November has come and gone.
It was a very full month, one that really made me realize how much I love my life here. It's been a time of good food. I hosted a Thanksgiving dinner one weekend and a taco dinner the next, and then the next weekend went to another Thanksgiving dinner. I've been ice skating, to the planetarium, and out walking around the city. In addition to all this, I picked up an Elementary English class and actually started taking Russian lessons: an hour and a half Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. It's hard for me to remember what a quiet month September was.
The Thanksgiving dinner was kind of crazy. Since we work until 9 each weekday, we decided it would be best to have it on a Saturday. We made it early November as a compromise with the Canadian holiday and to give more of the teachers a chance to come. I recall the afternoon and evening through kind of a haze. After getting off work on Thursday night, I made cranberry sauce (really easy to do, by the way). Then, Friday night the real work began. I had decided to make a huge amount and variety of food: pumpkin soup, pumpkin ice cream pie, dinner rolls, green beans, macaroni and cheese, corn bread, mashed potatoes, and probably something else I now, thankfully, cannot recall. I did almost half Friday night, fell asleep, then woke up and tried to finish cooking and clean at the same time. I was very grateful that Randy, the Canadian, took care of the turkey and stuffing. Then came dinner. We talked, gave thanks, played Apples to Apples, and ate a ton. I sent home doggy bags with those who helped me clean, but I still didn't cook for a week. Which was one more thing to be thankful for.
The taco dinner the next week was a lot less work, but still provided me with food for the week. I made tacos and guacamole, as well as found corn chips. The result wasn't really even authentic by any definition, but it was good. My advanced class had a great time, I think, though they almost drove me crazy asking if different permutations of salsa, guacamole, meat, beans, tomatoes, etc were allowed! yes, yes, you can just have cheese and meat. Or cheese and salsa, if you really want. Go for it. They supplied fantastic Russian deserts: blini and apple "pie."
The Russian lessons may kill me. An hour and a half is a really long time. I find myself in a constant struggle. It is very easy for me to see the value of the lessons, and I see clear improvement in my speech, reading, and writing, but after 45 minutes I just keep glancing at the clock. Especially on Friday, when my tongue is often aching from trying to make the palatalized letters properly. My teacher assures me that the way Russians say them is the same way they are supposed to be said in German. Which leads me to 2 conclusion: 1. My German accent must be pretty bad. 2. Everyone still understood me, so how important can the difference in sounds really be? Ha. I'll keep trying.
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Friday, October 23, 2009
Nazi?
Over the last few weeks, I've been getting a little braver about trying out my Russian on people. You would think that, living in Russian, I wouldn't really have any option but practice. And it is true that I get plenty of practice saying "200 grams of that salad, please," "yes, a small bag," and "May I have a crepe filled with all sorts of Russian food like mashed potatoes, sour cream, and pickles" (easier to say in Russian, actually), but other than that it is actually really easy to avoid situations where more would be required.
A couple of weeks ago, I ran into one of those unavoidable situations, though. Everyday it seemed my apartment was just a little darker, and it wasn't all to blame on the quickly-shortening days. No, my lightbulbs were all burning out, one by one, and I had no idea really where to get new ones. My roommate always bought them last year. Of course, I should have looked up how to say "lightbulb" in my dictionary, but I never thought about it at the right time. So, with nothing but the idea that they might be in the supermarket, I went looking. No luck. I decided to go to a little grocery store where I'd be able to actually look at every shelf closely. Still, no luck. But there I found a nice woman willing to listen to me fumble with the Russian I did know to ask about this item. Basically, I said: "I need something, but I don't know how to call it in Russian. I have a lamp, but no light. I need this." and then motioned with my hands screwing in a bulb. She somehow understood me, told me the name of the item, and sent me to a store that actually sold them. I was elated, mostly because I was able to understand her entire answer.
That adventure gave me the courage to try more. Last Thursday, I decided to try to buy some peppers and tomatoes from this woman selling them from the back of a truck in a lot near my apartment. I wasn't really sure of the protocol for how to do this. I could see lots of vegetables and a scale, so I knew it would be by weight. I was nervous it was a bring your own bag occasion, but I decided to try and hope that they'd at least be willing to sell me a bag as I always forget to carry one.
I managed to bobble through figuring out the process and was then the proud owner of some incredibly cheap sweet peppers (the good tomatoes for the day had already been taken). Amused by my accent, the lady selling the produce asked me if I was German. In my defense, I'd like to point out that this woman was from the Caucasus and had a funny accent, but I didn't understand the questions. I asked her to repeat herself, and she just said "Nazi?" Horrified, I said "no, no, no (no's come in threes here) I'm from the USA." She and I chatted some more, with her accusing me of being a bad student of Russian. I explained that actually I taught English. I didn't catch everything she was saying, but pretty soon she was inviting me to that most traditional of Russian pasttimes, walking and sitting in parks and drinking beer. I didn't really know what to do, so I started pretending to understand less and changing the subject back to tomatoes. In the end, she put her cell phone in my hands so that I could type in my number and she could invite me later. It was important, you see, because she was a poet, as she proved by reciting poetry at me. I quickly typed a number that closely resembled mine, but differed on a few digits. The trick will be when I want more peppers...
A couple of weeks ago, I ran into one of those unavoidable situations, though. Everyday it seemed my apartment was just a little darker, and it wasn't all to blame on the quickly-shortening days. No, my lightbulbs were all burning out, one by one, and I had no idea really where to get new ones. My roommate always bought them last year. Of course, I should have looked up how to say "lightbulb" in my dictionary, but I never thought about it at the right time. So, with nothing but the idea that they might be in the supermarket, I went looking. No luck. I decided to go to a little grocery store where I'd be able to actually look at every shelf closely. Still, no luck. But there I found a nice woman willing to listen to me fumble with the Russian I did know to ask about this item. Basically, I said: "I need something, but I don't know how to call it in Russian. I have a lamp, but no light. I need this." and then motioned with my hands screwing in a bulb. She somehow understood me, told me the name of the item, and sent me to a store that actually sold them. I was elated, mostly because I was able to understand her entire answer.
That adventure gave me the courage to try more. Last Thursday, I decided to try to buy some peppers and tomatoes from this woman selling them from the back of a truck in a lot near my apartment. I wasn't really sure of the protocol for how to do this. I could see lots of vegetables and a scale, so I knew it would be by weight. I was nervous it was a bring your own bag occasion, but I decided to try and hope that they'd at least be willing to sell me a bag as I always forget to carry one.
I managed to bobble through figuring out the process and was then the proud owner of some incredibly cheap sweet peppers (the good tomatoes for the day had already been taken). Amused by my accent, the lady selling the produce asked me if I was German. In my defense, I'd like to point out that this woman was from the Caucasus and had a funny accent, but I didn't understand the questions. I asked her to repeat herself, and she just said "Nazi?" Horrified, I said "no, no, no (no's come in threes here) I'm from the USA." She and I chatted some more, with her accusing me of being a bad student of Russian. I explained that actually I taught English. I didn't catch everything she was saying, but pretty soon she was inviting me to that most traditional of Russian pasttimes, walking and sitting in parks and drinking beer. I didn't really know what to do, so I started pretending to understand less and changing the subject back to tomatoes. In the end, she put her cell phone in my hands so that I could type in my number and she could invite me later. It was important, you see, because she was a poet, as she proved by reciting poetry at me. I quickly typed a number that closely resembled mine, but differed on a few digits. The trick will be when I want more peppers...
Saturday, September 26, 2009
What brought me back
In Prince Caspian (the book, of course), Lucy asks Aslan why he didn't just make everything right, the way he did against the White Witch. As I recall, Aslan looks through her tears and says things never happen the same way twice. His answer is true in that story, I've seen it to be true in general, and it is certainly the truth in the case of my return to Volgograd.
Of course I knew things would be different this year, but somehow I still took a lot of the aspects of my life last year for granted. Last year, the young foreign teachers all hung out together. We had fun exploring the city's limited tourist attractions and trying out its various cuisines. This year the other teachers, while interesting and enjoyable people, are at too many different stages of life to make hanging out automatic or natural-seeming. That's where it's really good that at least on Sundays I get to spend time with some real friends in fellowship and good conversation.
While last year I shared an apartment overlooking the Volga river, this year I'm living alone in a comfortably run-down flat with its own set of unique quirks of personality. For example, when I wish to wash dishes in the kitchen, I must first turn on the hot water in the bathtub, then turn on the faucet in the kitchen, then turn down, but not off, the tap to the tub. And, as I discovered today, all the plugs in the whole apartment are on the same circuit. Thankfully, I quickly discovered the correct button to push and I'm rarely so busy that I would need to do laundry and vacuum at the same time.
My classes this year are also different, but I actually know a lot of the students from last year. Since I'm teaching exam preparation courses, many of my students were in my upper-intermediate classes last year. It's fun to get to see so many of the same faces, but the fact that I know them so well makes me feel more emotionally involved in making sure they are prepared to pass their exams. Of course, having a test looming in the distance means the lessons are a little less free-form and fun than they were last year.
All this is not to say that I'm having a bad time here. It's different, and there are certainly times when I wish it weren't. But the fact that things change is not the only lesson in Prince Caspian. There was a reason things were different, even if it was one that Lucy couldn't grasp. Lots of times, I don't really know why I'm here, but that's okay. What brought me back is surely nothing as dramatic as the blowing of Susan's horn, but I trust that there is something.
Of course I knew things would be different this year, but somehow I still took a lot of the aspects of my life last year for granted. Last year, the young foreign teachers all hung out together. We had fun exploring the city's limited tourist attractions and trying out its various cuisines. This year the other teachers, while interesting and enjoyable people, are at too many different stages of life to make hanging out automatic or natural-seeming. That's where it's really good that at least on Sundays I get to spend time with some real friends in fellowship and good conversation.
While last year I shared an apartment overlooking the Volga river, this year I'm living alone in a comfortably run-down flat with its own set of unique quirks of personality. For example, when I wish to wash dishes in the kitchen, I must first turn on the hot water in the bathtub, then turn on the faucet in the kitchen, then turn down, but not off, the tap to the tub. And, as I discovered today, all the plugs in the whole apartment are on the same circuit. Thankfully, I quickly discovered the correct button to push and I'm rarely so busy that I would need to do laundry and vacuum at the same time.
My classes this year are also different, but I actually know a lot of the students from last year. Since I'm teaching exam preparation courses, many of my students were in my upper-intermediate classes last year. It's fun to get to see so many of the same faces, but the fact that I know them so well makes me feel more emotionally involved in making sure they are prepared to pass their exams. Of course, having a test looming in the distance means the lessons are a little less free-form and fun than they were last year.
All this is not to say that I'm having a bad time here. It's different, and there are certainly times when I wish it weren't. But the fact that things change is not the only lesson in Prince Caspian. There was a reason things were different, even if it was one that Lucy couldn't grasp. Lots of times, I don't really know why I'm here, but that's okay. What brought me back is surely nothing as dramatic as the blowing of Susan's horn, but I trust that there is something.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Sept 3, 2009
As you can surmise from the fact that I’m writing this, I made it to Volgograd safely and without major incident. My flight from Atlanta to DC was fine, and I even got seated in the Economy Plus section, where the 5 extra inches of legroom were nice, but not really necessary for such a short flight. Sitting around the DC airport went okay, particularly because I was able to purchase a day’s worth of wireless access and thus say goodbye, again, to Adam and James and whoever happened to be online at the time, as well as kill time watching my own choice of TV. DC to Moscow was fine, but long. It was no great surprise that I got very little sleep.
When I arrived at the Moscow airport and got through security (the lines are longer but the process shorter than in the states) I soon became very grateful for my cell phone. No one was there to greet me, but I was able to get in touch with Volgograd, who confirmed for me first that there was someone on the way, then that that someone had had car troubles and a new driver was on the way. Crises averted, though sitting around the airport while dead tired is not much fun.
I found myself dozing off over and over the whole afternoon as I was shuttled between the airport, the school office, the apartment where they let me nap, the school again, and finally the train station. Even with that napping, I still fell asleep almost immediately when I got on the train at 7:30 in the evening and, short of maybe 2 hours of waking up and reading for a bit, slept straight through until 11:30 the next morning when my compartment mate finally decided I really needed to wake up.
As soon as I got off the train at 5 pm, I was greeted by Elena, one of our administrators. She took me to my new apartment, which happens to have been Sarah’s apartment last year. It is comfortable and close to the school, as well as a number of other things. It will have a washing machine starting Monday and internet access in about 9 days. The only thing I’m worried about right now is learning how to use the oven . The stovetop works fine and is easy to light, but I can’t figure out how to turn on the oven, and the landlord had no clue. I know Sarah used it last year, so I’m confident that it will eventually work out.
Classes start on Monday, so between now and then I’ll have lots of free time to settle in (and look around for internet for the coming days). It looks like the teaching staff will be sort of staggering in this year, coming at a number of different times. I hope this doesn’t make our schedule really tough at the beginning before others get here. Right now it looks like I’ll be teaching mostly exam prep courses. I’ll let you know more when I know more.
As you can surmise from the fact that I’m writing this, I made it to Volgograd safely and without major incident. My flight from Atlanta to DC was fine, and I even got seated in the Economy Plus section, where the 5 extra inches of legroom were nice, but not really necessary for such a short flight. Sitting around the DC airport went okay, particularly because I was able to purchase a day’s worth of wireless access and thus say goodbye, again, to Adam and James and whoever happened to be online at the time, as well as kill time watching my own choice of TV. DC to Moscow was fine, but long. It was no great surprise that I got very little sleep.
When I arrived at the Moscow airport and got through security (the lines are longer but the process shorter than in the states) I soon became very grateful for my cell phone. No one was there to greet me, but I was able to get in touch with Volgograd, who confirmed for me first that there was someone on the way, then that that someone had had car troubles and a new driver was on the way. Crises averted, though sitting around the airport while dead tired is not much fun.
I found myself dozing off over and over the whole afternoon as I was shuttled between the airport, the school office, the apartment where they let me nap, the school again, and finally the train station. Even with that napping, I still fell asleep almost immediately when I got on the train at 7:30 in the evening and, short of maybe 2 hours of waking up and reading for a bit, slept straight through until 11:30 the next morning when my compartment mate finally decided I really needed to wake up.
As soon as I got off the train at 5 pm, I was greeted by Elena, one of our administrators. She took me to my new apartment, which happens to have been Sarah’s apartment last year. It is comfortable and close to the school, as well as a number of other things. It will have a washing machine starting Monday and internet access in about 9 days. The only thing I’m worried about right now is learning how to use the oven . The stovetop works fine and is easy to light, but I can’t figure out how to turn on the oven, and the landlord had no clue. I know Sarah used it last year, so I’m confident that it will eventually work out.
Classes start on Monday, so between now and then I’ll have lots of free time to settle in (and look around for internet for the coming days). It looks like the teaching staff will be sort of staggering in this year, coming at a number of different times. I hope this doesn’t make our schedule really tough at the beginning before others get here. Right now it looks like I’ll be teaching mostly exam prep courses. I’ll let you know more when I know more.
Sept 2, 2009
The Statue is Still Standing
Last year in Volgograd, I heard some disturbing news: the statue of Mother Russia, the most visible landmark in the city, might be falling. Its base is slowly eroding, and while the Russian government assures the populace that they are correcting the situation, many remain unconvinced. Certainly the loss of this statue would be a devastating loss to the people of this city. Anyone with a passing knowledge of history knows of the battle that took place here, the deadliest battle in history, but how many outside Russia could tell you that Stalingrad is now known as Volgograd? The change in name, while laudable in intention, hides the “Hero-City’s” past from the casual observer. The statue, built on the strategically important Mamaev Hill, is a powerful link to this past. Also, as any of my students is quick to remind me, it is bigger than the Statue of Liberty.
All that said, as an outsider, I have no strong emotional attachment to the statue. It is extremely impressive, but when I learned the artist fashioned her after his wife, all I could think was “he must have hated his wife.” I had thought that the menacing look on her rather ugly face was simply meant to inspire fear into Soviet Russia’s enemies. If she fell, I’d feel bad for the citizens of Volgograd, but I’d be more concerned with 1) not having it land on me and 2) taking pictures and hoping to be an on the scene reporter for some English speaking news source with limited resources. In fact, some of the other (foreign) teachers and I had a running joke about starting a betting pool placing odds on when she would fall. Also on where, if one were to be visiting the hill when she fell, one should run in order to survive.
Still, I was pleased to see as my train chugged past that Mother Russia is still standing, tall and proud. I look forward to exploring the city in the next couple of weeks to see what changes have occurred over the summer, but it seems like a good sign that the statue, at least, is still standing.
The Statue is Still Standing
Last year in Volgograd, I heard some disturbing news: the statue of Mother Russia, the most visible landmark in the city, might be falling. Its base is slowly eroding, and while the Russian government assures the populace that they are correcting the situation, many remain unconvinced. Certainly the loss of this statue would be a devastating loss to the people of this city. Anyone with a passing knowledge of history knows of the battle that took place here, the deadliest battle in history, but how many outside Russia could tell you that Stalingrad is now known as Volgograd? The change in name, while laudable in intention, hides the “Hero-City’s” past from the casual observer. The statue, built on the strategically important Mamaev Hill, is a powerful link to this past. Also, as any of my students is quick to remind me, it is bigger than the Statue of Liberty.
All that said, as an outsider, I have no strong emotional attachment to the statue. It is extremely impressive, but when I learned the artist fashioned her after his wife, all I could think was “he must have hated his wife.” I had thought that the menacing look on her rather ugly face was simply meant to inspire fear into Soviet Russia’s enemies. If she fell, I’d feel bad for the citizens of Volgograd, but I’d be more concerned with 1) not having it land on me and 2) taking pictures and hoping to be an on the scene reporter for some English speaking news source with limited resources. In fact, some of the other (foreign) teachers and I had a running joke about starting a betting pool placing odds on when she would fall. Also on where, if one were to be visiting the hill when she fell, one should run in order to survive.
Still, I was pleased to see as my train chugged past that Mother Russia is still standing, tall and proud. I look forward to exploring the city in the next couple of weeks to see what changes have occurred over the summer, but it seems like a good sign that the statue, at least, is still standing.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
286 down, 6 to go
In each of our classrooms there is a clock, and on each of those clocks there is the date. For the last week, each time I see that date I'm a bit shocked. After being here for all this time, months and months on end, I'm actually going home. I'm certainly excited and can't wait to see everyone and experience America again, but it's hard to wrap my mind around. What will it feel like to see a policeman smile or to have to remember that a 5% tip is simply not acceptable?
It's going to be difficult to explain my experience. I know I've been guilty of asking incredibly vague and useless questions about people's travels and fully expect to get plenty of "How was Russia?" and the like. To prepare myself, I've decided to try to list 10 things I've learned.
1. In America we take reliability for granted. In Russia, if you see the cereal you like on the shelf, buy it. It might disappear tomorrow and be gone for a month. Also, keep several large containers of water in your apartment at all times so that when the water doesn't work for half a day, you can still function normally.
2. Not speaking the language of the surrounding culture has both advantages and disadvantages, but the second outweigh the first. I love the feeling of breakthrough when I communicate successfully in Russian and I have to admit that I enjoy the liberty to talk about people in front of them without their understanding, but I often wonder what I would do if I saw someone who really needed help. Also, not being able to speak Russian makes the post office that much worse.
3. In America we take the trustworthiness of our politicians for granted. Sure we have corrupt politicians and we make that stereotype the butt of many of our jokes, but we are honestly shocked when true corruption is revealed. Here it is simply expected.
4. Beets don't taste all that bad. Neither does cabbage. Especially when your body starts craving fresh vegetables. But mushrooms are still horrible.
5. British English and American English are actually remarkably different considering the common history and the frequent cultural interaction between the two nations. While the British system of saying "in hospital" does make sense, there are many ways I still hold that the American language is superior.
6. Living without faith in public figures seems to bind people more closely to their friends and loved ones.
7. I'm pretty sure fate has conspired to prevent us from ever finding Chinese food in Volgograd. Though since the "Mexican" food was covered in barbeque sauce and dill, that might have been for the better.
8. Anything can go on pizza, but that doesn't mean it is good. While fish is predictably horrible, fried egg is remarkably good.
9. While Americans could, and should, do more for the environment, we do care a lot more than some other nations.
10. The internet is probably the most wonderful invention of all time. As much as it pains me to say it, I think it equals the printing press.
It's going to be difficult to explain my experience. I know I've been guilty of asking incredibly vague and useless questions about people's travels and fully expect to get plenty of "How was Russia?" and the like. To prepare myself, I've decided to try to list 10 things I've learned.
1. In America we take reliability for granted. In Russia, if you see the cereal you like on the shelf, buy it. It might disappear tomorrow and be gone for a month. Also, keep several large containers of water in your apartment at all times so that when the water doesn't work for half a day, you can still function normally.
2. Not speaking the language of the surrounding culture has both advantages and disadvantages, but the second outweigh the first. I love the feeling of breakthrough when I communicate successfully in Russian and I have to admit that I enjoy the liberty to talk about people in front of them without their understanding, but I often wonder what I would do if I saw someone who really needed help. Also, not being able to speak Russian makes the post office that much worse.
3. In America we take the trustworthiness of our politicians for granted. Sure we have corrupt politicians and we make that stereotype the butt of many of our jokes, but we are honestly shocked when true corruption is revealed. Here it is simply expected.
4. Beets don't taste all that bad. Neither does cabbage. Especially when your body starts craving fresh vegetables. But mushrooms are still horrible.
5. British English and American English are actually remarkably different considering the common history and the frequent cultural interaction between the two nations. While the British system of saying "in hospital" does make sense, there are many ways I still hold that the American language is superior.
6. Living without faith in public figures seems to bind people more closely to their friends and loved ones.
7. I'm pretty sure fate has conspired to prevent us from ever finding Chinese food in Volgograd. Though since the "Mexican" food was covered in barbeque sauce and dill, that might have been for the better.
8. Anything can go on pizza, but that doesn't mean it is good. While fish is predictably horrible, fried egg is remarkably good.
9. While Americans could, and should, do more for the environment, we do care a lot more than some other nations.
10. The internet is probably the most wonderful invention of all time. As much as it pains me to say it, I think it equals the printing press.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
In Russia, I mean, Ukraine pictures
A few pictures from inside the 3rd class compartment. That little table flips down to the level of the benches and becomes a berth.
From the Kara-Dog nature preserve. Even with the clouds, it looked amazing.
From the Kara Dog museum. Sadly, we didn't see any of those fluffy eared squirrels in real life. Also our guide who looked like he could destroy us if we dared pick a flower.
Some flowers from Chekhov's dacha and the Ukrainian countryside, as seen from a bus.
Some pictures of Yalta from the bucket lift and a model posing at the Swallow's Nest
The Swallow's Nest: A tiny and apparently useless castle, but the scenery is amazing.
A Yaltan Confederate Flag anyone? In the Simferopol Panarama, notice that men in speedos and sombreros are banned. And the bucket lift of Yalta.
The scenery around Chersonessus, the cathedral built in honor of the baptism of the first Christian Czar, and the gazebo marking the place of the baptism.
In Russia, I mean, Ukraine
Right now it is hard for me to believe that I will be home in less than two and a half weeks. Time moves in fits and starts, but for the most part it has been extremely fast. Some of my students have asked me if I'm looking forward to going home. I tell them "yes" very quickly, then try to put into words just how excited I am. Failing to think of anything that could be both understood by and interesting to an English Language Learner, I just grin and repeat "yes, I am looking forward to it very much."
I know I'm slack about posting on this blog, which is a shame. A lot has happened in the last month. The most exciting thing was our trip to Ukraine. The other two American teachers and I met up with one of their friends from back home and together the four of us toured the Crimean Peninsula for a week. There a person doesn't have to choose between the mountains and the sea. Both are to be found right next to each other to spectacular effect. Before I say more about Crimea, I must explain that culturally, Crimea is still very Russian. While the official language is Ukrainian, few people speak it nativily in this region which was given by the soviets as a gift to Ukraine back when it was one republic and nobody though it would ever actually matter who owned what. We began our journey, of course, with a long train ride. Volgograd to Simferopol takes a little over 24 hours, with over an hour of that devoted to border crossing. No one tried to extort a bribe out of us, so it was a fairly pleasant experience. We shared a coupe compartment with a man and his extremely active six year old son. They, along with about 14 other parents with children, were heading to do a bike tour of Crimea. At one point in the trip, a number of the children came into our compartment. Apparently thinking that we also were with their group, they sat down across from us. I don't know whether they were expecting entertainment or what, but when we explained who we were and where we were from, one little girl expressed her shock and the others just stared. It was pretty funny. The one girl talked to us a bit, but for the most part, it was just them staring at the first Americans they'd ever seen for about 15 minutes.
When we arrived, it was cold and rainy. This continued as we took a bus to Sevestopol, home of the Russian fleet and site of the baptism of the first Christian Czar. In fact, the rain continued most of the time we were in that city. That didn't stop us from recognizing that the city would be extremely beautiful in the sun, and we did get to visit the Greek colony which was the site of the baptism. We also met a strange young man with a pet rat who lived in his jacket. He offered to let us pet the rat, and the first thing I thought was "The plague entered Europe through Crimea." Of course, he only spoke Russian, so our conversation was quite limited. He did draw us a picture of the monument to the scuttled ships in the harbour (from the Crimean War). I'm not sure that if I had his drawing skills I would be so quick to put them on display, in fact, I think I do have his drawing skills, but to each his own. Speaking of the Crimean War, there is a panorama museum of the war in that city. Housed in a beautiful building with a convincing panarama depiction of one day of the battle, this museum could teach the Volgograd Panorama a thing or two. Our evenings were relaxing as we stayed in a church's guesthouse that was both comfortable and very affordable.
After a couple of days, we moved on to Yalta, the gaudy yet beautiful playground of Russian tourists. While our accommodations in Sevestopol had been very affordable, here they were dirt cheap. We found an old woman renting an entire apartment, granted, a relatively small one, for what worked out to be less than 5 dollars each per night. We enjoyed our time in Yalta as we mixed kitchy activities, like visiting the Swallows Nest (see pictures) and taking the bucket chair lift, with more intellectual ones, like visiting Anton Chekhov's dacha and the site of the Big 4 meeting. We tried to celebrate Cinco de Mayo there, but Lonely Planet failed us. The Mexican restaurant they touted was closed and dusty looking. We tried a place that looked Chinese instead, but it turned out to be regular Russian food with Chinese decor. Pretty typical. Determined to make our own fun, we went to one of the pebble beaches(there is no other kind in Crimea) to write a message, put it in a bottle, and throw the bottle in the ocean. A quick assessment of the tides showed us that the bottle would likely wash up on the same shore in about 45 minutes, so we claimed in the note to be from Bulgaria, just to add more interest in case anyone found it. We included our e-mail addresses but have so far heard nothing.
We continued on to Feodosia, which is similar to Yalta in many ways but, at least when we went, much less crowded and therefore more charming. The long-distance bus station is on the very edge of town, so at first we thought we were the victims of some elaborate ruse and had been left in a village. After getting settled in, we walked through the city some and along the ocean front. Maybe it was because it was the off season, but the city seemed to roll up its sidewalks at 9, leaving us to eat in a fast food place that turned out to be amazing. The next day we went on a hike in a nature preserve with stunning ancient rock formations, and a guide who alternated between stoical silence and blathering on during our frequent stops to appreciate some particular formation. Perhaps I would have enjoyed his speeches more if I knew Russian, but it was pretty cold and I think many of the Russians in our group felt as I did about these delays during which the wind whipped around us.
A little poor planning on our part meant that the busses stopped running before we got off the mountain. Some ladies in the information booth had told us that one should be there shortly if we waited, but we soon realized that it wasn't happening. They tried to find us a taxi number and failed, but recommended we walk down the road to a shop where taxis usually wait. The shop was closed and there were no taxis. We continued walking through this village about an hour outside of the city until we found a bus shelter. Thankfully there was an ad for a taxi there, so we called and he soon came and picked us up. You would think that a taxi trip like that, which involved him driving us nearly an hour and then returning home, would have been really expensive, but it turned out to be around twenty dollars. At that point I would have gratefully paid double.
Our return trip to Volgograd was a little less pleasant. We were riding in 3rd class to save money, which meant people coming and going all through the night. Also, we crossed the border at about 8:30 in the morning, and the lady in charge of our car decided that meant we should be woken up around 5:30 to fill out our migration cards. It took me all of 10 minutes to do so, and that was only becuase I was so tired I was having trouble seeing the boxes. I tried to go back to sleep, but this officious woman kept coming by to make sure everyone was ready.
All in all, the trip was wonderful. The views were fantastic and I got to walk where greatness had been. As a break from Russia, though, it was quite disappointing. We kept finding ourselves calling it part of Russia and then quickly self-correcting. I don't know nearly enough to have an opinion about such a politically loaded question, but if you want to see a lot of Russian people, eat a lot of Russian food, and hear a lot of Russian spoken, you can save yourself the hassle of getting a visa and just go to Crimea.
I know I'm slack about posting on this blog, which is a shame. A lot has happened in the last month. The most exciting thing was our trip to Ukraine. The other two American teachers and I met up with one of their friends from back home and together the four of us toured the Crimean Peninsula for a week. There a person doesn't have to choose between the mountains and the sea. Both are to be found right next to each other to spectacular effect. Before I say more about Crimea, I must explain that culturally, Crimea is still very Russian. While the official language is Ukrainian, few people speak it nativily in this region which was given by the soviets as a gift to Ukraine back when it was one republic and nobody though it would ever actually matter who owned what. We began our journey, of course, with a long train ride. Volgograd to Simferopol takes a little over 24 hours, with over an hour of that devoted to border crossing. No one tried to extort a bribe out of us, so it was a fairly pleasant experience. We shared a coupe compartment with a man and his extremely active six year old son. They, along with about 14 other parents with children, were heading to do a bike tour of Crimea. At one point in the trip, a number of the children came into our compartment. Apparently thinking that we also were with their group, they sat down across from us. I don't know whether they were expecting entertainment or what, but when we explained who we were and where we were from, one little girl expressed her shock and the others just stared. It was pretty funny. The one girl talked to us a bit, but for the most part, it was just them staring at the first Americans they'd ever seen for about 15 minutes.
When we arrived, it was cold and rainy. This continued as we took a bus to Sevestopol, home of the Russian fleet and site of the baptism of the first Christian Czar. In fact, the rain continued most of the time we were in that city. That didn't stop us from recognizing that the city would be extremely beautiful in the sun, and we did get to visit the Greek colony which was the site of the baptism. We also met a strange young man with a pet rat who lived in his jacket. He offered to let us pet the rat, and the first thing I thought was "The plague entered Europe through Crimea." Of course, he only spoke Russian, so our conversation was quite limited. He did draw us a picture of the monument to the scuttled ships in the harbour (from the Crimean War). I'm not sure that if I had his drawing skills I would be so quick to put them on display, in fact, I think I do have his drawing skills, but to each his own. Speaking of the Crimean War, there is a panorama museum of the war in that city. Housed in a beautiful building with a convincing panarama depiction of one day of the battle, this museum could teach the Volgograd Panorama a thing or two. Our evenings were relaxing as we stayed in a church's guesthouse that was both comfortable and very affordable.
After a couple of days, we moved on to Yalta, the gaudy yet beautiful playground of Russian tourists. While our accommodations in Sevestopol had been very affordable, here they were dirt cheap. We found an old woman renting an entire apartment, granted, a relatively small one, for what worked out to be less than 5 dollars each per night. We enjoyed our time in Yalta as we mixed kitchy activities, like visiting the Swallows Nest (see pictures) and taking the bucket chair lift, with more intellectual ones, like visiting Anton Chekhov's dacha and the site of the Big 4 meeting. We tried to celebrate Cinco de Mayo there, but Lonely Planet failed us. The Mexican restaurant they touted was closed and dusty looking. We tried a place that looked Chinese instead, but it turned out to be regular Russian food with Chinese decor. Pretty typical. Determined to make our own fun, we went to one of the pebble beaches(there is no other kind in Crimea) to write a message, put it in a bottle, and throw the bottle in the ocean. A quick assessment of the tides showed us that the bottle would likely wash up on the same shore in about 45 minutes, so we claimed in the note to be from Bulgaria, just to add more interest in case anyone found it. We included our e-mail addresses but have so far heard nothing.
We continued on to Feodosia, which is similar to Yalta in many ways but, at least when we went, much less crowded and therefore more charming. The long-distance bus station is on the very edge of town, so at first we thought we were the victims of some elaborate ruse and had been left in a village. After getting settled in, we walked through the city some and along the ocean front. Maybe it was because it was the off season, but the city seemed to roll up its sidewalks at 9, leaving us to eat in a fast food place that turned out to be amazing. The next day we went on a hike in a nature preserve with stunning ancient rock formations, and a guide who alternated between stoical silence and blathering on during our frequent stops to appreciate some particular formation. Perhaps I would have enjoyed his speeches more if I knew Russian, but it was pretty cold and I think many of the Russians in our group felt as I did about these delays during which the wind whipped around us.
A little poor planning on our part meant that the busses stopped running before we got off the mountain. Some ladies in the information booth had told us that one should be there shortly if we waited, but we soon realized that it wasn't happening. They tried to find us a taxi number and failed, but recommended we walk down the road to a shop where taxis usually wait. The shop was closed and there were no taxis. We continued walking through this village about an hour outside of the city until we found a bus shelter. Thankfully there was an ad for a taxi there, so we called and he soon came and picked us up. You would think that a taxi trip like that, which involved him driving us nearly an hour and then returning home, would have been really expensive, but it turned out to be around twenty dollars. At that point I would have gratefully paid double.
Our return trip to Volgograd was a little less pleasant. We were riding in 3rd class to save money, which meant people coming and going all through the night. Also, we crossed the border at about 8:30 in the morning, and the lady in charge of our car decided that meant we should be woken up around 5:30 to fill out our migration cards. It took me all of 10 minutes to do so, and that was only becuase I was so tired I was having trouble seeing the boxes. I tried to go back to sleep, but this officious woman kept coming by to make sure everyone was ready.
All in all, the trip was wonderful. The views were fantastic and I got to walk where greatness had been. As a break from Russia, though, it was quite disappointing. We kept finding ourselves calling it part of Russia and then quickly self-correcting. I don't know nearly enough to have an opinion about such a politically loaded question, but if you want to see a lot of Russian people, eat a lot of Russian food, and hear a lot of Russian spoken, you can save yourself the hassle of getting a visa and just go to Crimea.
Saturday, April 25, 2009
'Appy Birrzday to me
If you can't celebrate your birthday at home, I strongly recommend celebrating it in Russia. When I polled my students, they all said their birthday was their favorite time of year, topping out Christmas, New Year's, and any other contenders without a struggle. While the birthday person is responsible for picking up the tab for, well, everything on her birthday, there are lots of gifts and attention showered on the person, and it is very nice.
As I shared my birthday with one other person at the school, we were able to split some of the costs of throwing a little luncheon of pizza, fruit, cake, candy, and, of course, wine for the toasts. Well, he brought cognac, but there weren't very many takers on that. Mostly we stuck to a small glass of wine and then fruit juice or coke of some sort. It was fun. Sergei (our nearly silent accountant) and Randy (the guy celebrating his 41st birthday) each gave me a flower and a got a plant, a mug, and a copy of Rambo 4. Each of those presents has a bit of a story with it, but the only interesting story is about Rambo. One of the teachers at the school who has never left Russia but speaks excellent English talks nearly exclusively about one of approximately 3 topics: UFO's, Russian athletic prowess, and Sylvester Stallone. I will now be equipped, if I take the movie out of the wrapper and watch it, to actually be able to respond to one of the 3 conversations.
I didn't tell my teens that it was my birthday, but my upper-intermediate adults knew and greeted me by standing and singing "Happy Birthday" in "Russian". If you don't know, "Happy Birthday" is a very international song with only slight variations in each country, and in Russian it goes something like: "'Appy Birrzday to you." They also gave me a nice box of chocolates named for the river Don in a gift bag celebrating Volgograd. There is great national pride here.
My individual student, Alexander, presented me with a bouquet of 5 red roses this morning, along with a box of chocolates. My room smells great now.
Tonight we will have a party here at the flat with some of my students, coworkers, and friends. I suspect I will hear another round of "'Appy Birrzday."
As I shared my birthday with one other person at the school, we were able to split some of the costs of throwing a little luncheon of pizza, fruit, cake, candy, and, of course, wine for the toasts. Well, he brought cognac, but there weren't very many takers on that. Mostly we stuck to a small glass of wine and then fruit juice or coke of some sort. It was fun. Sergei (our nearly silent accountant) and Randy (the guy celebrating his 41st birthday) each gave me a flower and a got a plant, a mug, and a copy of Rambo 4. Each of those presents has a bit of a story with it, but the only interesting story is about Rambo. One of the teachers at the school who has never left Russia but speaks excellent English talks nearly exclusively about one of approximately 3 topics: UFO's, Russian athletic prowess, and Sylvester Stallone. I will now be equipped, if I take the movie out of the wrapper and watch it, to actually be able to respond to one of the 3 conversations.
I didn't tell my teens that it was my birthday, but my upper-intermediate adults knew and greeted me by standing and singing "Happy Birthday" in "Russian". If you don't know, "Happy Birthday" is a very international song with only slight variations in each country, and in Russian it goes something like: "'Appy Birrzday to you." They also gave me a nice box of chocolates named for the river Don in a gift bag celebrating Volgograd. There is great national pride here.
My individual student, Alexander, presented me with a bouquet of 5 red roses this morning, along with a box of chocolates. My room smells great now.
Tonight we will have a party here at the flat with some of my students, coworkers, and friends. I suspect I will hear another round of "'Appy Birrzday."
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Attack of the Babeshkas
Spring has finally started to come to Volgograd. After months of mostly gray days with a blanket of ice and snow covering the ground, I was very excited about three weeks ago to see temperatures begin to rise above freezing and the snow begin to melt during the day. To celebrate, I opened a window. Last week I was glad to see days in which, in a 24 hour period, never got below freezing. This helped to melt away all but the densest of icy patches. Now, this week, we are looking at normal day temperatures above 50 and even hitting 60. So now my balcony doors are open and I can look out at the park along the river and see Russians strolling, enjoying the beginnings of spring. Plants are also starting to take notice. Though very little is green yet, I can see buds on many trees and some plants on the ground, yellow from being covered in snow, are becoming a little brighter each day.
This is not to say, however, that all the people here have left their furs and boots behind. While many have switched to shorter jackets and there are fewer knee-high boots to be seen in the streets, bundling up still seems to be the rule rather than the exception. Sunday I decided that, as it was the first Sunday in Spring, I should be able to wear short sleeves under my wool coat. This seemed like a good plan to me and I was perfectly warm on my way to church, but as soon as I took off my coat to hang it up, several old ladies came straight towards me with shawls outstretched. I tried to explain, first in broken Russian : "no, thank you. No cold. I Okay" and then through the help of Olya's interpretation, that I would be fine. It was to no avail. A lady put her shawl on me, pronounced the effect beautiful, and then made sure I understood to stay warm. As I tried to return it, I noticed another woman ready to put her own on me, so I conceded. I just hope I don't have to continue to wear long sleeves through June.
This is not to say, however, that all the people here have left their furs and boots behind. While many have switched to shorter jackets and there are fewer knee-high boots to be seen in the streets, bundling up still seems to be the rule rather than the exception. Sunday I decided that, as it was the first Sunday in Spring, I should be able to wear short sleeves under my wool coat. This seemed like a good plan to me and I was perfectly warm on my way to church, but as soon as I took off my coat to hang it up, several old ladies came straight towards me with shawls outstretched. I tried to explain, first in broken Russian : "no, thank you. No cold. I Okay" and then through the help of Olya's interpretation, that I would be fine. It was to no avail. A lady put her shawl on me, pronounced the effect beautiful, and then made sure I understood to stay warm. As I tried to return it, I noticed another woman ready to put her own on me, so I conceded. I just hope I don't have to continue to wear long sleeves through June.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Burning winter
While a thick blanket of icy snow still covers the ground, Russians here in Volgograd are starting to mention spring a little more often. This is a result, not so much of the rising temperatures, though it looks like we will be above freezing most of this week, but of the lengthening days and the holidays that come with them.
Masleneetza is a week long holiday that was the same week as Mardi Gras, with roughly the same original meaning. For the Orthodox, it is a time of celebration leading up to a Sunday service which I believe centers on contrition and then about 45 days of fasting. Their version of fasting has to do with not eating meat or other animal products, and probably some other things as well. I've talked to a few people who are fasting, but haven't really gotten the whole list. The Masleneetza events aren't as crazy as a New Orleans Mardi Gras. The celebration mostly consists of eating lots and lots of blini, known in America as blinzes. These are a very thin pancake topped with either sweet or savory fillings and then wrapped up. They resemble, but taste nothing like, a small burrito or a flat eggroll. And they are really, really good. One of our Russian friends, Pasha, got his mom to make us some since we had only had the kind that come from the blini stands. These had tvorg (like cottage cheese) and fruit filling.
The other aspect of Masleneetza, which I heard about but didn't get to see, consists of crazy winter games. These are apparently very ancient in origin, and I think they were encouraged during Soviet times as they weren't religious. One tradition is for men to climb tall poles, bare chested, to retrieve a pair of shoes from the top. Another is to build a large snow fort and to have a pitched battle over it. Ivor attended one of these near Moscow last year and said that grown men were literally pushing each other off large snow battlements and one had to be carted away by ambulance.
Those who celebrate from this perspective see Masleneetza as marking the end of winter. In keeping with this, effigies of Winter (which happens to be female) are burned. Not too many people participate in this tradition outside of the villages or school festivals, according to my students, but Pasha did. The next day, the first day of Lent, we had a very heavy snowfall. We've been told that we should blame it all on Pasha's inability to properly burn Winter.
In addition to this festival, we've had 2 public holidays: Defender's of the Fatherland Day, also known as Men's Day, and International Women's Day, which was yesterday and is why I'm not at school now. I haven't been able to learn of any traditions associated with these holidays, other than enjoying a day off of work or school, but they've been fun. We had people over at our apartment until about 2:30 this morning. There are some British students here to study Russian, and three girls from that group came, and about 10 or so Russians who were friends or friends of friends. It was the first time I'd every met most of them, but lots of them spoke good English and one even spoke pretty good German. I was surprised none of our neighbors complained, but I don't think we were the only ones having a party in our block. Maybe our older neighbors just expected noisy parties and escaped to their dachas for the extended weekend.
Masleneetza is a week long holiday that was the same week as Mardi Gras, with roughly the same original meaning. For the Orthodox, it is a time of celebration leading up to a Sunday service which I believe centers on contrition and then about 45 days of fasting. Their version of fasting has to do with not eating meat or other animal products, and probably some other things as well. I've talked to a few people who are fasting, but haven't really gotten the whole list. The Masleneetza events aren't as crazy as a New Orleans Mardi Gras. The celebration mostly consists of eating lots and lots of blini, known in America as blinzes. These are a very thin pancake topped with either sweet or savory fillings and then wrapped up. They resemble, but taste nothing like, a small burrito or a flat eggroll. And they are really, really good. One of our Russian friends, Pasha, got his mom to make us some since we had only had the kind that come from the blini stands. These had tvorg (like cottage cheese) and fruit filling.
The other aspect of Masleneetza, which I heard about but didn't get to see, consists of crazy winter games. These are apparently very ancient in origin, and I think they were encouraged during Soviet times as they weren't religious. One tradition is for men to climb tall poles, bare chested, to retrieve a pair of shoes from the top. Another is to build a large snow fort and to have a pitched battle over it. Ivor attended one of these near Moscow last year and said that grown men were literally pushing each other off large snow battlements and one had to be carted away by ambulance.
Those who celebrate from this perspective see Masleneetza as marking the end of winter. In keeping with this, effigies of Winter (which happens to be female) are burned. Not too many people participate in this tradition outside of the villages or school festivals, according to my students, but Pasha did. The next day, the first day of Lent, we had a very heavy snowfall. We've been told that we should blame it all on Pasha's inability to properly burn Winter.
In addition to this festival, we've had 2 public holidays: Defender's of the Fatherland Day, also known as Men's Day, and International Women's Day, which was yesterday and is why I'm not at school now. I haven't been able to learn of any traditions associated with these holidays, other than enjoying a day off of work or school, but they've been fun. We had people over at our apartment until about 2:30 this morning. There are some British students here to study Russian, and three girls from that group came, and about 10 or so Russians who were friends or friends of friends. It was the first time I'd every met most of them, but lots of them spoke good English and one even spoke pretty good German. I was surprised none of our neighbors complained, but I don't think we were the only ones having a party in our block. Maybe our older neighbors just expected noisy parties and escaped to their dachas for the extended weekend.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
This Russian Life
I know it has been far too long since I've posted, so I thought (prompted by subtle and not so subtle hints from a few people) that I should write again. This post is about some of the unusual things I've noticed while here in Volgograd. I call the post "This Russian Life" because I'm not sure how universal any of these things are, but they've all happened to me. Some of these differences have annoyed or angered me, but most are fairly neutral. A few are even things that I would like to keep up when I return to America.
-leaflets: anywhere there are likely to be people walking, there are people passing out leaflets, some glossy, some on newsprint. I've been told that they are paid by how many they pass out and that they don't make much money, so I generally take them.
-tea drinking: This is something I would like to continue in America. The average Russian drinks about 6 cups of tea a day (my rough estimation, but I don't actually think it is an exaggeration). The practice is wonderfully flexible. It can be nearly an art with elaborate teapots and such, an excuse to have people over and sit and talk for hours, or simply a drink that tastes better than the boiled water you would be drinking instead.
-horrible post office: Do not trust the Russian postal service. I thought they would be a lesson in patience, but they've turned into a lesson in disappointment.
-marshutkas: There are several forms of public transport in Volgograd. I prefer going by trolleybus when I can't go by foot. It is inexpensive (25 cents) and straightforward, though a little slow. Marshutkas are another form. They are yellow vans that run along set routes. They are about 75 cents and much faster than trolleybus. You hail them by sticking your arm straight out. The difficulty is that you have to tell the driver when to stop. This can be pretty nervewracking if you are like me.
-tapetchki: When entering a Russian home, you must take off your shoes. Some Americans prefer this, but here it is an absolute requirement. Unless there are a large number of guests, you'll be offered tapetchki, house slippers. I don't have any at my place, which makes me feel kind of bad.
-obsession with clean floors: I didn't understand the tapetchki thing at first, but then the snow came and the streets got really muddy. All public buildings soon had nasty floors. The cleaning ladies then spent their time chasing customers around with a mop. I feel bad when the cleaning lady at the school follows me around in the mornings, but after wiping my feet, there's not much more I can do. Other places solve the problem by requiring you to wear blue booties over your shoes when you are in their building.
-odd repair jobs: When there is a problem here, they don't always fix it in a very permanent-seeming manner. For example, a pipe for my radiator was leaking. Instead of turning off the water and doing a real job, they just covered the hole with a kind of rubber belt with a metal clamp over that. Effective, but messy looking.
-bundling children up: One of the cutest things about the winter is that Russians bundle their children up beyond anything I've ever seen. The kids can't move properly. When they fall asleep on the trolleybus and their fathers carry them out, their arms are splayed out perpendicular to the ground.
-tiny dumpsters: I'm not sure why, but the dumpsters here are very small. There are two that serve my block of apartments. By the end of the day, they are full to overflowing.
-tiny dumptrucks to go with these dumpsters: each morning, the dumptrucks come. They are about the size of a medium U-Haul. It really doesn't seem very efficient. They must have to make a number of trips to the dump.
-crows: This isn't anything they can control, I guess, but surrounding the dumpster areas is a flock of crows. They steal food and shiny things and scatter them around.
-being late: People here are more laid back about times. This means things are often late. I'm learning to be okay with this.
-pointy shoes: Men here wear pointy toed shoes, and women wear pointy-heeled shoes. It is amusing to me.
-sporadic water: The water here sometimes is turned off. There is no warning and we never know how long it will last. We've learned to keep several 5 liter containers full of water just in case.
-primary colors: Things for children tend to be painted in primary colors. Every playground I've seen is painted this way. The majority of schools are painted colors, like the bright, but light, blue school next to my apartment.
There are others, I'm sure. But right now I think I should wrap up this post. I may follow up with more later.
-leaflets: anywhere there are likely to be people walking, there are people passing out leaflets, some glossy, some on newsprint. I've been told that they are paid by how many they pass out and that they don't make much money, so I generally take them.
-tea drinking: This is something I would like to continue in America. The average Russian drinks about 6 cups of tea a day (my rough estimation, but I don't actually think it is an exaggeration). The practice is wonderfully flexible. It can be nearly an art with elaborate teapots and such, an excuse to have people over and sit and talk for hours, or simply a drink that tastes better than the boiled water you would be drinking instead.
-horrible post office: Do not trust the Russian postal service. I thought they would be a lesson in patience, but they've turned into a lesson in disappointment.
-marshutkas: There are several forms of public transport in Volgograd. I prefer going by trolleybus when I can't go by foot. It is inexpensive (25 cents) and straightforward, though a little slow. Marshutkas are another form. They are yellow vans that run along set routes. They are about 75 cents and much faster than trolleybus. You hail them by sticking your arm straight out. The difficulty is that you have to tell the driver when to stop. This can be pretty nervewracking if you are like me.
-tapetchki: When entering a Russian home, you must take off your shoes. Some Americans prefer this, but here it is an absolute requirement. Unless there are a large number of guests, you'll be offered tapetchki, house slippers. I don't have any at my place, which makes me feel kind of bad.
-obsession with clean floors: I didn't understand the tapetchki thing at first, but then the snow came and the streets got really muddy. All public buildings soon had nasty floors. The cleaning ladies then spent their time chasing customers around with a mop. I feel bad when the cleaning lady at the school follows me around in the mornings, but after wiping my feet, there's not much more I can do. Other places solve the problem by requiring you to wear blue booties over your shoes when you are in their building.
-odd repair jobs: When there is a problem here, they don't always fix it in a very permanent-seeming manner. For example, a pipe for my radiator was leaking. Instead of turning off the water and doing a real job, they just covered the hole with a kind of rubber belt with a metal clamp over that. Effective, but messy looking.
-bundling children up: One of the cutest things about the winter is that Russians bundle their children up beyond anything I've ever seen. The kids can't move properly. When they fall asleep on the trolleybus and their fathers carry them out, their arms are splayed out perpendicular to the ground.
-tiny dumpsters: I'm not sure why, but the dumpsters here are very small. There are two that serve my block of apartments. By the end of the day, they are full to overflowing.
-tiny dumptrucks to go with these dumpsters: each morning, the dumptrucks come. They are about the size of a medium U-Haul. It really doesn't seem very efficient. They must have to make a number of trips to the dump.
-crows: This isn't anything they can control, I guess, but surrounding the dumpster areas is a flock of crows. They steal food and shiny things and scatter them around.
-being late: People here are more laid back about times. This means things are often late. I'm learning to be okay with this.
-pointy shoes: Men here wear pointy toed shoes, and women wear pointy-heeled shoes. It is amusing to me.
-sporadic water: The water here sometimes is turned off. There is no warning and we never know how long it will last. We've learned to keep several 5 liter containers full of water just in case.
-primary colors: Things for children tend to be painted in primary colors. Every playground I've seen is painted this way. The majority of schools are painted colors, like the bright, but light, blue school next to my apartment.
There are others, I'm sure. But right now I think I should wrap up this post. I may follow up with more later.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
The Bull Market
Here in Russia, the major holiday for the year is New Year's. I got to celebrate this with some friends and friends of friends and so see what the traditional celebration is like. Basically it means sitting around a table with friends and/or family at someone's home with loads of food, juice, and champagne (well, vodka is traditional, I think, but these were classy people) and talking, watching tv, and singing karaoke until the wee hours of the morning. At around 11:55 the president of Russia gets on television every year to give a short speech and wish the country a happy New Year. (Well, literally, he congratulates them on a New Year, but that's just an idiosyncrasy of the language.) I was told it was a nice speech, but all I understood of it was "New Year" and "2009". They asked me whether our president does that, and I told them I didn't think so. But apparently the Queen of England gives a speech, but hers is more like half an hour than 5 minutes.
Many people were shooting off fireworks outside, and the men from our party braved the cold to go out and do so. I assume that no one was trying to sleep anywhere, which helped me not feel bad about our loud karaoke at 5 am. They kept trying to make everyone participate and so pulled up all the songs they had in English for me and Ivor to try. The idea that we didn't actually know most of these songs at all, and only the choruses of the others, didn't seem to be accepted. So we faked it, making up our own non-melodious melodies. Listening to some of the Russians sing, I suspect they were doing the same thing.
I took a taxi back to my place at around 6:30 and spent most of New Year's in bed sleeping or reading. I think my neighbors had a party that continued until around 2 pm on the first, which is pretty impressive stamina. The day was pretty dull, for the most part.
Yesterday I braved the telephone company's office to go and pay for the internet. It actually went smoothly and easily. There weren't many people there, so they were relaxed and helped me. Megan told me I needed to fill out two different sheets, one for the modem rental, but they told me, after I did the one for the internet itself and had paid the money, that my internet was working and so that was all. I tried to explain that I should pay for the modem, but failed. They just said "It's working, that's all" (in Russian), so I left. And it is indeed working. I'm hoping they don't come to reposess our modem, but it's only about 2 bucks anyway.
After that, I went ice skating with Ira, one of the Russian English teachers, her friend Olya, Ivor, and this guy named Dima, who we know through Zhenya, another teacher. Dima is a really interesting guy. He spent 4 years in a monostary before deciding he liked sports and interacting with people too much to make that his life. That's a strange path anywhere, but especially in Russia. But since his English is extremely limited, I can't really ask him about it.
Ice skating was an interesting experience. The first place we went was closed without explaination. The second was in a shopping center, tiny, and over run with the under-ten set. We finally found a place that was large and open, but the management was, well, Russian. There was a small entry way with a window to pay for and rent skates. When we got there, we were told they were out of our sizes and we would have to wait until the current session got out and turned in their skates. The current session was just then starting, so we had to wait an hour. First indoors, then outside in the cold so they could clean the floors, and then back inside. As the time drew nearer, more and more people arrived, squeezing into this small lobby. It only got worse when people came out of the rink as they had to return their skates to this window and push through the crowd to get out of the building. If anyone had fainted, I'm sure they would have remained upright as there was not even room to fall down.
Skating was fun, but pretty difficult for me. Better exercise than I've had in a while, and I was kind of glad to see there were plenty of Russians having difficulty too. It isn't a congenital thing that they can strap on skates to two year olds with an inborn knowledge. After an hour, it was time to experience the other side of the crush, pushing through the crowd to return my skates and escape the building. One thing I'll learn from my Russian experience is the willingness to shove through a crowd.
Now it is the year of the bull. Russians seem to get into the Chinese year symbols, and I've been given two stuffed cows already. I don't know about the rest of the economy, but in Russia, the bull market is doing well.
Many people were shooting off fireworks outside, and the men from our party braved the cold to go out and do so. I assume that no one was trying to sleep anywhere, which helped me not feel bad about our loud karaoke at 5 am. They kept trying to make everyone participate and so pulled up all the songs they had in English for me and Ivor to try. The idea that we didn't actually know most of these songs at all, and only the choruses of the others, didn't seem to be accepted. So we faked it, making up our own non-melodious melodies. Listening to some of the Russians sing, I suspect they were doing the same thing.
I took a taxi back to my place at around 6:30 and spent most of New Year's in bed sleeping or reading. I think my neighbors had a party that continued until around 2 pm on the first, which is pretty impressive stamina. The day was pretty dull, for the most part.
Yesterday I braved the telephone company's office to go and pay for the internet. It actually went smoothly and easily. There weren't many people there, so they were relaxed and helped me. Megan told me I needed to fill out two different sheets, one for the modem rental, but they told me, after I did the one for the internet itself and had paid the money, that my internet was working and so that was all. I tried to explain that I should pay for the modem, but failed. They just said "It's working, that's all" (in Russian), so I left. And it is indeed working. I'm hoping they don't come to reposess our modem, but it's only about 2 bucks anyway.
After that, I went ice skating with Ira, one of the Russian English teachers, her friend Olya, Ivor, and this guy named Dima, who we know through Zhenya, another teacher. Dima is a really interesting guy. He spent 4 years in a monostary before deciding he liked sports and interacting with people too much to make that his life. That's a strange path anywhere, but especially in Russia. But since his English is extremely limited, I can't really ask him about it.
Ice skating was an interesting experience. The first place we went was closed without explaination. The second was in a shopping center, tiny, and over run with the under-ten set. We finally found a place that was large and open, but the management was, well, Russian. There was a small entry way with a window to pay for and rent skates. When we got there, we were told they were out of our sizes and we would have to wait until the current session got out and turned in their skates. The current session was just then starting, so we had to wait an hour. First indoors, then outside in the cold so they could clean the floors, and then back inside. As the time drew nearer, more and more people arrived, squeezing into this small lobby. It only got worse when people came out of the rink as they had to return their skates to this window and push through the crowd to get out of the building. If anyone had fainted, I'm sure they would have remained upright as there was not even room to fall down.
Skating was fun, but pretty difficult for me. Better exercise than I've had in a while, and I was kind of glad to see there were plenty of Russians having difficulty too. It isn't a congenital thing that they can strap on skates to two year olds with an inborn knowledge. After an hour, it was time to experience the other side of the crush, pushing through the crowd to return my skates and escape the building. One thing I'll learn from my Russian experience is the willingness to shove through a crowd.
Now it is the year of the bull. Russians seem to get into the Chinese year symbols, and I've been given two stuffed cows already. I don't know about the rest of the economy, but in Russia, the bull market is doing well.
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