My first glimpse of Russia sent chills through me. After a twenty-minute descent, the plane broke through a thick layer of clouds revealing the country that I was to call my home for nearly five months. Spread out beneath me, the industrialized suburbs of St. Petersburg stretched as far as I could see. Gray skies, billowing smokestacks, snowy terrain, stoic soviet apartment complexes, it was all there-- Russia looked exactly as I had imagined it. I was actually convinced for a period of about three days that I understood Russia and the Russian people, but then slowly it began to occur to me that this certainty was just a shield of naivety. This country, as are those who inhibit it, is infinitely complex. Russia spans two continents and eleven time zones; its population consists of more than 140 million people from one of the widest arrays of ethnic groups in the world. To describe even an initial impression of Russia using conventional methods would be impossible.
Yet, as I prepared my notes for this essay, I realized that the use of a clever metaphor would aid the reader in understanding what it is that I attempt to describe. The possibilities of metaphorically depicting St Petersburg are nearly endless as it is a constantly shifting panorama of Russian life, but perhaps the best would be to relate the city to the metro that services it. As someone who lives in a rural area, I am constantly fascinated by this uniquely urban feature. For me, the metro is not an example of the changes I needed to adjust to in Russia, it instead represents the absolute lack of any need of a "learning curve." As everything in this country is so radically different from my life in America, there is nothing to which I can adjust. It is truly beyond comparison.
The St. Petersburg Metropolitan functions on the same antiquated infrastructure that existed when it first opened during the height of the Soviet Union. Over the course of its existence is has been witness to the slow collapse of a Superpower and the rise of a democratic state. The metro is rugged and worn, yet like a Russian babushka, it has aged very well. Even though the technology utilized by the metro is outdated, it remains in excellent condition because of consistent maintenance. The old 1950s style cars retain their shine and the stations are well kept. Similarly, Russian society inherited the rubble of a flawed ideology, but made the best of what it had, building its future on the remnants of the former Soviet Union. While there are signs of Russia's difficult path to democracy around every turn, they are treated as reminders of the past and benchmarks of how far the country has progressed in the past decade.
With a surprising consistency, a new train enters each metro station almost exactly two minutes after the previous train left. Because of its reliability, the metro is the most popular form of transportation in St. Petersburg. The metro operates as a well-oiled machine that seldom malfunctions. When there is a minor disturbance, it has minimal impact on the rest of the system. If the Nevsky Prospekt station is closed, the crowd crosses the street to use the entrance at Gostiny Dvor. If a recently purchased metro token is refused by the machine, one must simply buy a new one. No questions are asked; no complaints are lodged. Russian society seems to adapt quickly to minor problems, if it bothers to notice them at all.
Russians seem to place great importance on protecting this relative stability, even if it means passing up an opportunity for progress. Soviet era department stores, with their outdated system of counters and sales receipts, still exist even though they are much less efficient than their western equivalent. Additionally, the Kopek, a subdivision of the Ruble, remains in circulation even as its value has dropped to well below that of an operating denomination. However, even more so than these examples, the psychology of the Russian person still contains many elements tied to the Soviet Union. For example, the reliance on government to provide for and make right the problems in the lives of individuals, and the specific gender roles attached to men and women. These outdated, collective mindsets seem to hinder the furthering of Russian society and complicate personal achievements.
The St. Petersburg metro is the deepest in the world. To ensure that it to operates on a stable foundation, engineers determined that it would be necessary to construct the transportation network beneath the marshy soils of the Neva River, directly in the bedrock. This peculiarity manifests itself in the seemingly endless escalator rides required to reach each platform. Yet once you reach this level, St. Petersburg opens up to you; the metro is the gateway to accessing the city.
Likewise, Russians seem to guard themselves exceptionally well against all sorts of foreign intrusion. Each morning, when they leave their homes, the people of St. Petersburg put on a mask of rude indifference towards everyone around them. They push and shove, give cold stares, cut in line, argue about simple mistakes, and operate in an overtly aggressive manner. To those foreigners unlucky enough to get in their way, the people of Russia seem callous and uncaring. Yet, as I have come to understand, Russians have been forced to bury themselves beneath the whirling currents of change that sweep through their country. Like the metro, upon descending into their world, Russian society opens up to outsiders. They are almost impenetrable at first, but once you befriend a Russian, you will be exposed to the polar opposite of the street persona previously mentioned. Russians are truly among the warmest, generous, and compassionate people I have had the privilege of knowing.
Yet even upon being welcomed into a Russian home, many elements of Russian life remain mysterious to me; perhaps most frustrating is the inconsistent system of shared values. For a people who have been under the strict control of an authoritarian ruler since the formal creation of their state in the 9th century, one expects that they would be invigorated by the prospects of democratic elections and freedom of speech. However, for reasons beyond understanding, these concepts are approached apathetically. Instead, much more importance is placed on paying with exact change and trying (without any noticeable success) to clean the streets. It is somewhat bothersome to see privileges traditionally held as sacred in the west treated with such indifference, but I hope to gain an understanding of this mindset during the remainder of my stay in this country.
Every morning, the metro injects a rush into what would otherwise be a mundane cross-city commute. When the train comes barreling into the station it brings with it a rush of air that seems to aggravate the already irritated swarm of people rushing to the platform. Everyone descends on the entrance to each car, pushing and shoving indiscriminately—even the babushkas throw punches. However, one feels an incredible sense of community as part of the mob. Almost as if it is a modern manifestation of the communal village spirit, there is no "I" in metro. Personal space is non-existent, as is the weighted importance of your own commute. There can be no resistance to the will of the majority, if they wish to squeeze every person physically possible into the car, it happens; if the crowd insists on sluggishly waddling as one towards the escalator, your own will for it to speed up is meaningless.
The best way to utilize this metaphor has yet to be mentioned. One might be walking down a narrow, dark, and somewhat derelict street like those common in every district outside of central St. Petersburg, when in the distance appears the familiar glow of a blue M. Upon entering the doors of a nondescript metro station and spending nearly five minutes descending into the earth, the last thing you would expect to greet you is the sort of beauty found on the metro platform. Each stop is a temple of culture ranging from the patriotic bas reliefs that decorate Ploschad Vostanya to the ornate bronze chandeliers of Avtova. In this city, beauty is everywhere, hidden just below the surface. Street corners serve as the junctions of brilliantly colored buildings with sprawling cornices, as shared stairwells act as monuments to the stories of those passing through. Golden church spires, sparking tramvai wires, Corinthian columns, and rusty wrought iron gates all have added beauty when viewed as part of St. Petersburg's entirety.
The first time I ventured into the Primorskaya metro station I asked myself how I would find a way to commute on a daily basis, alone, through a city of four million people, with nothing to use as a guide but announcements and maps in a foreign language. I was dubious of the task that lay before me—four and a half months of the metro, four and a half months of Russia. Nevertheless, I found a way to make it work. Each morning, the process became a little easier until eventually it became routine. With its crowded streets and overabundance of visually stimulating scenes, St. Petersburg is very overwhelming at first, but over time, its ubiquitous charm quickly sets the visitor at ease. Today, I feel that this country, this city, is my home, albeit for only a few more months. St. Petersburg is a sprawling testament to Russian society — so deeply rooted in history and culture that the story of each building could spawn an epic novel.
