Bright Nights, Big City

So far, I have not really experienced much of the famous Moscow cold. The day I arrived and the day following were a bit nippy, but I was assured this was a fluke for this time of year, and since then every day has been moderately warm, like like March or early April in the States. Tulips are blooming everywhere around the city, including in front of my building. Spring has fully sprung in the former Soviet capital.

Nonetheless, I am constantly reminded how far north I am in other ways. The chief of these is the length of the day--literally. Last night, I arrived home from wanderings around the city a little after nine. Dusk had still not settled in; cars on the street still operated without their headlights. Dawn seems to be breaking about 5:00 in the morning, so the Moscow night stretches for only about seven hours, at the most. This is not interfering with my sleep so far, but I wonder how far the night will shrink. St. Petersburg famously goes through a period every summer when the night disappears completely and even puts on a festival at that time called the White Nights. But I don't yet know how far the night retreats in Moscow.

I am taking advantage of the light to see more of the city. Yesterday, I wound my way to the Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow's largest and most famous art museum. When I got there, I had a bit of confusion about where to buy tickets but was very pleased that I could understand the woman at the coat check desk who told me to go outside and turn left. At least my Russian allows me to understand basic directions, even if I feel nervous about asking for them.

Inside the Tretyakov, I spent the chief of my time looking at Russian icons. The museum's collection goes back as far as the 11th century. Some development in Russian icons is evident, though I expect I will have to go back and spring for the audio tour guide in order to get a fuller appreciation of this art form.

Afterwards, I sat for about an hour in a nearby park to let my feet have a rest. It is remarkable to me how scenes of people in parks look alike around the world. The park may have been in the middle of Moscow, but it could just as well have been the middle of Manhattan. Everywhere, grown-ups push children on bicycles, people stroll with kites, and vendors try to sell overpriced food.

When my feet had recovered a bit, I decided to go back up in the direction of the Arbat. I had remembered passing with George a store I was told had a good selection of English-language titles and wanted to check it out. The store turned out to be both disappointing and exciting: disappointing, because its selection of English titles proved to be limited, but exciting because it had on sale some of the textbooks I will be teaching from. So at least I got a preview.