The Influence of Soviet Culture on Modern Russia: What’s Changed?
Soviet culture didn’t just vanish in 1991; it slipped into modern Russia the way an old song slips into a new playlist—remixed, sometimes distorted, but still recognizable underneath. Many of the habits, jokes, and ways of thinking that shape Russia today were forged in communal kitchens, school classrooms, queues, and cramped apartments of the Soviet period. If you’re learning Russian, or simply fascinated by Russian culture, understanding that world can make modern Russia feel less mysterious and more human.
The Soviet World Behind Today’s Russia
If you walk through a Russian city today, you see shopping malls, smartphones, coffee chains, and young people scrolling TikTok. On the surface, it feels like any other European or global city. But look closer and you’ll notice details that come from another era: the gray panel apartment blocks, the towering war memorials, the way people quote old films, the seriousness of school‑age kids on the metro clutching thick literature textbooks.
Those traces belong to Soviet culture—and they still quietly shape how Russians live, talk, and think. To understand modern Russia, you don’t need to become an expert on Soviet politics. You need to understand the everyday Soviet world: the spaces people lived in, the jokes they told, the way they queued for food and read books late into the night. That’s the world that still echoes when a Russian friend calls a quick explanation a likbez or jokes about “the severity of our laws being compensated by their non‑observance.”
Let’s walk through that world and see what has changed—and what very clearly hasn’t.
1. Inside Soviet Everyday Life
The “Soviet person”: life lived in the plural
The Soviet project was, among other things, a giant attempt to create a new kind of human being: the Sovetskii chelovek, the “Soviet person.” This figure was supposed to be collectivist, disciplined, and deeply loyal to the state and party. In official rhetoric, the worker, the peasant, and the “laboring intelligentsia” were the heroes, while “bourgeois” individuals focused on private comfort were suspect.
In practice, people learned to play roles. At work or at school, you attended meetings, marched in parades, repeated slogans about the Party and the bright communist future. In private, with family and close friends, you might joke about those same slogans or roll your eyes at the latest newspaper headline. Many Russians who grew up in the USSR still instinctively separate “what you say in public” from “what you say at the kitchen table”—a habit very visible in the way older generations talk today.
School, books, and the “most well‑read country”
If you ask Russians what the Soviet school system did well, many will say: it taught you to think seriously and to read. Education was highly centralized and demanding. From an early age, students were expected to master math and science at a level that still surprises many Western visitors. Russian language and literature occupied a special place. The canon—from Pushkin, Tolstoy, and Dostoevsky to Soviet authors—wasn’t just “for culture,” but presented as a guide to moral and social life.
The USSR liked to describe itself as the “most well‑read country in the world,” and this wasn’t entirely empty propaganda. Books mattered. People queued for them like for sausage; they borrowed and photocopied them; they discussed them late into the night. Being “cultured” meant knowing poems by heart, being able to quote Chekhov or Bulgakov, and having opinions about the latest novel that had somehow slipped past censors.
That legacy remains. When a Russian today drops a line from a classic novel into casual conversation, they’re not trying to sound pretentious—they’re drawing on a shared library that every “normal educated person” was expected to know.
Propaganda as the wallpaper of life
For Westerners, “Soviet propaganda” often means posters of red flags and smiling workers. For people who lived there, it was simply the wallpaper of life—literally and metaphorically. Posters in stairwells, slogans at the factory, portraits of leaders in school classrooms, endless speeches on the TV news, holidays organized around parades and mass demonstrations.
You were constantly told that the Party was the “intelligence, honor, and conscience of our epoch,” that the USSR was the most peaceful, progressive country, that history was marching toward communism. Over time, people developed a double vision. They could repeat the slogan and simultaneously mock it. Today many of those phrases survive as jokes, ironic references, or tired clichés, but you still hear them. When someone knowingly quotes a grandiose Soviet slogan, they’re often speaking both about the past and about present‑day rhetoric.
Communal apartments and panel blocks: the architecture of intimacy
If there is one physical space that captures Soviet everyday life, it’s the communal apartment—the kommunalka. Imagine a large pre‑revolutionary apartment cut into small rooms, each given to a different family. You share the kitchen, the bathroom, and the hallway with everyone else. You hear your neighbors’ arguments through thin walls, you smell their soup, you negotiate over fridge shelves, you stand in line for the bathroom in the morning.
Privacy is minimal, but the social life is intense. Many people remember a constant background of gossip, conflict, and solidarity. Everyday life was full of small negotiations and tactics: how loudly to talk, when to cook, how to avoid that one intrusive neighbor. The phrase “nose in your pot” sums up the feeling that everyone knew everything about you.
Starting in the 1960s, new mass‑produced apartment blocks—khrushchovki—promised each family its own small, private flat. These concrete boxes gave millions of people a real home for the first time, even if they were tiny and standardized. If you walk through Russian cities today, you still see these buildings everywhere. They are a constant reminder that for many Russians, the line between “we” and “I” at home is relatively recent.
Queues, shortages, and creative survival
If you ask older Russians about Soviet life, they will almost always mention queues. You queued for meat, for butter, for shoes, for washing machines, for tickets, for books. You might join a line without knowing exactly what was being sold; the logic was simple: if there’s a line, it must be something worthwhile. Rumor and information became valuable currency. Knowing that “they’re bringing sausage at 5 p.m. at that store” could make you very popular.
Queues had their own mini‑culture. There were unwritten rules about holding someone’s place, about not cutting in, about how the group policed fairness. There was also humor—the bitter jokes about standing in line for hours and ending up with bones or nothing at all. These experiences trained people in patience, suspicion, and the importance of connections.
Because so much was scarce, people learned to improvise. They repaired, repurposed, and exchanged. You sewed your own clothes, fixed your own appliances, bartered favors. This is where the famous concept of blat comes in—using personal networks to get things done, whether that meant securing a place in a kindergarten, getting medical attention, or simply buying decent sausage. The memo from those years: do not rely on the system; rely on people you know.
Humor and double meanings
Underneath the official seriousness, Soviet culture was full of jokes: the anekdot tradition. These weren’t stand‑up routines; they were short, sharp stories and one‑liners you’d tell friends in the kitchen, in the smoking area, in a train compartment. They made fun of leaders, shortages, the police, propaganda, and the absurd gap between the “bright future” on posters and the dinginess outside your window.
Telling and understanding these jokes was a kind of code. You had to know how far you could go, with whom you could share them. Humor was both a safety valve and a quiet form of resistance. It also created a habit of speaking in layers—saying one thing on the surface, signaling another underneath. That layered habit hasn’t disappeared.
Literature, poetry, and the kitchen table
Because politics in public was dangerous, serious conversations often moved into the private space: the famous “kitchen culture.” Couples, friends, colleagues would gather in small apartments, drink tea (or something stronger), and talk late into the night about books, philosophy, and the latest rumors. Writers and poets were seen as moral authorities—not just entertainers, but people who spoke truths others couldn’t.
If you’ve ever sat at a Russian kitchen table and watched the conversation deepen quickly—from “How’s work?” to “What is the point of life?”—you’re seeing the inheritance of that kitchen culture. People who grew up in the USSR were trained to use literature and deep conversation as a way to figure out what was real.
2. Habits that Survived the Fall
You might think that when the Soviet Union collapsed, all of this went with it. But culture doesn’t fall so easily. Many attitudes and practices born in that world still shape modern Russia.
Intellectual life and the “cultured person”
The Soviet ideal of the “cultured person” (kul’turnyi chelovek) has persisted. Being educated still means more than having a degree. It means reading “serious books,” knowing poetry, and being able to discuss big questions. Russian parents may complain about today’s schools and smartphones, but they still expect their children to handle heavy reading lists and treat literature as something that matters.
This respect for intellectual life is one reason Russian discussions can feel intense to outsiders. It’s normal for a casual conversation to slide into a debate about Dostoevsky or the moral lessons of World War II.
Classical education, discipline, and high expectations
Formally, the education system has changed since Soviet times, but the ethos is familiar. Russian schools still emphasize good command of the native language, math, and “serious” subjects. Homework loads can be heavy. Teachers are expected to shape not just knowledge, but character: discipline, perseverance, and moral values.
If you’re used to more relaxed Western classrooms, the structure of a Russian school may feel strict—uniforms, formal address, traditional teaching methods. But for many families, this is precisely the point. They see it as continuity with a system that, for all its flaws, produced well‑educated graduates.
State, authority, and the art of work around
Living in the Soviet Union taught people a complicated relationship with authority. On paper, the state was everything: employer, landlord, doctor, teacher. In reality, people knew that laws could be harsh and rules inflexible—but also selectively enforced. A famous saying captures this: “The severity of our laws is compensated by their non‑observance.”
In modern Russia, you still see this attitude. Many people talk about the state with a mix of respect, fear, cynicism, and dark humor. Official channels are often seen as slow or unreliable, so personal workarounds are normal: knowing whom to call, which form to ignore, which loophole to use. This doesn’t mean Russians are uniformly cynical; it means they’re pragmatic. They have decades of experience reading between the lines.
Collective loyalties and the small circle of trust
Good Soviet citizens were supposed to think collectively. They belonged to work collectives, student brigades, youth organizations. The group was everything; the individual was suspect. Those official collectives often felt forced, but they left a deep habit: people still place enormous importance on small, close circles of family and friends.
In post‑Soviet surveys, Russians often express low trust in anonymous institutions or strangers—but very high trust in their inner circle. You might not trust “the system,” but you trust your people absolutely. This can be confusing for foreigners: the same person who seems reserved or wary with you at first may become incredibly generous once you’re inside that circle.
The long shadow of WWII
The Great Patriotic War (World War II) remains one of the most powerful shared memories in Russia. Soviet propaganda elevated the war into a central myth of sacrifice and victory, and post‑Soviet Russia has continued—and in some ways intensified—that focus. Victory Day on May 9 is not just a holiday; it’s a ritual of mourning and pride. Families display photos of relatives who fought or died; children learn songs and stories about heroes.
For many Russians, the war is not distant history. It’s a family story. Almost every family has a grandmother who experienced the siege, a grandfather who fought at the front, relatives who never came back. That emotional weight shapes how people react to war imagery, patriotic slogans, and discussions of history today. What may look like abstract geopolitics from outside often feels deeply personal inside Russia.
3. What Changed After 1991
Of course, not everything continued. In some areas, the shift has been radical.
From shortage to shopping mall
If Soviet life was defined by scarcity, post‑Soviet life—especially in big cities—has been defined by abundance, at least visually. The 1990s and 2000s brought foreign brands, new domestic companies, glossy advertising, and a rise in consumer culture. Moscow and St Petersburg sprouted malls filled with clothing chains, electronics, and food courts. For people who grew up standing in line for basic goods, walking into a supermarket with twenty kinds of yogurt was surreal.
That change created excitement and anxiety. On one hand, you finally had choice. On the other hand, you needed money—and in the wild capitalism of the 1990s, money often came with instability and risk. For many Russians, the memory of going from “nothing to buy” to “everything is buyable but not for you” is still fresh. It shapes how they think about wealth, fairness, and the idea of “normal life.”
A new middle class with old habits
Out of that upheaval emerged a new urban middle class. These are the people you meet in co‑working spaces and coffee shops: professionals in IT, media, academia, business, or the creative industries. They travel, they shop online, they send their kids to extracurricular clubs and language schools. Their lives look, from the outside, similar to those of middle‑class peers in other countries.
Yet the Soviet echo is still there. Many of them grew up in khrushchovki, with parents who worked in Soviet factories or institutes. They carry inherited expectations: that education matters more than money, that “vulgar” displays of wealth are suspicious, that a truly respected person is cultured, not just rich. They may drive a foreign car and shop at Zara, but they also quote classic literature, scold their children to read more, and laugh at old Soviet comedies.
Globalization, with an asterisk
Since the 1990s, Russian culture has been opened and then partially re‑closed to global influence. Western music, films, fashion, and fast food became widely available; English loanwords entered advertising and youth slang. At the same time, the country never became simply “Westernized.” Russian pop culture developed in conversation with global trends, not just copying them.
You can see this in TV shows and films that revisit Soviet themes: communal apartments, pioneer camps, young people in the late Soviet years. Some are nostalgic, some critical, some both at once. Younger audiences consume both Marvel movies and series about their grandparents’ Soviet youth, and they move between these worlds with ease.
Digital life and new forms of irony
The internet amplified a long tradition of irony. In Soviet times, jokes traveled by word of mouth or handwritten notes; now they travel as memes, TikToks, YouTube sketches, and anonymous Telegram posts. But the basic skills—reading between the lines, saying one thing and meaning another—are the same.
For younger Russians, social media also broke the monopoly of school and state media on history and identity. They can read alternative histories of the Soviet period, watch bloggers visit abandoned factories, follow feminist or queer communities, or dive into nostalgia groups sharing photos of Soviet toys and packaging. The past is constantly being reinterpreted, remixed, and debated.
4. How the Soviet Past Lives in the Russian Language
If you’re learning Russian, you’ve already met some of the Soviet ghosts in the vocabulary.
Soviet words that survived
The Soviet system invented whole clusters of words and abbreviations. Some refer to institutions that no longer exist—Gosplan, kolkhoz, Komsomol—but remain instantly recognizable. Others have stretched into new meanings.
A great example is likbez. It began as a campaign to eliminate illiteracy after the revolution (from “likvidatsiya bezgramotnosti”). Today, Russians use it jokingly for a quick crash course: when a friend explains cryptocurrency or wine basics, you might say, “Спасибо за ликбез!”—“Thanks for the crash course!”
Even when words like GULAG or apparatchik have traveled into English, in Russian they carry a more textured charge, tied to family histories and local memory.
Slogans and bureaucratic phrases as in‑jokes
Decades of propaganda left behind a rich layer of slogans and clichés. Some older people still instinctively use them; others quote them ironically. Phrases like “the Party is the intelligence, honor, and conscience of our epoch” can be deployed today to mock grandiose official language in any context.
There is also the distinctive “bureaucratic Russian”—long, impersonal sentences full of passive verbs and abstract nouns. It sounds like this: “In connection with the above, measures have been taken to ensure…” It’s dry, heavy, and deliberately vague. Russians encounter it in official documents, government websites, and sometimes corporate emails. Many respond by parodying it in everyday joking contexts, writing mock‑official messages to friends.
For learners, recognizing this style is a small victory: you start to hear the difference between warm, colloquial Russian and “Sovietese.”
Shared references from film and song
Soviet cinema and music created a whole toolkit of quotes that Russians still use today. Lines from classic comedies, wartime dramas, and New Year movies function like 20th‑century memes. People might describe a chaotic situation with a line from a famous film, or greet New Year with a reference to a beloved Soviet holiday movie.
Younger generations may not always know the original scenes, but they absorb the phrases through parents, TV reruns, and internet culture. When you get to the point where you can watch a Soviet film in Russian and recognize lines you’ve already heard in jokes, you’ve crossed a real cultural threshold.
5. Soviet Culture in Today’s Art, Film, and Cities
The Soviet past is not just something Russians remember—it’s something they constantly re‑stage and debate in art and public space.
Films and series: nostalgia with questions
Since the 1990s, many filmmakers have turned back to late Soviet life. Some works are straightforwardly nostalgic: warm, slightly idealized portraits of simpler times, with communal kitchens and pioneer camps bathed in a golden light. Others focus on darker aspects: the Afghan war, political repression, or the quiet desperation of people stuck in a system they can’t change.
What unites them is an interest in everyday details. You see the wallpaper, the enamel cups, the clotheslines in the courtyard. For viewers, this is as much about their own childhoods (or their parents’ youth) as about “history.” For visitors or learners, these films can be a vivid window into the atmosphere behind the textbooks.
Literature: longing and the weight of objects
Contemporary Russian writers often explore Soviet memory not through big political events but through objects and textures: a particular brand of candy, the smell of a school gym, the shape of a sofa, the sound of a radio news jingle. These small things trigger powerful nostalgia—and not just “it was better then,” but a complicated longing for a world where life felt more certain, more communal, or simply more young.
You’ll find stories about grandparents who can’t throw away old newspapers, adult children who inherit a fully preserved Soviet apartment, people who feel that their childhood toys say more about them than any official biography.
Architecture and memorials: walking through layers of time
If you travel in Russia, you can see the Soviet layer everywhere. Panel apartment blocks, even when repainted with bright colors, still carry the geometry of mass housing. Grand boulevards built for parades now carry traffic jams. War memorials—often massive, solemn, and centrally located—pull you back to the 1940s in an instant.
Some Soviet buildings have been re‑branded: a former factory becomes a hip art center, a House of Culture turns into a shopping complex. But their bones remain, and for residents, they are constant reminders that the city was shaped by a different economic and ideological logic.
Museums also tell competing stories. Some focus on victims of repression and the Gulag; others highlight achievements in science, industry, and war. Together they reveal that Russians themselves do not agree on what the Soviet past “means”—and that disagreement is part of contemporary culture.
6. Three Generations, Three Relationships to the USSR
Modern Russia is not one memory, but many.
Those who lived most of their lives in the USSR
For people now in their 60s and older, the Soviet Union is not an abstract era; it’s their youth. They remember queues and communal apartments, but also guaranteed employment, cheap summer camps for children, workplace communities, and a sense that life followed a clear, if limited, path. Many of them feel ambivalent: critical of shortages and censorship, but nostalgic for stability, social guarantees, and a moral framework that seemed more solid than today’s.
Their language is often full of Soviet references; they may refer to institutions that no longer exist, use abbreviations from the Soviet state, or treat certain holidays as sacred. When you listen to them, you’re hearing living Soviet culture.
The “1990s generation”
People who were children or teenagers in the 1990s grew up amid economic collapse, crime, and dramatic social change. They saw their parents lose savings, their schools struggle, their cities fill with new advertisements and foreign products. At the same time, they experienced new freedoms: travel, uncensored music and films, the first wave of internet.
This generation often feels like it has one foot in each world. They may remember Soviet cartoons and New Year films fondly, but they can also tell you stories of chaos and uncertainty in their formative years. Their attitude to the Soviet past is typically more critical than their parents’, but they also question the promises of post‑Soviet capitalism and politics.
Those born after the USSR
For Russians born after 1991, the Soviet Union is a story they’ve been told—by textbooks, TV, and grandparents, by films and memes. They walk past Soviet monuments, live in Soviet‑era apartments, and go to schools still shaped by Soviet ideas of education. Yet their everyday life is digital, global, and in many ways radically different from their grandparents’ youth.
Some are drawn to retro Soviet aesthetics in an almost playful way: badges, T‑shirts with old logos, vintage photos. Others throw themselves into activism or intellectual work that critically examines the past. Many simply treat “Soviet” as one of several layers in their identity, not the defining one. But the past is there in the background, shaping institutions, spaces, and family narratives.
7. Why Soviet Culture Helps You Understand Modern Russia
If you’re reading this as someone interested in Russian language and culture, you might be wondering: do I really need to know about queues and communal apartments to talk to my Russian friend or travel in Moscow?
Strictly speaking, no. But understanding this background can change how you hear everything.
Humor becomes clearer
Russian humor can seem unexpectedly dark or absurd to outsiders. Once you realize it grew out of decades of telling dangerous truths in coded ways, it starts to make sense. The deadpan, the under‑statement, the quick switch from laments to laughter—all of that is part of a survival strategy. When someone uses an old Soviet slogan ironically, you’ll be able to hear the layers: nostalgia, criticism, affection, and weariness all at once.
Social behavior feels less “cold”
What can feel like “coldness” or “formality” in public—short small talk, serious facial expressions, not smiling at strangers—is, in part, a habit from times when you didn’t want to reveal too much to people you didn’t trust. The flip side is the intensity and warmth that can appear once you are invited into the inner circle. Understanding that historical logic can keep you from taking things personally and help you read interactions more accurately.
Communication style stops being a puzzle
Russian conversations often jump quickly into “big topics”: death, justice, corruption, the meaning of life. This can feel heavy to people from more small‑talk cultures. But if you know about the kitchen‑table tradition and the moral weight given to literature and history, you realize that this is not just “being negative.” It’s a way of taking life seriously, of treating the other person as a real interlocutor, not a polite acquaintance.
At the same time, the Soviet legacy explains the elaborate politeness of official speech and the reflexive skepticism toward it. You can watch people slip from intimate, emotional language to bureaucratic parody and back again—and know why.
Language learning: the key to the deeper layers
You can read about all of this in English, but the deeper you go, the more you run into limits. Soviet culture lives in Russian not just as vocabulary, but as nuances of tone, rhythm, and register. Phrases like likbez, jokes built on Soviet acronyms, references to particular poems or songs—they lose something in translation.
Learning Russian opens a door into those subtleties. When you can read a Soviet poem in the original or watch a late‑Soviet film without subtitles, you hear the hesitations, the hints, the moments where the actor’s eyes contradict the lines on the page. When you can follow a conversation where someone uses a bit of bureaucratic jargon ironically, you’re no longer just “studying culture”; you’re inside it.
That’s why, if you want to understand the influence of Soviet culture on modern Russia, language learning isn’t just a nice extra. It’s the main tool.
Where to Go from Here
If this kind of deep, culturally grounded understanding appeals to you, you don’t have to figure it out alone. One way to move from reading about Soviet and Russian culture to actually experiencing it is to learn Russian with a program that takes culture seriously, not just grammar drills.
Polyglottist Language Academy offers in-person and online Russian classes specifically for adult learners who care about cultural context as much as verb aspects. In that kind of setting, you’re not just memorizing vocabulary; you’re encountering Soviet and post‑Soviet realities through dialogues, texts, film clips, and conversation. You might read a short Soviet story and discuss how people used literature to talk around censorship, or watch a scene set in a communal apartment and unpack all the unspoken rules.
The more Russian you learn, the more these Soviet echoes in modern Russia stop being static in the background and become a texture you can hear, see, and respond to. Instead of feeling like you’re watching the country through glass, you start to understand the jokes, the silences, and the references that don’t make it into guidebooks.
In that sense, Soviet culture is not just a chapter of history. It’s a language—one that modern Russia still speaks in many different accents. Learning Russian, and exploring that layered culture with guidance, is the most direct way to become fluent in it.
FAQs About Soviet Culture and Modern Russia
Is Soviet culture still visible in Russia today?
Yes—very much so. Even though the Soviet Union officially ended in 1991, many aspects of Soviet culture continue to shape modern Russian life. You can see it in architecture (panel apartment blocks), in education (a strong focus on literature and mathematics), and even in everyday language. Soviet phrases, jokes, and cultural references still appear in conversations, films, and social media.
More importantly, certain attitudes formed during the Soviet era—such as skepticism toward official rhetoric, the importance of close friendships, and the habit of deep kitchen-table discussions—remain part of the social fabric.
Why do Russians still quote Soviet films and literature?
During the Soviet period, books and films were central to cultural life. Because entertainment options were limited and censorship made certain works especially meaningful, entire generations grew up memorizing poems, quoting movie lines, and discussing literature in great detail.
Today, those cultural references function almost like shared cultural shorthand. A single quote from a famous Soviet film can instantly communicate humor, irony, or nostalgia among Russians who recognize it.
Do younger Russians care about the Soviet past?
Younger Russians who were born after the collapse of the USSR often view Soviet culture differently than their parents or grandparents. For them, the Soviet Union is not lived experience but inherited memory.
Some are curious about it through films, retro aesthetics, and historical discussions online. Others treat it simply as one layer of their national history. But even if they did not grow up in the Soviet system, they still live in cities, schools, and cultural traditions shaped by that era.
Does learning Russian help you understand Soviet culture better?
Absolutely. Many aspects of Soviet culture are embedded directly in the Russian language. Certain words, jokes, and expressions come from Soviet institutions, films, or political slogans.
When you learn Russian, you begin to recognize these references naturally. What once seemed like obscure historical details suddenly appear in conversations, memes, and everyday speech.
Language learning makes the cultural background come alive.
Where can adults learn Russian with cultural context?
If you want to understand Russia beyond headlines or history books, studying the language with cultural context is essential.
Polyglottist Language Academy offers online Russian classes designed specifically for adult learners who want more than vocabulary lists. Lessons often explore Russian literature, films, and everyday cultural habits—including the Soviet influences that still shape modern Russian society.
Learning Russian in this way allows you to understand not only the language but also the deeper cultural references that make conversations with native speakers meaningful.
Explore Russian Language and Culture with Polyglottist Language Academy
Reading about Soviet culture is fascinating—but experiencing Russian culture through the language itself is even more rewarding.
At Polyglottist Language Academy, students learn Russian in a way that connects language with history, literature, and real-life conversation. Instead of memorizing isolated grammar rules, learners encounter Russian through authentic cultural materials and guided discussion.
Our in-person and online Russian classes for adults focus on:
Practical conversation skills
Understanding Russian humor and cultural references
Reading short texts from Russian literature
Exploring everyday life in Russia past and present
Whether you are interested in travel, literature, history, or simply connecting with Russian-speaking friends and colleagues, learning the language opens a much deeper window into the culture.
👉 Explore our Russian classes at Polyglottist Language Academy and begin discovering the layers of Russian culture from the inside.
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