The Russian Apartment

To set the mood for what you may feel upon approaching the building, I have asked Victor Pelevin to share some thoughts:

The wide boulevard and the houses standing along both its sides were like the lower jaw of an old Bolshevik who, late in life, has arrived at democratic views. The oldest houses were from the Stalinist period—they towered up like wisdom teeth coated with the brown tarnish produced by many years of exposure to coarse shag tobacco. For all their monumental quality they seemed dead and brittle, as though the nerves in them had long ago been killed off by arsenic fillings. The sites where the buildings of former years had been destroyed now bore the crudely protruding prostheses of eight-story apartment blocks. In short, it was a gloomy spectacle. The only bright spot against this background of gloom was a business center built by the Turks, its pyramidal form and neon glitter transforming it into the likeness of some immense gold fang covered in drops of fresh blood. Up in the sky the full moon blazed brightly like a dentist’s lamp poised on its extending arm to throw all of its light into the patient’s mouth.

The Tarzan Swing
Victor Pelevin

Oh, well, Victor kind of got carried away there, didn't he? Let's just walk up the stairs and not get in that elevator. Ah, here is our door. Welcome, welcome to my home! Come inside, please...No, really, Victor is just a fiction author. He has no idea what he's talking about.


Please, hang your coat on the coat rack here, and be sure to remove your shoes as they are covered in snow.


The first room to your left here is the room I share with my roommate, Emily.


Oh, I know! It's so tiny! There are about six inches between our beds, but the room is quite tall, which helps.


Don't you just love our view? I actually really do because of the brick and stone facades, the old windows, and collection of wires and chimneys that somehow attract magpies. One time, we woke up and saw an old man standing on the roof there, shoveling snow. He hovered right over the edge with ease.


Let's check out the rest of the apartment! We have a little couch here in our hall/living room. The next room to the left is a large room with a television, where Alexandra and Liz sleep. I don't know where they are right. Hopefully, they will be home soon. You will really like them.


Please, take note of the closet here. Jorge usually sleeps in here as it is the most private room in the house. I have spent an afternoon in the dark, quiet, isolated luxury that is the "cave," as we call it. It's also a guest room. Would you like to stay the night?


We have a lovely bathroom. The water temperature is difficult to control, but the room itself is rather warm.


Here is the highlight of our apartment: the beautiful kitchen!!


I know, we do have a lot of modern appliances! I feel very lucky. Here, sit down at our table. Have some cookies. I'll make you a cup of tea.

It's settled then! I live in St. Petersburg.

Last semester, I lived in Irkutsk, Russia, which is in eastern Siberia. English was not very prevalent. This being my first experience as a student of the Russian language, it was overwhelming to say the least (the very least). One day, I had a short, memorable conversation with the international student coordinator at my university. She asked me how my Russian language studies were coming along. I told her it was going good, but that I felt like I was in over my head. I usually tried not to use idioms with Russian speakers too often as they can be quite confusing, but I let it slip. She really flew with the concept though and likened my life in Irkutsk to a great ocean of Russian language. She said, “Yes, you are trying to keep your head above water.” We were laughing at this point, as idioms become very fun and engaging for non-native speakers of English no matter the simplicity. Then, I said, “I think I’m drowning, actually.” And she ended it by saying, “No, you are learning to swim.” There is no better way to define the agonizing process of learning a foreign language upon arrival to its native land. You literally lose your breath at times.

This semester, I live on the opposite end of Russia in a more familiar city: St. Petersburg. The distance between St. Petersburg and Irkutsk is 2,744 miles or 4,416 kilometers. The United States is about 3,000 miles wide.


(the little red line leading to Novosibirsk references my solo trip from December)

I live in an apartment with five other Americans: Liz, Alex, Jorge (pronounced like George), and Emily. We all travelled here through the same program, The School of Russian and Asian Studies.


(red star=HOME!)

The apartment is within walking distance of some of the most famous parts of the city. The fact that I am this close to the Russian Museum, which holds some of my most beloved paintings, makes my heart flutter. The metro we take to school every day is on Nevsky Prospect, a rather loved and special avenue.



I arrived here only yesterday evening. After a couple pleasant flights, and the beautiful sight of my luggage at the baggage claim, I walked into St. Petersburg to find a Russian man holding a sign with my name on it. He was short, wearing a bulky, black fur hat, and had the face of Jack McGee. He only spoke Russian. He tried to make small talk about the weather as we left the airport, but I was speaking rather poor Russian. He pointed into the distance and said, “The white bus.” It was a white, unmarked mashrutka, which is a giant van. I was a little unnerved. Maybe just for the fun of it, I thought that perhaps this was a giant set up to kidnap me. I am in the CIA, after all.

Anyway, we arrived at the address for my future apartment building to find a sunglasses storefront. He walked up and down the block, looking for what would look like the entrance to an apartment building. He couldn’t find anything. I realized then that I didn’t have my future roommates’ phone numbers. Liz, Alex, and Jorge have been here for a semester now and own phones. The driver pulled out his phone and called a couple people, shouting vigorously. I had to remember that shouting does not always mean someone is upset in Russia. I was nervous though. Would I have to stay in a hotel? Once again, for the fun of it, I thought of the worst: me piling into all my clothes, walking the dark streets of St. Petersburg, and finally, stuffing myself in my suitcase just to keep warm.

It was about fifteen minutes of “I don’t know what to do,” repeated from the driver, when a young girl walked up to the van. It was Liz. Her driver had the same problem when she arrived, so she checked up on the situation. I was extremely relieved.

Upon entrance into the new homestead, I immediately settled down with Liz and Alex in a question session: How is the water? Are large bills a problem? Does the washing machine over here work? How are the classes? Is there a lot of homework? Where is the nearest grocery store? ATM?

(For those of you in Irkutsk, there is a washer and DRYER, yo!)

The apartment is big and warm. Vaulted ceilings. Old, peeling wallpaper. Creaky, wooden floor. Photos to come! I found it an especially good omen that there was a chunky, plastic sword under my bed. I slept like a safe little stone.

Today, Liz showed Emily and me the way to the metro, where we met with the international student coordinator, Volodya. Emily and I spent an hour with him at the philology department of the St. Petersburg State University campus. The university is spread across the entire city with some departments in the suburbs. The philology department is in an old building overlooking the Neva, which is frozen over. The stair case intrigued me: worn by footsteps, pebbly rocks poke out from an old foundation. I imagine a future moment of scaring everyone by photographing the floor.

Emily and I had to do a placement test of 100 multiple-choice questions. We had one hour. I haven’t taken a test in years. It was kind of fun and exhilarating. I failed terribly. But I was extremely excited when I reached questions I knew to be right. It’s a glass half-full, half-empty thing. I either failed half the test or passed half the test. I choose passed.

After that, we ate lunch, ran a couple errands and came home. It was nothing like my first day in Irkutsk: no bus crash, no sweating profusely, no stress. And you know what? I found soy milk.