More on Being in St. Petersburg

Bored in St. Petersburg; how blasé can one get?  Yet business travelers understand.  Sightseeing gets old; eating out becomes a chore, the unfamiliarity itself is soon a burden.  There are only so many museums and cathedrals that one cares to see.  Today was the Russian Museum, with several items I recognized from art history and Russian art in particular.  It was pleasing to see them “live” but only for the moment.  I long for my own bed, my own kitchen, the rest of my own clothes.  Troubles at home matter but don’t prevent me from being homesick.  Perhaps if the class were more lively, perhaps if I felt more positive feedback from the students, I’d be more energized about St. Petersburg.  But it isn’t so, and I must persevere.  I count the days, the number of classes remaining (two), the number of showers (ditto), the number of—well, anything that is part of the routine.  I am grateful for the university WiFi that services this hostel.  It failed for a few hours yesterday, reminding me that things could always be worse.  I would gladly have forgone a kitchen to have been put up in a real hotel, with not only Internet access but also cable-TV.  What little Russian television I perused on the set in the living room convinced me that TV was the same all over: news, kiddie shows, police shows and soap operas.  I could even have derived interest from CNN.

In this post-communist Russia, so much has been grafted on of Western consumerism that I wonder what is “West” and what is merely “human.”  Do we all gravitate towards discount prices and brightly colored advertising?  Is all this universal?  There’s also a lot of English word and Roman alphabet mixed in with Cyrillic letters.  How does that mesh in a Russian’s consciousness?  Is it just an exotic touch or is it considered snobbish?

I went to the synagogue yesterday, a long walk through nondescript, almost uniform streets.  The architecture here does not vary and the stores do not have plate glass or bright awnings.  They barely stand out from the facades of the buildings they occupy.  The result is to make the streets look blank and dreary.

The synagogue is large and well maintained.  Two nattily-dressed middle-aged women entered as I left.  The place was empty otherwise; not surprising, because no services mid-morning.  Traditional architecture, with the women’s gallery on top, domed, with small towers flanking the main sanctuary.  Gift shop and kosher café off to the side of the courtyard.  Private security guards at the gate, who gave only a cursory look at my fanny pack.  There’s a massive photo of the Wailing Wall wallpapering one of the sides of the courtyard.  I emptied my wallet of kleingeld into the pishke in the lobby. The Lubavitchers run the place with their usual thoroughness and attention to halakhah.  The Website sports a dating service along with times for services and events for the holidays—all of the holidays.  I was sorry not to have had a Friday free to attend services but I was not motivated enough to attend Saturday services.  My loss, as one might say.