The Ball

Several weeks ago I was sitting in the kitchen when my host dad walked in and told my sister and I that we were going to dance classes.  The waltzing kind. Despite the well known fact that I can't dance, I was excited.

For the first class I had no idea what to wear, and after going round and round and thinking very intensely about my dilemma, I decided that jeans and a t-shirt never fails. I slipped on my red Keds because I didn't have anything else. That first class was successful. And by successful I mean I didn't fall over or hurt anything and I could follow most of the dances. The people at the classes ranged in age and were incredibly kind. I enjoyed their company and the lessons continued. I think I improved, although I wastold that I needed to dance more like a fairy and less like a horse. But other than that, I learned several dances and figured out how to waltz.

After about three weeks of twice-weekly lessons everyone started talking about a ball. Like, a real ball, with big poofy dresses, elbow length gloves and lace fans. I was excited until I realized I didn't have a dress. Or gloves, or a fan, or even the right shoes. I thought for sure I'd end up going in my super fashionable trusty red Keds. However, I bought the ticket and thought I'd worry about the dress later. After the dance class, Victoria (the one I had tea with) said she had a dress I could use if I wanted. She had made it herself, and it meant a lot to me that she let me wear it. The skirt was a deep blue trimmed in black lace, complete with a bustle and a train in the back. The corset was a marbled pattern of purples and blues. She gave me a pair of elbow-length gloves and a gorgeous fan, both black lace. I felt well prepared for the ball.

The night of the ball we drove out of the city a ways to the Marine University. It was an interesting building, and like most in Russia, had concrete floors and pale walls. We changed in the locker rooms that opened off of the basketball court. In the ladies' locker room, it was quite crowded to begin with, and once you added all the enormous skirts, in a sea of sequins and silk, it was simply impassable.

Eventually we all trickled out and into the ballroom. I don't know what the room would be used for normally. It was big, with a bar, a balcony that went all the way around three walls, a stage, and on the upper balcony a room that resembled the bridge of a real ship. The dance floor was lined with plush chairs, and there were blue and white decorations on the walls. The ball began with a promenade; everyone paired up and slowly walked around the floor. It was quite the sight, with about sixty couples (and everyone said this was the small ball).

The ball lasted several hours, dance after dance went by. Waltzes, mazurkas, polkas and folk dances, the music played by the live orchestra on the stage. It was something straight out of a fairy tale to see such beautiful girls, dolled up with studded hair pins, satin gloves and stunning gowns, swinging round and round the floor, their skirts swirling out as they spun. It was magical. 

They had a game where everyone was given a piece of paper shaped like a heart, the women gave their heart to whomever they thought was the most handsome man, and the men gave theirs to the most beautiful woman. At the end of the ball, the hearts were counted and the king and queen of the ball were crowned. They danced the final dance as small confetti canons let loose, and glittering sheets of silver and blue paper floated down around them.

It was a wonderful evening, something I never thought I would have ever experienced. It was so interesting to me that such a tradition continues and is very important to their culture. Something so novel to me was perfectly normal for them! I enjoyed dancing, watching and chatting,  There are several balls a month in Vladivostok; the others much bigger than this one. One woman said there were over 300 people at the biggest one. This probably wasn't the only ball I'll attend.

We went home tired and foot sore, but the waltzes played over and over again in my head all night long...

Never Drink Tea Alone

Never Drink Tea Alone 

There is nothing more Russian than tea; well, maybe bears dancing in a birch forest or fur-clad Russians playing balalaika music and eating borscht. Those are pretty Russian too, but since they're not very common, tea is the next best thing. 

I went to tea today at the home of a lovely woman named Victoria. She met me at a bus stop and we set off to her apartment. We walked through the swirling snow, leaving crisp footprints in the fluffy white blanket that covered the ground. Kids resembling the little brother in The Christmas Story, bundled to within an inch of their lives, ran (or should I say 'waddled') past, delighted by the snow. We passed an older gentleman who obviously felt the opposite about the snow. As for me, I always become a complete toddler at the first minuscule flake.

Victoria's apartment building was a ways from the bus stop, and stood on the edge of a steep hill. It was in a very quiet neighborhood she described as "the sleepy district." It was completely silent, something you never hear in this city. There wasn't a sound and it was deafening; strange here, but familiar to someone who grew up in my hometown. 

Her apartment was neat as a pin, and had a gorgeous view. I never get tired of seeing other people's apartments. They are all different from each other, but unmistakably Russian. There were big windows, and it was very bright despite all the clouds. As for the tea, like all tea here, it was strong and scorching hot, accompanied by an army of cookies, chocolates and then a plate of cheese. (Never a day goes by in Russia without consuming some amount of cheese). 

Victoria works as a translator, and speaks very good English. We talked and talked, and listened to classical music. She told me about her trip to Moscow, where she saw the inside of the Kremlin and an opera at the Bolshoi Theatre. She talked of how beautiful St. Petersburg is, and about her travels to the Caucasus. She told me her dreams of traveling to Thailand and Paris.  She also talked a little bit about her childhood, about growing up in the Soviet Union, at which time Vladivostok was a closed city. I asked her how life had changed as the city was opened. She said she couldn't tell, since she was a child when the city was closed, and life always seemed the same to her as the city opened. However, she did say that as the city opened, so did the opportunities. 

I enjoyed talking to her, hearing about her life and family. I realized we're not so different, the Russians and us. Our cultures are different and our languages are different, but we're all just people. We have the same problems, the same joys.

Something as simple as sharing a pot of tea with someone is such a huge part of Russian culture. Taking time out of busy days to spend it with friends is very important, but something, I think, that has been forgotten in our own culture, and it's a shame. The Russian culture is all about people. Sure, they all have their hobbies, sports, dance, projects, but those are not the focus of their lives. They don't live to do things. People are at the center of this culture, people are the priority. Relationships are valued, long lasting and meaningful. 

I used to think people here led such dull lives; they weren't always rushing off to the next activity, or booking their calendars for weeks in advance. A lot of times people have nothing to do in the afternoons, every afternoon. The pace of life here is slower. People actually sit on park benches, instead of just jetting by them. They go on long walks for no other reason than walking, not necessarily for exercise, or to get somewhere, but just to walk. They sit at cafes for hours chatting, even when the tea pot is empty and the staff are putting the chairs up on the tables. Life here is laid back and spontaneous. It is still novel to me when people here have "nothing to do." They simply pick up their phone, call a friend, and spend their day with them. It's something so foreign to me. I'm used to any sort of get together being planned out perfectly, with everything short of a coordinated timetable for the day. Here people often don't even know what they'll do as they plan to meet, they just meet and spend time together. 

It's just not the Russian way to drink tea alone.