Rude Awakening

First of all, I just read Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground, and I want to re-title my post about the Kremlin: On the Occasion of Wet Snow.

Moving on. Thank you all for your concern about the metro attacks yesterday. As I said, everyone here is fine, and we are lucky enough to have the option to walk everywhere we need to be.

The sun finally came out this weekend. There was sun before, I suppose, but it wasn’t warm; the city felt harsh, bleak, and benumbed. I understand why many Russians walk around the way they do, bundled up, scowling, isolated, just trying to get where they’re going. I can see how winter in this city would make you do that. But this Sunday, as I walked home from brunch, I saw a different Moscow. The sunshine was actually warm, the breeze gentle instead of bitter. People were outside, walking with friends, rollerblading in the square, even laughing and smiling as they chattered. Children ran past me giggling, their parents chasing after them. There was life. As Nastia told me last week, “Other cities wake up from sleep in spring. Moscow wakes up from a coma.”

I realize this feeling of life emerges in any city when the weather gets warmer. But, I have to say, I wasn’t sure it would happen in Moscow. While the individuals I’ve met in Russia are fantastic, the people as a whole feel cold by nature – not friendly, not cheerful. Not nice. But the beauty of the day on Sunday, the change I saw in people, made me think that perhaps I was wrong.

Monday morning was different. The warm sun still bathed the city, but people didn’t turn their faces to it. Instead, they shuffled along in their heavy coats, eyes downcast or looking around suspiciously, fighting through the crowds of people on the sidewalk who could no longer take the metro. That glimpse of life was gone – the wall of discontent and cynicism was back up. It was like the dead of winter again.

And yes, this is all somewhat metaphorical, but the mood in the city was odd. On the surface, everyone looked unruffled. My school is smack in the center of the city, several blocks from Lubyanka station, and besides a higher police presence, nothing was different. And yet… It’s taken me a little while to understand the strange atmosphere. Russians don’t parade their emotions like Americans do. Many Russians I know have remarkably expressionless faces, so that I can never tell what they’re thinking - but talking to our professors and administrators has helped me to understand, at least a little, how people are reacting.

Russians are angry. They are angry that the government hasn’t done enough to fix the problems in the Caucuses. They’re angry that they couldn’t stop attacks in the very center of their city. They’re angry that cab drivers took advantage of the situation instead of helping, charging exorbitant amounts while people tried to get to work yesterday. They’re angry that the Russian television stations virtually ignored the explosions for hours, not bothering to interrupt their programming. And more than anything, they’re disappointed. It’s been almost six years since the last terrorist incident, and they thought the attacks were in the past. People are sad, people are shaken, but people are angry.

I want to assure everyone, though, that things are incredibly calm here. Everything is running normally and we are all taking every precaution. If anything, the police presence is going to make the rest of our time here even safer. And so, to end on a more positive note, I’ll mention that the ballet I saw last night was absolutely breathtaking – an adaptation of Chekhov’s Seagull, which was funny, sad, and gorgeous – perfectly Chekhovian. And the night before that, I saw a six-hour adaptation of James Joyce’s Ulysses, which was so good it made me actually want to READ Ulysses, which I never thought would happen. So maybe that will be this summer’s project.

Finally, some good news: I accepted an internship with Arena Stage in Washington, so I’ll be back in DC for the summer!! Anyone want a subletter?

PS: Happy birthday, Frank!!!