Laurien, Enju (someone Laurien studied with in St. Petersburg two years ago), and I spent the morning trying to decide what to do. We eventually decided to ice skating. The rink we read about in a paper or guidebook, I’m not sure which, happened to be just off the edges of any map we could find, so we relied on verbal directions, sometimes contradictory, and eventually meandered to address we’d written down. Inside, a security guard explained to us that it hadn’t been cold enough yet for them to make a rink, but he took us out to a fenced in clearing and explained that as soon as it stayed below freezing for the adequate number of days it would transform into a sheet of ice. He was understandably curious about where we were from. It’s not every day you get such an international group (representing Holland, Taiwan, and America) stumbling so far from the city center. He said I looked like I was from the Vologda region, but it may have had to do with my wind-flushed cheeks than anything else. Cold tends to make people look more Russian.

We also saw “Bumazhnui Soldat,” a film that confused us all—even Laurien’s dad who has years more Russian practice. We were all able to appreciate the beautiful cinematography even if the plot sometimes slipped from our understanding.

Overall, much of today was spent feeling lost, but I had such good company that didn’t matter.