the exit of the international section of
the baggage claim. An older gentleman, I approached him and asked what I should
do if I didn’t receive my bag. He directed me to another woman. Go straight and
take a left and there’s a desk, he said. Fateful words. I followed his
directions and noticed his impatience. At the next desk sat a petite blonde
woman with nothing on her desk, no computer or notepad or pen. I asked if she
spoke English, a question I’ve come to consider useless in the past 48 hours,
and prompted her for directions on what to do about my bag. She directed me to
another woman at another desk. Continue down this hallway and go left, she
said. After bouncing around to 3 other attendants, I accepted the possibility
that Polkovo Airport may double as purgatory in the summertime. I also realized
that the entire group had left the baggage claim through the security line, and
so I went past security and met with the program directors and the 29 other baggage
wielding students. One of the program directors showed me to another attendant,
who, after speaking to both of us in Russian, told me in fluent English to go
down a hallway and take a left and tell the clerk what happened. After this, I received my bag from the clerk
she directed me to.
(This is the Winter Palace in downtown St. Petersburg in the background)
The dorm building is a large nondescript apartment complex
type structure. The rooms are comprised of a common area fitted with a hot
plate, a fridge and sink, as well as two separate bedrooms fitted with two
small beds each, and a bathtub/shower. There is a woman who manages the hall
not unlike an RA, only she’s 54, smokes more than a chimney, and likes Russian
soap operas A LOT.
Before you say “Oh that’s textbook Russia, Pat!” it’s not. I’m
going to stop that blitzkrieg train of thought like a Russian winter. People
here are quite warm despite their cold outward appearance. Smiling is a lot
less popular here, as in if you ever come to Russia don’t smile at strangers or
clerks unless you make them laugh or know them. Next time, I’ll talk a little
bit about history and my first week of formal education among Russians!
Russian Phrase of the Post: иди налево (ee--dee Na Leyvah) Go left
