Si, yo hablo Russian.

This post is brought to you by the word култура (cool-TOO-ruh), meaning “culture.”

Yesterday, I done got myself some exposure to Russian culture. My friends and I went to see Swan Lake, the iconic Russian ballet, at a theater located across the street from the Mariinsky. For the equivalent of $15, we had decent balcony seats opposite the stage. Before I talk about the ballet, though, I feel obligated to recount a ridiculous, but oh-so-me, moment I had prior to the show.

My friends and I decided to eat dinner at Sennaya Ploshchad (the metro stop/street square closest to the theater) and, after some debate, we settled on the very American and always classy Carl’s Jr. (Nothing like a greasy burger to precede a ballet, right?) I made the mistake of talking with my friends in English about what I was thinking of eating before I actually got up to the cashier and ordered. What ensued when I did try to order was nothing short of comic:

Cashier: May I help you? (in Russian)

Me: (Russian) Hello, may I have number (English) 8?

Cashier: (strange look) Excuse me?

Me: (realizing my mistake) Oh, ocho. (Spanish)

Cashier: (starting to smile at the poor idiot foreigner, but still patient): I’m sorry, what?

Me: (hanging my head in shame and covering my eyes)* I’m so sorry. Eight. (Russian. Finally.)

Cashier: (quite amused) Do you want the combo?

Me: (feeling more confident) Da.

Cashier: Blahbitty blah blah blah?

Me: (heart plummeting) Sorry?

Cashier: (thinking of who she would recount this story to once her shift ends) Blahbitty blah blah blah? (motions around her, which I discern means “Dine-in or take-out?”)

Me: (not knowing how to say “dine-in” since I missed it the first two times) Uh, here. (pointing down)

Cashier: (nodding, smiling indulgently) 240 rubles. Blahbitty blah blah blah salad?

Me: (assuming she’s asking me if I’d like to spend more money) Nyet. (I fork over the money, take my change and try to escape as quickly as possible)

Cashier: Young lady! (I look back and see her handing me the cup I, in my haste to get off the hot seat, have forgotten)

Me: (sheepish) Thank you.

*I literally did this.

I learned two things from that episode: 1) never speak in English immediately before you are about to order something in Russian, and 2) my brain will revert to the first foreign language it learned, despite the fact that I no longer speak that language and couldn’t string two sentences together if my life depended on it. Actually, I’ve noticed that, on occasion, when I’m in Russian class and am struggling to remember a word or phrase, it will come to me in Spanish before it comes in Russian. I suppose that means that I could easily pick up Spanish again if I devoted a little effort to it, but it’s a rather bad sign since the language I’m majoring in is, um, NOT Spanish.

Anyway, after my eventful dinner, my heretofore-unnamed friends and I went to the theater. The ballet was beautiful – or, I think it was. My contacts were extremely dry and I, like a schmuck, left my precious eye drops at home, so I spent a good 30% of the time blinking ferociously and rubbing my eyes. I am happy to report that the other 70% of the ballet was enjoyable. The dancers did throw me two major fake-outs, however. First, at the end of the fourth act or so, the swan princess dashed offstage and the prince rushed after her, leaving everyone else on stage “shocked” at their sudden departure. The curtain fell, signaling the end of the act, but it rose almost immediately and the dancers started bowing, as if the show were over. Once they were done, the house lights rose and people started to get up. My friends and I looked at each other with classic “what the heck?” expressions and could not believe that had been the curtain call. We’d already had an intermission, so this had to be the end, right? But it was a cliffhanger!

Fortunately, one of the more cultured American students assured us that there was indeed one more act and to hold our horses for a bit. This was a second intermission. (Insert huge shrug here.) We were happy to hear that there was another act, because we wanted to see the tragic ending. It was, after all, a Russian ballet, and even we uncultured swine knew that Swan Lake was a tragedy. Therein lay fake-out number 2: the bad guy died and the swan princess and her beloved lived happily ever after. Say what?

All of us American students were nonplussed, to say the least. Nonplussed enough to go online and check how Swan Lake should have ended. Turns out that the Mariinsky Theater put on a production of Swan Lake a few years ago that had a happy ending and since then all Russian productions of the ballet (except those at the Mikhailovsky Theater) have featured that ending. Abroad, Swan Lake remains a tragedy, in which either the swan princess or both the princess and her beloved commit suicide a la Romeo & Juliet. Personally, I’m a bit disappointed that I didn’t get my tragic death scene, but there is hope on the horizon. Next week, the Mariinsky theater will satisfy my bloodlust, as I am going to see the Pushkin classic “Eugene Onegin.” For those unfamiliar with the opera, Eugene Onegin features an epic duel/death scene at the end. (I swear, if the Mariinsky messes up the plot, I will do something nefarious, like stick out my tongue as I attempt to demand a refund in broken Russian.)

Until next time,