Per aspera ad astra

Without intentionally sounding like fatalist, it’s undeniable that certain people are made for certain professions. They discover a passion for something at an early age, go through the appropriate steps, and enter into the career of their dreams.

Since I don’t really think that anyone passionately dreams of being an ESL teacher, I’m obviously not one of those people. In fact, I generally choose jobs that, at the time, I am completely unsuitable for. I hated talking on phones- became a telecounselor; I couldn’t cook for my life- I became an assistant cook. And now here I am in Vladimir, Russia teaching- something quite a few of my friends still can’t imagine me doing. But I can’t ignore the fact that these have been my best jobs ever; obviously I’ve had to learn a thing or two and get over some fears, but it’s all been for the best.

And now I’ve got a phone interview with the Wild Salmon Center in Oregon for a position as their Russian Program Assistant (basically they work on conservation issues ) Aside from the one class I took at Cornell where I researched tilapia and learned about methylmercury concentrations in fish, and my intermediate Russian skills, I’ve got little to no background skills to make me incredibly qualified for such a job. But at the same time, it’s incredibly appealing. I’ve reasoned out that this is probably because I am interested in virtually anything, and the idea of being bored with menial work that I’m already an expert in is incredibly unappealing. I’d much rather jump into something completely unfamiliar in the hopes of new experience and knowledge (which has worked this far). Stupid and impulsive? Probably. And it certainly doesn’t make much of a dent in my student loans. But at least I’m not stuck in a job that I despise.
Anyway, just a few musings. Now I’m off to have my first individual student lesson with Lolita!

Part II: Paris.

After celebrating New Years in London, it was time to hop on our Eurostar train to Paris. For the record, riding first class is amazing (my mom’s a travel agent and got a spectacular deal). There were only four or five other people in our car (which could probably seat around 40 comfortably), so my mom and I moved seats several times. For our meal (see below) we got salmon, veggies, some rice stuff, a chocolate brownie-ish thing and tasty wine. Oh, and REAL silverware. You can’t beat that.

The train ride was quick, but we did have some beautiful views of the countryside.


We took the double-decker bus tour around again, starting at the Eiffel Tower. The weather was pretty crappy, but I risked the icy-rain and climbed to the top of the bus for some pictures.

If you can’t tell, I’m pretty cold. Anyway, the tour took us past all of the key locations. Being the tool I am, I read The Hunchback of Notre Dame right before we left, and was therefore very excited when we got to the church.

Believe me, I was not disappointed. The church is just as beautiful inside as it is outside and I finally understand why Hugo decided to use up 50-odd pages describing it over the course of the book.

During our bus tour, I was having the weirdest sort of deja vu, which I realized was due to the fact that Paris is strikingly similar to Saint Petersburg (a fact echoed by Molly, who visited Petersburg over break). Here’s the evidence:

I. Pretty: Paris and Petersburg are both obsessively pretty cities. Elaborate architecture, cute shops, etc. It’s all about being chic and beautiful. Not that I’m complaining of course…

A view of Paris from the top of the Tour Eiffel.

II. Bridges: Paris is on the Seine, Petersburg’s on the Neva, and the elaborate bridges that result from this in both cities are ridiculous.

Alexander III bridge in Paris. (Appropriately enough, one of the more famous bridges in Petersburg is Alexander Nevsky Bridge)
III. Palaces: The standard SAT vocab format. Hermitage: Louvre as Peterhof:Versailles. Regarding the first set, each used to be a royal palace, are now world-famous art museums. The second pair used to be a royal palace slightly outside the city, now are world-famous renovated palaces open for tourism. Coincidence? I think not. Check it out for yourself:

Top: Fountains/Gardens at Peterhof Bottom: Same at Versailles
IV. Blini v. Crepes: I really don’t have to explain this. Both are essentially thin pancakes that you can put anything in, from jam to Nutella to caviar. I saw this crepe stand in Paris that was pretty much identical to the set-up at most Teremok stands in Petersburg.

V. Champs-Elysses=Nevsky Prospekt: The main streets in Paris and Petersburg, respectively, they are the centers of everything that good capitalism stands for. Lots of shops and restaurants, lots of people, and even more money circulating on a regular basis.

I could go on, but some coincidences are a little weaker (Marinskii Theater/Marigny Theater, Peter and Paul Fortress/Bastille, etc). Anyway, I think my point has been made

In general, Paris was a good time; and despite popular belief, I had only one impolite Frenchman experience during the break. I got to Charles de Gaulle airport with plenty of time to spare before my flight (thankfully, because checking-in online did me no good since I had to wait in line for an hour to check my bags). I had some lunch and read quite a bit of Clancy’s Rainbow Six before I could go through security. After I successfully completed the passport control/security procedure, I noticed a huge sign saying that anything I buy beyond this point could be taken on the plane. (Due to recent terrorist plans/paranoia, there are weird restrictions on liquids) Excellent, because I was thirsty. I bought some candy and two bottles of water, making sure to leave one unopened, just in case. I had finished about half of one when boarding was announced. At this point, there was (strangely) another security point, where a surly guard mumbled something in English. I asked him (in English) to repeat himself and he decided that I was an idiot and started speaking French, which I definitely don’t understand.

He eventually got it across that I was not allowed to take the water in my hand on the plane. I told him I bought it at the kiosk, literally twenty feet from the gate, but no dice. Since I didn’t feel like missing my plane/being arrested that evening, I relinquished my half-opened water and put my purse through the scanner. At this point, he started waving his arms about and told me he needed to examine my purse. Sure, Francois. He took out my unopened water and started pointing at it, telling me that “zees vater eez not acceptable”. I then decided that I valued my 2 euros more than my freedom and pointed out another large sign that clearly said that it was, in fact, acceptable. After a short staring contest and some angry words, his supervisor came by and informed him that there was no problem. He wasn’t too pleased, and angrily took my lipgloss out of my bag and threw it in a plastic bag, (I think) to spite me (as the previous security check hadn’t found any issue with it).

Fortunately, everything else with my journey home went well. I connected at Heathrow and arrived in Moscow at 4 am, somehow found my way to the train station and half-fell asleep on my luggage on the way back to Vladimir. I woke up surrounded by fat babushki gossiping on the benches around me, and a group of teenagers drinking beer across the aisle (at 10 am on a Sunday, folks). That is when I knew I was really back in Russia.

Part I: London

Let’s start with my journey (since that’s half the story, or so they say). I got on a ridiculously early train to Moscow, considering my flight wasn’t until nearly 9:30 at night. I figured I’d get a blini at Teremok near the station (closed for technical b.s.) and then spend a few hours people-watching at Red Square (which was blocked off by several hundred police officers and their dogs). With those plans out of the question, I made my way reluctantly (and as slowly as possible) to Domodedovo, arriving there at the ripe old hour of 4. And as nice as DME is, there is no Starbucks in sight. Needless to say, I was tired and a little cranky by the time my British Airways flight boarded.

Now it was time to relearn another important fact of life. See, when I get tired, my body’s natural response is to sleep. When the two year old who sat in front of me gets tired, his natural response is to scream. Just goes to show that maybe there are some perks that some with the whole growing up thing. Unfortunately, those perks did not include four hours of blissful sleep on my flight to London. Pity.

Long story short, I got to my hotel around midnight London time and passed out. My mom arrived the next day and following very long-winded directions, walked a couple miles from the Tube to our actual hotel. We stayed at the Marriot Park Lane, also known as the “posh hotel that I will never be able to afford in my adult life if I don’t become a travel agent”. It’s located right by Hyde Park and all of the Ferrari/BMW/Cadillac/Porsche dealerships your heart could ever desire.

Pretty stellar, yeah? That day we did the ultimate tourist trip on the double decker bus and got our bearings in the city. The few days we were there consisted primarily of hitting the major places, like Trafalgar Square…

the Tower Bridge/Tower of London…

A women’s bathroom that costs 5 pounds to use (apparently very posh. i wasn’t compelled to go)

and the British museum which, despite the picture below, could never lose its charm.

The BM has, quite literally, everything- a stunning bookroom (book-gasm!)…

the Rosetta Stone (language-gasm!)

and lots of cool Buddha statues (buddha-gasm!)

Needless to say, the historical-archaeological-fascinated by everything nerd in me was not bored)

To make up for my months in Russia, we went to see Miss Potter and The Holiday (both in ENGLISH) at the theater (no, the prescence of Ewan McGregor and Jude Law in said films had no impact the choice). Both were fairly good films, but since I can’t take pictures during the movie, I took a picture of the small B&J ice cream I ate (notice its delicate size next to my apparent monstrosity of a purse)

To be fair, we had a fair experience with the British theater. On Saturday, we went to the Globe in the morning and just made it in time to catch Phantom of the Opera, which had a fantastic lead, despite the weaknesses (like singing some songs at double speed). After a relaxing Italian dinner, we proceeded down the street to see Les Miserables, which was all-around stunning and spectacular on all counts.

Are we broke? Yes. Are we expert-awesome theater-goers in London? YES. Here’s a picture of us in Queen’s theater to prove it.

We went out to a smaller town called Highgate to get a taste of British life (and eat at a pub). As exciting as seeing Sting and George Michael’s houses were, I was more enthralled by the fact that Samuel Coleridge lived there too (Yes, I’ve read a poem. Try not to faint.) The walking tour was cool and pub food was discovered. See below.

Also, I decided that a cheesecake was in order for dessert. Imagine my surprise when the absolutely beautiful barman came strolling to show off his inventive creation…

(It was New Year’s Eve.) Also, did I mention that he was (*ahem*) wearing pajamas pants? That’s all right, Kamandy, you were there in spirit.

Finally, I took a ridiculous number of pictures of signs I thought were silly (‘Diverted Traffic’ and the like), despite the fact that my mother rolled her eyes everytime. Here’s a sample jewel that I saw on the metro.

Apparently, someone is displeased.

Update on our fantastic Eurostar voyage and Paris tomorrow!