I was woken up this morning by my phone ringing. It was Tamara Pavlovna, inviting me to go to the beach with her and her husband “to relax.” At this, I sprang to life and ran out to buy a swimsuit. I had to go to several different shops to do this, but with the help of Sasha, whom I ran into at the market, I finally found one that fit.
On my way back home, I ran into Ivan and Marisha, who were also out buying swimsuits. They invited me to go swimming at their dacha (cabin in the country), but I had to decline, since I had already agreed to go with Tamara Pavlovna. Too bad. I would have liked to see a dacha and to hang out with people my own age.
By the time I got home and made certain that my new swimsuit did indeed fit, Tamara Pavlovna and her husband had already come to pick me up. We rattled down the awful country roads for forty minutes, until there was suddenly a clearing in the trees, and the stunning Lake Onega opened before us. I am always impressed by how beautiful lakes are in the sunshine, their blue waves glittering as far as the eye can see.
On the beach, Tamara Pavlovna told me not to be scared of the water, that I didn't have to go out very far if I wasn't a strong swimmer, and if it was too cold I didn't have to go all the way under. I smirked and dove right in. I grew up on a lake. The water was a little cold, but nothing I'm not used to. And after you swim out twenty or thirty feet, the rocky lake bed turns to sand. It was a refreshing swim.
By the time I got tired of swimming, Tamara Pavlovna and her husband had found a spot on the beach that wasn't crawling with people and mosquitoes. They laid out a picnic while I stretched out in the sunshine to dry off. And as far as picnics go, this one knocked the socks off any that I've been a party to. We had smoked fish, salad, potatoes, fresh fruit and vegetables, cookies, and, of course, tea. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't drunk it myself. On the beach, in almost 90 degree heat, they put together a campfire and boiled water for tea. It's official: Russians will drink tea anytime, anywhere.
Даже на пляже (even on the beach)Right as we finished eating, a cloud appeared overhead. I had just enough time to say, “I think it's going to rain,” before the rain started. We made a run for the car, and by the time we had packed in all our picnic supplies and climbed in the car ourselves, the rain stopped. Oh, Russia.
So we got home a little earlier than expected, which gave me enough time to take a nap before the festivities started in town. For Youth Day, the city hosts a free movie, a multi-band rock concert, and dancing at the club late into the night. Several times throughout the day, strangers on the street wished me a happy holiday, just because I'm part of the youth. It was a good day to be a young person in Russia.
Originally, Ivan and Marisha had invited me to go to the celebration with them, but at the last minute, they had decided to stay at their dacha instead. So I went to the concert by myself, hoping I would recognize someone there. No such luck. Everyone at the concert looked so gloomy that I started to feel gloomy myself. The only people having fun were the middle-aged men who had come just to get embarrassingly drunk, take off their shirts, and dance wildly in the square in front of the band.
Now I understand why Ivan and Marisha decided to stay at their dacha. The weather was nice, so at the dacha, they could relax peacefully and in good company. At the planned celebration, however, there was nothing to do but watch half the population get drunk while the other half—the underaged crowd the holiday was supposed to be for—stood around impatiently, most likely counting the days till they would be old enough to drink alcohol themselves. There was no place for the teens to dance with all the drunk old people thrashing around. What a shining example to set for the youth of the country. No wonder alcoholism is rampant here.
Disappointed, I went back home. When I walked in the door, Nina Evgenyevna told me that Ruslan, the neighbor I had made friends with, had dropped by asking about me. Apparently, he was angry I hadn't taken him with me. No sooner had she told me this than Ruslan himself walked in the door, having seen me come home from his apartment. He chastised me for going without him, gave me chocolate, and ushered me out the door again to go back to the holiday.
My second round at the festivities was about as exciting as the first. The concert had ended, and now everyone was dancing in the square to loud Russian pop music remixed with a techno beat. Ruslan and I stood at the edge, just watching. It was too loud to talk, but Ruslan obviously had no interest in dancing. Three times while we stood there, teenagers from the local schools approached me, saying they recognized me, and asked me to come dance with them. I would have gone (it would have been a lot more fun than standing around), but Ruslan was there, looming protectively by my shoulder, refusing to do anything but watch other people dance. So we stood in silence until our feet hurt and went back home.
Today, I saw the good and the bad of how Russians relax. The good half is the way they enjoy nice weather, stretching out on the beach and bringing tons and tons of food. I could get used to long afternoons of swimming, picnics, and beach naps. But the bad half—drinking excessively in public, right in front of teenagers and even little children—makes me downright angry. If the weather is nice tomorrow, I may go to Ivan and Marisha's dacha, or I may go to the beach with some of the girls who had wanted me to dance with them. Just as long as there is no more public drunkenness and no more surly, do-nothing Ruslan to deal with, I'll be happy.
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