Lots of stuff

Fountain "Samson" at Peterhof (click for more info). You're right if you think it looks a bit like Versailles or one of the châteaux in France--it was modeled in the French style. It was a vastly gorgeous place, and I'd say the trip there was the most enjoyable part of Russia so far.

Video from the Birthright Israel Mega-Event
(It looks like it'll only work on Windows, unfortunately)

Perhaps "the song" of the Israel trip. It's about peace. It's sung in Hebrew, but the title is the Arabic word for Peace.

Recommended Viewing
(They own everything in Russia. Everything.)


The culture shock hit me on Thursday, and it seems like every time I try to sit down and write about it, I'm either running out of battery, running out of time, or running out of Internet.
By my current plan, I'll still be out of America for another eight weeks (it's been more than three already), and that's a hell of a lot longer than I've ever been in a different culture before. Every day I get better at Russian and learn more about this city and its culture, but I really am an outsider here. It seems this is part of the culture shock that was to be expected. It's more complicated than any one simple thing. I've realized how terribly, vastly important it is to get sleep, but more than that, at this point I've passed the point of time that was the longest I was away from America previously, but even then then it was in an English-speaking country, and I spent the entire time in close proximity with friends and other people I knew well. Here, I'm much more on my own. Fortunately, the host-mother is considerate and understanding, but I also am coming to understand what I gave up for this. It seems to me that I couldn't understand my personal culture and values without leaving them behind, so here I am.

I've always known I'm a dreamer. I've spent my life trying to find something in particular that really captivates me, but I never seem to let myself get too comfortable. What I'm starting to realize is the value of a home, the incredible value of a place to call home, and of people close to me.

It's one thing to be able to insert oneself into a new situation--I've been doing that all my life, going to many different schools, associating with many different crowds, negotiating some sort of impression of the world. But it's another thing to stick with something, and I think that's what I've really been looking for. I suppose it's my malfunction that as much as I try to capture wonder and live in moments, I still often feel like a part of me is elsewhere. I think that has something to do with why alcohol tends to make me nervous--I forget what this particular philosophical ideal is called, but it's something like the theory that experience comes entirely from the self, and the Self should be cultivated wholly, or something like that. Really, what it comes down to is the idea that I simply can't shake that there might be something better--there's probably a more wholesome way to spend an evening. Still, I've experienced the positive side as well, and it's something I still can't exactly rationalize. On Saturday, when the streets were full of masses of drunk people by the river here in St Petersburg, I walked around with my camera, documenting the whole thing instead of participating in the expected way.

I can't ever seem to decide, also, whether I'm more an artist or a scientist. It pleases me very much to write, to comment on the world, to photograph what I see and share my impressions. It pleases my and calms my spirit to play the piano or the guitar. But I'm also searching for meaning all the time, and I always want to know why, what for, and what it means.

In the end, the something that I always have is myself, who I am, and where I come from. I've realized that what made Israel special isn't the sites themselves. It wasn't the place. A place is a place. What makes a place special is how a person connects to it. The people I met in Israel were interpreters. I wouldn't appreciate LA so much if not for the people I grew up with there. The halls and grounds of Tufts have meaning for me in this way. People need people, and that's a hard thing realize when you're ten thousand miles from home.

Interpretation: (This is what I did two summers ago, when I worked as an interpretive naturalist for MRCA)

Dead battery!