gender relations, as observed in the metro

Now, most of my time here I spend with one of three groups of people: (1) the other American students in the program, (2) my host family, or (3) the girls from church and/or Cru. While this is awesome and very comfortable for me, it means that I don’t get a lot of time to observe standard, “normal” interactions between Russian men and Russian women. The time I do get for such an activity is pretty much exclusively in the metro. Here’s what I’ve gleaned:

1. chivalry lives. Yes, I sometimes have to stand in the metro. That’s fine. But I’ve very rarely seen an older woman standing, and, in fact, it’s uncommon to see many women at all standing if there are men sitting down. And if there is a group of Russian men and women travelling together, it is very normal for the men to let the women sit, and then stand in front of them, even if the metro is empty enough that they too could sit. (Note: this is immensely helpful to conversation.)
2. so does physical affection. The metro feels so very public to me—it’s strange to see couples cuddling for the duration of five stops on the metro line and apparently oblivious to the masses of society around them. And then there’s the escalator. In the course of riding from the bottom to the top, I once counted four couples making out on the escalator opposite me.
3. flowers are very serious business. I have actually gathered this other places, but it’s especially clear in the metro. Most metro stations in the city have at least one flower shop directly outside. Usually, it’s a 24-hour flower shop (who buys flowers at 3am, please tell me). On “International Women’s Day” (which is apparently not quite international to have made its way to America?), about 70% of the women I saw in the metro were carrying flowers they’d been given. That’s a lot of flowers.
4. why stop a woman? Considering the proportion of women-men in this country (I’ve heard as high as 3-1), the proportion of women-men who get “randomly” stopped and searched by the police in the metro is very very very low. I’d guess 1-8, at least. This is probably because…
5. women are automatically less sketchy than men. It’s not very common, but you will see people begging in the metro. Maybe this is not solely due to gender, but Russians are much more likely to give money to the babushka with an icon in a tupperware container or even the young woman sitting on a pillow than to the old man with a sign asking for help to buy medicine.

I probably could have included a point about the way people here dress, but (a) a list of 5 points is about 200% better than a list of 6, and (b) you definitely don’t need to go into the metro to notice something about that.

words to the wise

I am here! I’ve actually been here for about 24 hours, but more on that later. For now, I would like to fill you in on the 12 hours prior, aka Katie Travels From Washington To Russia By Herself.
In Dulles, I was all set to sit down in my lonely little gate for a lonely little 7 hours before my flight took off. I had gotten through security very easily (nobody even needed to pat down my hair!), and my luggage was all under the weight limit. I would sit, draw up Russian vocabulary lists, make last minute phone calls, and write cards to a few friends.

But the best laid plans of mice and men are silly when you’re in an airport. I found two of the other girls, Stephanie and Nicole (who were also travelling separately from the group), and we chatted for a while. Meanwhile, I drank like three days’ worth of Vitamin C via a very expensive juice drink. Everything, I have learned, is very expensive in an airport. Their flight left about two hours before mine, at which point I started looking to mail my cards.

Word to the wise: there are no mailboxes in Dulles. Also, thanks to frequent intercom announcements about not accepting packages from strangers, there is nobody willing to take your mail and send it for you. Sigh.

The first flight was the long one. Thanks to the fact that I was travelling alone, and the fact that not many people travel to northern Europe this time of year, I shared a 4-seat row with a very nice Indian lady. She helped me find my boarding pass when I dropped it (oops). I scooted over, we each had two seats, and all was lovely. Including the food. Wow, that meal was good.

Another word to the wise: when Air France tells you they’re going to serve you “fruit compote,” it’s probably just a cup of Mott’s applesauce. Which is great. Also, their mango cake is, as we say, очень вкусно.

I didn’t sleep much, but all was otherwise good until descent, when my ears started hurting really badly. Ouch. The flight was approximately 7pm-2:30am EST. Dinner was at 8:15, breakfast was at 1. Time to begin the jet-lagging of the eating schedule.

Layover was nothing special. I was tired, hungry, and thirsty, but I didn’t have any euros or anyone to watch my stuff while I sleep, so I powered through.

It was during this time that I realized I was wearing/carrying not one… not two… no, five different plaids. I felt really self conscious for the rest of the day. It was not intentional. It just happened that my shirt, scarf, hat, backpack, and carry-on were all mismatched plaids.

Yet another word to the wise: when you see something plaid you want to wear, consider carefully. It does not lend itself to matching things.

4/5 plaids. Интересно, что в русском языке нет слова "plaid," или нет слова в моей словари.

THEN I had THREE SEATS to myself on the flight to St. Petersburg. I slept a little more. The lunch was not as good… some strange potato salad stuff, a piece of chicken that was literally bright orange, and some bread. I felt super sick to my stomach already (nerves and sleeplessness), so I just ate a few pieces of potato and the bread. But still, three seats to myself.

I arrived in St. Petersburg with no problem. Got through customs very easily. Met up with the group not long after. Began speaking Russian, and by that I mean pointing and grunting “Вот, вот,” for whatever it was, because it was 8am EST, and my brain had roughly the consistency and intelligence of that Mott’s applesauce.

Last word to the wise: sleep is important.