Vodny Stadion

Guys. The best thing happened to me today!

I didn't meet D. Medz or score a sweet interview that would help revolutionize our understanding of Russian media. But the next best thing! So what happened was, I went with my parents to see St. Isaac's Cathedral (that's this one at left). At the ticket office I went through the rigamarole with the cashier, who at one point told me to just go to the next window because she didn't understand my order. To be fair (mostly to myself), what I wanted was a little complicated. But with some persistence we made it through together, and although I wasn't demoralized it wasn't a shining moment for my language skills. (But when's the last time YOU had a shining moment for language skills, everyone but Charlie, who apparently now knows enough meat products/cooking tools to barbecue a whole cow?)

I'm afraid of heights. Deathly, chest-constricting, have to stop every five steps/get someone to distract me in high speed elevators/forget about flying afraid of heights. But in what's becoming kind of my m.o., I said, oh screw it, and bought a ticket to the colonnade on top of the sobor.

Here's me braving the interior steps, which went on for quite a ways. Normally at this point I would half close my eyes -- hoping to avoid the sight of how far I have come/ have yet to go while not risking a fall that would kill me instantly.

But look, I'm smiling! That's because in the stairwell I happened upon two devushki. We took each other's photos (guess who posed in her pictures) and finished climbing to the top.

Allow me a little brag:

Here's the exterior staircase, which I couldn't fully capture because it's actually three times the length at right, completely exposed, and not especially sturdy-looking. But I made it up them without a panic attack (but with some severe self-talk).

And it was totally worth it. Look, I'm even kind of excited. You can see all the beautiful parts of the city, all the parts still being renovated, and the fact that down in Senatskaya ploshad' the flowers are planted in shapes of giant butterflies.

Let's go in for a close-up:

Oh Russia. In one of the pretty gardens of your most beautiful city, you've put these giant butterflies. You could have had something spectacular and/or powerful but chose this tacky, over-antennaed thing.

But back to my glory. Those of you who have been with me in a 50-mile radius of an airport, an elevator in the Sears Tower/Pru, the dome of St. Peter's Basilica, or just on your third story balcony may be silently congratulating me. Actually that's not what we're here for, but thank you. I take my victories where I can.

Meet Olya of Olya and Olya.

Now that is glamour. Yes, you're thinking. From everything EVB has told me, these are classic Russian devushki. Belorussian, actually. Thus I know that they like to pose, are fantastically beautiful, and have designer sunglasses. Probably they are wearing three inch heels to climb those stairs Elizabeth was such a wuss about, they fear nothing, and huh, they must be fluent in Russian.

Aha! You have hit upon my point exactly. Not ONLY did I successfully offer to help them take pictures, but we followed that up with lovely chats about our home towns (Boston and Minsk), our jobs (all school teachers!), our vacations (all in St. Petersburg), and our plans for Friday night. And finally, they complimented my Russian. Twice.

Well technically they complimented my Russian once. And the second time they told me that they would have guessed I was from Bulgaria or Romania. Faint praise, I hear some of you (ahem) saying. But friends, this is a major step forward. No longer will I be taken for the American who can't say "prefer." Now I will be mistaken for the non-Slavic speaker who just can't say her r's and l's correctly.

P.S. I might have actually scored a sweet interview. But that's a story for another day, namely the day I write my thesis.