"Air-ME-tage"

It was the Cruella de Vil coat that was drawing the stares.   She was either completely oblivious or annoyingly unruffled by the harsh looks shot our way.  It didn’t help we were utterly lost.   I kept trying to retreat into my dark, black wool overcoat, like the natives, but my pegged American jeans kept getting in the way.  The cobblestone streets of St. Petersburg were not channeling a whole lot of Glasnost vibe.   My blonde and boldly fur-adorned travel roommate and I had the luxury of being navigated around the city by our host family before today.  Metro, bus, taxi and tram were all boarded and then melded into gray, drab intersections that looked eerily the same at each stop.  That particular morning we had to find our way to meet the rest of our university group at The Hermitage, housed in the magnificent Winter Palace, residence of the Russian tsars.  We made our way to the Metro and even managed to buy own our tickets, and then I proceeded to get us royally lost.  After walking aimlessly for two hours I hesitantly approached a shopkeeper, who did not have all of his teeth, and asked in my best theatrical and exaggerated Russian, “Air-ME-tage?”.  I had practiced this accent in the Metro two days before, on the way home from a night of drinking German beer.  Apparently I had an uncanny knack for mimicking the voice that called out the platform stops.  Or so I was told.  The shopkeeper gave me a broad smile and hailed a taxi for the two hapless American college students.  I glanced sideways at Nic and slid into the cab.  Visions of being taken to a remote forest and left for dead flashed through my mind.  I was a wreck.  As the taxi driver took in Nic’s coat concoction through the rear-view mirror, I firmly parroted my Russian word of the day, “Air-ME-tage.”  He nodded his head and after what seemed like an eternity of polka playing radio music, we arrived.  Two hours late.  The entire group was waiting for us and I could have wept with relief.  The palace and museum were absolutely breathtaking and the lesson I learned was this:  You cannot be lost forever.  I would repeat this mantra many times throughout my life. Especially years later, after dropping off my husband at a train station in the UK,  making circles around the same roundabout for a least a dozen times,  and towing three children under the age of six in the back seat, crying.  We all were.  But that’s another story.

My spring break college trip to Russia continued with capers of overnight train visitors who were looking for love in all the wrong places, Hotel Cosmos and it’s Mafia affiliation and my roommate nearly electrocuting herself while trying to blow dry her hair.  Other than a very detailed description of what I ate and drank for every meal (a Siberian ravioli that was divine, foreshadowing?) the journal entry that received the most reflection was our trip to Babi Yar.   Poignant and resonating, the visit to this remembrance monument struck a chord in my heart. As we left, I snapped a picture that always brings the wrenching story of Babi Yar to my mind and locks it into my memory.   There were other stories of course, and I am grateful that I am a pack rat and kept this journal from 1992.  So that’s my matryoshka in your path today.  May you find the treasured memories in the nesting layers of yourself and remember what experiences have shaped your outlook and brought you to where you are today.  Happy travels in 2011!  And remember, when in doubt, go with an exaggerated accent. 

 
Lost in translation.  Pegged jeans, me.  The Cruella coat, Nic.

Comments

[Nicole Kjellsen Bush]

Oh Jen, First may I say that you are such a talented writer. You brought back a memory so vividly I am sitting at my desk laughing and crying!
Look at me in that coat!! What was I thinking? =) Thank you for the wonderful stroll down memory lane. And thank you, so many years later, for having that adventure with me.

[Jennifer Lee]

Thank you for stopping by and leaving a comment Nic. I always looked at you with a mixture of admiration and "What was she thinking?" and I love your spirit! May all your adventures have crazy accents. ;)