Санкт-Петербург
Санкт-Петербург is the blue plastic covering that I tuck around my boots upon entering the gymnasium for class. The crinkle of my each and every step defines me as an outsider to the students and professors whom I pass in the hall.
Санкт-Петербург is the little old lady that sits in each museum room, her official badge granting her the power to frown at and scold visitors. She terrifies foreigners and natives alike with her ominous glare: "no photos! hands off! SHUSH!" Perhaps the Librarian from the Black Lagoon has come to life and taken over Russia's museums.
Санкт-Петербург is the ice-plastered street that holds me to a slow pace everywhere I go. I don't dare look around at my surroundings lest the ice attack and send me sprawling to the ground. The slip and slide games of my youth come to haunt each step I take. I'm engaged in an endless fight against the ground, and my many bruises prove the unavoidable strength of gravity.
Санкт-Петербург is lying facedown on my floral bedspread, an Egyptian-themed pillow tucked beneath my stomach and a pen held tight in my hand. Words fly from my mind onto the pages of my journal, and I collect memories from the day in cases of letters and jars of paper.
Санкт-Петербург is learning and practicing the words "зеленый чай, пожалуйста" (green tea, please) during each cafe and restaurant visit. The drink has become an integral part of my Russian experience; I haven't gone a day without holding a steaming teacup in my hand.
Санкт-Петербург is getting to know Victoria; sprawling out on my brown plaid blanket, eating pastries, drinking tea, and chatting for hours about family, literature, boys, language, tattoos, travel, Shakespeare, and our futures. Superficially we have little in common: her brown curly hair and dancer frame contrasts sharply with my straight light locks and full body; dig a little deeper and we are similar at heart, romantics the both of us.
Санкт-Петербург is people-watching on the metro escalator: the hats and gloves and fur are fun, but I find the expressions fascinating. I ponder the destination of the smiling elderly gentleman with a bouquet of flowers in his hand; I wonder what would bring a smile to the dour-faced girl; I blush when I make awkward eye contact with a stranger from across the aisle.
Санкт-Петербург is the pigeon that always refuses to move out of my path. Dear pigeon: I understand that you live in a city full of people and you're probably used to humans by now, but I'd really rather not trip on you (the ice sends me to the ground often enough!). So if you could please, please, not walk right in front of me and decide to hang out by my feet, that would be much appreciated. Sincerely, Girl Who Would Rather Not Step On You.
Санкт-Петербург is missing the friends and family I've left behind, and trying to balance emails, photos, blogs, and messages with face to face interactions and city exploration. It's feeling sad that I'm not with those that I love, feeling glad to have such wonderful support back home, feeling lucky to go to a college I'm looking forward to returning to, and feeling excited to see new and old friends so very soon.
Love from Санкт-Петербург,
Shonabell
