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.
Saturday, September 26, 2009
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."
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