A rainy day in St. Petersburg...

[alexpgp]

It was raining when Galina and I rose this morning. Natalie felt like staying in bed, so Galina and I went downstairs and across the street to a place called "Чайная ложка" (the name means 'teaspoon') to see what they had for breakfast.

It turned out they offered a 99 ruble special, which included a serving of baked pudding made with farmer's cheese and raisins along with a crêpe (блин) with jam. What made the meal memorable for me was the selection of about a dozen different types of loose tea that one could order with the breakfast. The staff spoons the tea into a small teapot for you, after which you fill the thing with hot water (which aspect of the franchise probably wouldn't fly in the States). We placed a to-go order for Natalie while we ate, and the tea I selected for her was placed dry into a paper cup (so that boiling water could be added later).

Galina lost her mother's umbrella a few days ago, somewhere in Moscow, so we tried to dodge between raindrops this morning to find a replacement we could use in the inclement St. Petersburg weather (and give back to Galina's mom). Inexpensive umbrellas run about 200 rubles in Moscow; here, the cheapest one we found after visiting several shops over a 45-minute period was twice that.

We got back to the apartment, and while Natalie ate breakfast, we decided against visiting the Hermitage today and go for a river tour instead. First, however, I took a walk to the railroad station and bought tickets for the trip back to Moscow tomorrow night. Interestingly enough, the difference between the price of the tickets bought at the station and the same tickets bought at a travel agency is about $50 per person.

After I returned from the station with more money than I expected, Galina and Natalie joined me and we left the apartment to walk down Nevsky Prospect to the Fontanka River, where we caught a small tour boat. The trip duplicated quite a bit of what we saw yesterday, with the exception of not being able to get out anywhere and walk around. It was cold out on the Neva River, and the blankets provided by the boat didn't do much to hold off the chill, but we enjoyed the trip anyway.

I particularly enjoyed seeing the small statue of a finch (чиж) erected along the Fontanka embankment in honor of the students of the Imperial School of Jurisprudence, whose school uniforms were yellow and green (and thus reminiscent of finches), and who were thereby called Chizhik-Pyzhiks, the inspiration for the following well-known (among Russians) rhyme:

Чижик-пыжик, где ты был?
На Фонтанке водку пил.
Выпил рюмку, выпил две —
Зашумело в голове.

Chizhik-Pyzhik, where've you been?
On the Fontanka, drinking gin.
I drank a glass, then downed one more,
After which my head did roar.

[Translator's note:
Yes, I know, the Russian refers to vodka, but my version rhymes!]

After returning to the wharf, we soon found ourself in an Uzbek restaurant, which served excellent food. The three of us shared bowls of solyanka and mushroom soup, and then we ate plov, lyulya kebab, and lagman. After lunch, we went looking for souvenirs as we walked home, and while Galina and Natalie stopped to purchase a trinket or two, nothing caught my eye.

We got stuck in the elevator of the building in which our apartment was located, and it was a good thing we had a cell phone with us. (Even better, the number of the elevator service office was plastered all over the interior of the elevator car!) It took about 15 minutes for someone to come by and get the elevator moving again, and Natalie has since sworn off using the thing. I can't say that I blame her.

Upon returning to the apartment, I took a nap. When I woke up, Natalie and Galina were still napping, so I went out to wander around to see what I could see. The rain came and went, and when I got back to the apartment, all of us went to look for a place to eat dinner. Having a kitchen is nice, but cooking on one's own means not eating food prepared in the local manner.

Unfortunately, the World Cup - with its incessant buzzing sound - made it very hard to find a place that wasn't packed and noisy, so when we ended up at the Kuznetsky Dvor market, we impulsively decided to stock up on potatoes, onion, garlic, cucumbers, tomato, and some cold cuts and then go back to the apartment and eat there.

Digestion is bliss, y'know?

Cheers...

Comments

[furzicle.livejournal.com]

I can think of about four or more kids at my school whose families speak Russian. But I'm not sure how many of those kids themselves speak Russian. So I'm wondering, does Natalie speak Russian? My husband, for example, was born in Rio de Janeiro, his parents are both Brasilian, and yet he never learned Portuguese, because his parents wanted to make sure he learned the "foreign" language of English. Of course at this point, that bugs him no end!

[alexpgp.livejournal.com]

Acquisition of foreign languages spoken at home is a funny thing. Both my kids would have nothing to do with it, at the time, and both now regret not having learned the language. My granddaughter seems intent on repeating the cycle.

I believe the principal reason for this attitude is the lack of perceived payoff. With whom, among those they interact with socially, must they speak with in a foreign language? Having monolingual (or effectively monolingual) grandparent/aunt/uncle helps in this case. (I've read of instances, in Jewish families for example, where certain adult members deliberately speak with children in only one of the several languages they are familiar with, so that kids need to speak German if they want to talk with grandpa, French if they want to talk to grandma, etc.)

I cannot help but believe there is not all that much to the phenomenon of not teaching a kid the language spoken by parents in favor of the "foreign" language of a new country, simply because there is virtually nothing short of imprisonment that will prevent a child from acquiring native speaking skills in a new country. (Which is not to say that people don't consciously engage in withholding the language of the "old country," but what people do is not always logical.)

Cheers...

[furzicle.livejournal.com]

More details on my husband's story: Though his parents are both Brasilian, his mother spent most of her youth going to boarding schools in England and, in fact, her dad was Irish. She had many Irish cousins and always felt a very strong bond with them. So, though Portuguese was her first language, it was pretty much eclipsed by English. Oscar's father grew up in a German family and hence German was his first language. But he spoke Portuguese outside of his home, though he went to a German school. When they all came to the US, (when O was 16 months old,)O's dad would have been trying to perfect his English. So it's not too surprising that they didn't speak Portuguese. Unfortunate, however.