Moscow, Day 2

Today began with a quick breakfast in the hostel before a walk over to Red Square. This morning was our long-awaited visit to the tomb of Lenin (linked to in my last post). A while back, I remember reading about the mausoleum and being amused that his body is still preserved, despite the fact that he died in 1924. Knowing this and having seen pictures, I expected him to look pretty waxy, which he did. Apparently, his body is “refurbished” once a year, and below his tomb is a complex, including a gym, for the people who work on his body.

We lined up around 09:45, as the tomb opens each day for tourists at 10:00. Also at 10:00 is the changing of the guards at the eternal flame that burns on the side of the Kremlin for the Russian soldiers who gave their lives during the fight against the Nazis in World War II. The whole experience of being at the Kremlin, surrounded by old and gorgeous architecture, uniformed men, and quaint chiming bells, it felt like we had stepped back in time. Things were at once modern and historic, and to see the changing of the guards—a simple but dramatic practice involving five soldiers—gave me chills.

Right after the changing of the guards, a group of individuals bearing a single flower each stepped up and stood in a sort of formation. I don’t know who, exactly, they were, but I think they were probably family members of soldiers who died during World War II who had come and been granted a special visit to the eternal flame, which was currently off-limits to all other visitors. In three groups, they marched up, laid down their flowers on the monument, did a synchronized about-face, and marched back down as the next row of their group got in formation and prepared to deposit their flowers.

In Russia, we are told, there is no family without some sort of personal connection to someone who died during World War II. Though a lot of Americans fought in the war and some died, Russia had the most fatalities during the war by an enormous margin. As a result, reminders of the war and those who died are everywhere in Russia, particularly in Moscow—even outside the Kremlin—as we’ve seen. Also, because we’ve never faced war on our own home turf, because our cities weren’t bombed out or turned into bloody battlefields, because our buildings aren’t pockmarked with bullet holes from wartime, Americans don’t have the same sense of the reality of war that Europeans do. War for us has been a more distant affair, which is of course a good thing—a blessing, but also a curse, I think, because we don’t fully appreciate the horrible consequences that war or invasion can have. In any case, it was really a neat experience to catch the changing of the guards, as I’m not sure how often this “ceremony” takes place.

We continued on in line to see Lenin, and after about fifteen minutes we were being ushered forward towards his tomb. We walked up a ramp that took us around the tomb, before being led down a stairway and, soon enough, into a dark passageway with the word “LENIN” inscribed above in big, red, Cyrillic letters. It was cold inside, which was a welcome change from the humid weather outside, and soldiers stood on guard at every turn.

We had about 45 seconds total to view Lenin’s body, herded slowly past by guards. When we turned the corner into the actual crypt, there was Lenin, lying in state behind thick glass in the middle of a dark room lit only by red candles. Since he’s been dead 80+ years, it’s no surprise that he looked mostly like wax. His fingernails were gray and yellowed, and the black blanket covering him from the waist down matched the color of his suit, so it made him look four feet wide, which was kind of amusing. It was creepy and disturbing to know in whose presence we were standing, but it was very humbling and put things into perspective. People can do great good, people can do great evil, people can wield unimaginable power over others, and people can also be completely powerless over their own lives and situations—but at the end of the day, death is the great equalizer, as the saying goes. Lenin—for everything he did during his lifetime and the effects of his historic legacy—was simply lying there in all his dead un-glory like anyone else.

Following a visit to Lenin and the other Soviets buried outside the Kremlin wall, including Stalin and Brezhnev and also the ashes of cosmonaut Yuri Gagarin, we walked across town to the Gulag Museum that opened in 2004 in an old building. A sweet old Russian woman gave us a super thorough, two-hour tour—too many details and facts to report—and at the end, I asked (through David, interpreting) if she had a personal connection to all of the things she had taught us about: Did she have a personal connection to the gulags? Was someone in her family imprisoned during the Soviet era? Was she? The answer was what I expected: “Too personal. I can’t.” Again, back to the theme of how nearly every Russian family has someone who was affected by the prison/labor camps under the gulag system.

For lunch, we went to the former state department store, GUM, now a really fancy shopping mall, where we had lunch at Stolovaya No. 57—a Soviet-style, self-service diner thing. It was crowded, the line was long, the food was expensive, and overall it was ok. The only problem I have with these self-service restaurant things is that you can neither scout out the options beforehand nor put stuff back if you come across something later on down the line that you’d rather have. Noteworthy moment: One of the guys in the group, Kevin, bought and ate what he thought was vanilla ice cream—turns out it was a mix of cold sour cream and cottage cheese. :X

After lunch, we went out to the circus to buy tickets, as we’ll be at the Great Moscow State Circus tomorrow night. We then went to the massive souvenir market, spent about an hour and a half there, rushed back to the hostel, dropped stuff off, changed/freshened up, and then went to the Moscow Conservatory, where we saw a moving two-and-a-half-hour performance including something by Haydn, someone else, and then Mozart’s Requiem, complete with a choir joining the orchestra. (performance details?)

Following the concert at the Conservatory, the group went to a really cool café called Лук (“look”), where there was live music. The girl singing was really good and sang all English-language songs, including “At Last” by Etta James, to which we all sang along, impressed! After dinner, we came back to the hostel. Another long but exciting day.

Moscow, Day 1

When I got home last night, Lena was gone, taking her brother Iliya to the train station. He was heading out to St. Petersburg, I think because his vacation is over, and he’s back on military duty now. At home were Lena’s mom and her sister, brother-in-law, and niece, who live in Moscow but visit on the weekends. I was exhausted, so I packed as quickly as I could before jumping in bed.

This morning, Lena and I had breakfast, and her brother-in-law drove us to the American Home, since I had my suitcase for the Vanderbilt group’s Moscow trip this weekend. (We would leave directly from the American Home around noon, and it was easier to just grab my suitcase and go rather than unpack my suitcase and repack my backpack, the only other and smaller bag I’ve got. I tried to defend this to Lena, but she laughed: “Is this typical for Americans?” [In truth…kind of.])

After our morning lesson, during which Lena and I read some short Russian poems and she had me try to translate stuff, the group had tea before settling in downstairs for our last lecture of the week, and perhaps the most awaited one yet: “Who Is Mr. Putin?”

This lecture was given by a professor Roman who’s spoken to us several times before now on different topics about Russian politics, geography, demography, and history. He teaches in Vladimir and brought two of his students with him to join us today for the lecture. As he talked through the topic of Vladimir Putin, the man and the politician, he often asked questions to “poll the representatives” of America and Russia--that is, us and his students, respectively. For instance, he had us take a sheet of paper, fold it in half, and write anything positive that comes to mind about Putin on one side and anything negative that comes to mind about Putin on the other. He told us that we didn’t have to write anything on both sides; if our opinion was fully leaning in one direction, we should just put that. We then went around reading from our lists, and this was interesting. The two Russian women, who study political science and had joined us, both wrote only positive things about Putin. Our lists were more a mix, with most of the “negative” thoughts pertaining to Putin’s past as a Soviet KGB officer and the way this is interpreted by the West.

Right after the lecture, the taxis arrived, so we grabbed our stuff and were driven off to the train station. We got a quick lunch (beef cutlet—like German Boulette, basically just a hamburger patty—and rice, plus blini with raspberry jam) before heading to the actual station, where we stopped for a bathroom break. Normally, bathroom breaks are less than noteworthy, but… Shock. Nervous giggles. Almost-tears of disbelief.

PIC

A picture’s worth a thousand words: the [Soviet-era?] toilet in the women’s room.

After this humbling, confusing, utterly dumbfounding experience, we walked—introspective, defeated, continuing to laugh nervously, heads hung low—to catch our train. Most of the train ride I slept, as I’d snagged a window seat and brought along the travel pillow that I took (stole? It’s unclear whether in-flight pillows, like the seatback magazines, are also free for the taking.) from my flight from Atlanta to Amsterdam earlier this month. For about five minutes I devoted myself to reading  over some Russian vocab, but I hadn’t slept much the night before, so back to sleep it was.

Soon enough, we were leaving the rural landscape behind for the urban one of Moscow. We hurried off the train and were greeted by a veritable snowstorm of pollen. (I haven’t actually seen the trees the pollen comes from, but it’s flying around in big clumps everywhere!)

It was a draining, slightly agonizing 30-plus-minute walk to the hostel through the city. We were tired, hungry, hot—so warm here this afternoon!—and dragging big bags through narrow, winding passages and cobblestone, puddle-filled sidewalks. But finally we reached the hostel, where we settled in, all six of us into one room. Abby and I are sharing a bunk bed; I’ve got bottom bunk. :)

Quarters are tight, but we managed, so we set out walking again after changing clothes and taking a minute to recharge. We walked another 20 or so minutes to a cafe called My-My (“moo-moo”), which is a cow-themed (again, why not?) chain of restaurants here. As David explained it to us, it’s basically “a glorified [Soviet-style] cafeteria,” but the food was really good. The ambiance was neat, but honestly it was just nice to sit down somewhere, anywhere, and chill out for a bit.

On the way to and from My-My, my friends and I were stopping every several meters to snap a picture of something. Just like Vladimir, Moscow is very colorful, but there are many more and much larger buildings, and it’s extremely large and busy. So far, it reminds me of [my limited experience with] New York City, only even more hectic, if that’s possible. My first impressions of Moscow were: (1) This is insane; and (2) I want to go back to Vladimir! At first, everything just seemed out of control—the drivers, the pedestrians, the noise, the signs and advertisements, even the pollen.

After dinner, we walked to Red Square, passing various administrative government buildings along the way. Soon enough, a red brick wall showed itself, and we were there—the Kremlin!

Walking up to Red Square was one of those moments when every thought or memory related to the place started running through my head: learning about Red Square in school, seeing mentions of it on the news, hearing references to it in songs and movies...

We stayed in Red Square long enough to take pictures and listen to the clock-tower bells, which ring every 30 minutes. For such a stunningly beautiful sight, the chimes were eerie and ominous—out of place, yet at the same time fitting, considering the history and the fact that the tomb ofVladimir Lenin and the grave-sites of Stalin and many other big Soviet names lay scattered throughout the Square.

Police were everywhere, patrolling the area, but hurting no one. This was an occasion where I realized the fears and biases I, as an American, brought with me on this trip: I stood there looking around, taking pictures (including of the police and other guards), and I was excited on two levels—first, just to be in Red Square, but second, because in my mind it felt like what I was doing was risky. As an American abroad, it’s like I had the expectation that I couldn’t act “normally” without running into some sort of barrier to the freedoms we pride ourselves on so much in the United States. Like in the movies, I expected that simply taking a picture of a cop or zooming in my camera lens too much on government buildings would arouse the suspicion of “the Russians” and get me in trouble. I was born two years after the dissolution of the USSR, yet Cold War messages and stereotypes still managed to color my worldview and my expectations when abroad. As it turns out, I was just one of probably thousands of people this evening walking around and snapping pictures of anything and everything in sight, with no consequences. It was fun but unbelievable to actually stroll through such a significant plaza. Although Red Square is a major tourist destination, this has been my experience so far in all of Russia: Nothing I did was risky, and the only threat to my freedom was my own paranoia, as an American abroad, about somehow losing my freedom.

I think that the American sense of exceptionalism—of being the only place in the world that “does/has/thinks/values X”—is an attitude we would be well to examine. It would certainly make traveling to other countries easier. That said, as is clear from the picture of the toilet above, there are some things that I am really missing about home right now. First, free public toilets. Whenever you want to go to the bathroom here (like in the rest of Europe that I know of), it costs. It’s just pocket change, and you’re paying for the restroom attendant to be constantly cleaning, but still—I miss not having to pay to go to the bathroom at the mall, for example. Second, free water in restaurants and cafés. This was my other complaint in the other parts of Europe I’ve been to, too. I don’t understand how people here aren’t perpetually dehydrated, because it’s relatively expensive to get water (or other any other drink, for that matter; tonight, a 2-ounce glass of juice cost me 140 rubles/about $4), and drink containers run small.

Ah, so back to talking about Red Square and the Kremlin: Whilst walking through a big garden-ish area behind the outer side walls of the Kremlin, we encountered a long row of memorials to the Soviet soldiers who fought to defeat the Nazis in World War II. There was an eternal flame lit, followed by a bunch of markers indicating the names of several Russian battlefronts and Soviet “hero cities.” A few meters later, a large column jutted out of the ground. Upon closer examination and with the help of David to translate the finer points of the engraving, it was a marker celebrating the 300^th anniversary of the Romanov dynasty—each tsar’s name is listed, including the final and fateful Nicholas II toward the bottom of the column. With such a long personal history with the Romanovs, dating back to when I was 3 and dressing up as Anastasia and “researching” Alexei with my dad, it was unreal to be standing in Russia, reading in Russian an official monument dedicated to the actual imperial family.

After this, our group walked on to the Old Arbat district, which is filled with shops, restaurants, cafés, etc. It’s a big plaza with lots of street artists, some musicians, and craftspeople. We just strolled around, and en route we’d stopped to get tickets to a performance tomorrow night by the Russian National Orchestra. Though they won’t be playing Russian music—Mozart’s Requiem, I think—it’ll still be an entertaining experience in a beautiful music hall. Apparently, tourists go to the Bolshoi, and locals go to the Moscow Conservatory, so if anything we can just say we’re being more “authentic.” :)

After spending time in Old Arbat and grabbing some free samples from Wetzel’s Pretzels, we returned to the hostel, where I’m writing from now with a really weak Internet connection. It’s been a long day.

McDonald's Day & Uzbek Hospitality

This morning, I apparently hit "snooze" a couple of times before finally jumping out of bed at the sound of Lena's knocking on the door. I was in a deep sleep and had forgotten what today was set to be: McDonald's Day.

It's always interesting to go someplace away from home and encounter something familiar; comparing and contrasting can offer insights into your culture as well as the local culture, even just from region to region within the same country. But as an American abroad, it's particularly interesting to pay a visit to familiar stuff in another part of the world. I could ramble about this, but simply put: McDonald's is way nicer here than back home, and I've never seen a McDonald's this nice (or clean) anywhere in the US--not to mention the food and menu are different!

This morning, we had our Russian lesson as usual, then tea time, and then our group had a lecture about the Russian holiday of Maslenitsa ("Pancake Week"), given to us by a young woman named Daria, who's really sweet, speaks nearly perfect English, and works as a supervisor at Aeroflot, which is the Russian company whose flight we took from Amsterdam to Moscow earlier this month.

The group then went to lunch at a place called "Ogly" (which means "coals" and is a pizza place where they cook pizzas in a coal oven), where I had the opportunity to introduce my group-mates to the art of eating cheeseless pizza. They had many questions about this practice, so I demonstrated. :)

We then had free time, so I went back home, where Lena was hanging out after having lessons at her institute after tutoring me in Russian. Lena hadn't eaten yet, so we went back out for lunch, to a Chinese place she'd been telling me about for days. We got chicken and noodles to-go, then went back home with the plan of watching The Godfather together in Russian with English subtitles. The food, which was delicious, took a while, though, so by the time we got back we just decided to sit and talk and watch whatever was on TLC. I love The Godfather, and it was Lena's dad's favorite film, too. We plan to have our viewing party next week after I get back from Moscow. :D

At 17:15, my group met back up at the bus stop in the center of town at the Golden Gates, where we took a bus about 30 minutes away to be treated to a traditional Uzbek dinner hosted at the invitation of Timur Atabekov, a postdoctoral researcher and lecturer who studies migration to Russia and has been presenting to us on these topics. Timur, his wife Natasha, and their two little boys entertained us to a delightful evening with one of the best dishes I've had here so far--actually a staple food in Uzbekistan--real pilaf ("plov").

Before, during, and after dinner, Timur showed us Uzbek songs, a documentary, and talked to us about the Uzbek culture, Russian culture, intercultural relations, religious/secular differences in Central Asia and Russia, and tolerance as it relates to the topic of migration and cultural differences. It was a really fun time, and the only thing that could've been better was the weather. Just a dreary, rainy night.

A Free Afternoon

This morning, Lena and I again went to the same café for breakfast, where I ordered blini (new favorite breakfast food; way lighter than pancakes, less dessert-like than crêpes, and much better than both!) and a latte. 

Lena, too, ordered a coffee, but when we were seated it was clear that she was interpreting for me in English. Whether or not it was obvious that I was an American, I'm not sure, but all I know is that my coffee came out looking different than hers, and we think it had to do with the fact that I'm not from around here:

Close-up.

After breakfast, we walked to the American Home, where we had our Russian lesson. We worked on numbers and on basic words and phrases for restaurants/shops. As I've previously written, I'm pushing myself to stay focused just on what would be most helpful to me during my time here. I won't be taking a Russian class when I return to Vanderbilt in the fall, and I don't know if or when I will again encounter a situation where I'll need to speak the language. So, for now, my future with Russian is limited to the next two-and-a-half weeks, and tempting as it is to try to memorize the grammatical case system (not being sarcastic, just nerdy), I think it's more important to be able to engage with the language as much as possible in daily life while I'm here. Unfortunately, just because I can say stuff doesn't mean I can understand stuff, so even if I flawlessly ask someone how they're doing or how old they are, that doesn't solve the problem of comprehending their answer. Live and learn, as they say.

Following our lessons, we had tea time and then sat for a lecture by four or five different Russian students who study English at Vladimir State with Alexei. There seems to be a never-ending supply of them, which is great, but kind of funny, because we keep saying that we've met "the foreign language students," yet we never encounter any of the same people. The girls talked about stereotypes of Russian women, about anglicisms in Russian, and about various phrases/idioms in Russian, some of which have equivalent English sayings. They kept putting us on the spot to read things in Russian and to try to figure out words or fill in blanks with the correct Russian word, and it was really fun, albeit a bit nerve-wracking; honestly, I felt good about how much I've learned in a week, and gradually things (starting with the alphabet) have begun to make some sense.

Today was our first "free day"--er, free afternoon--so we went to lunch as a group at a place called Adam & Eve (interesting concept, nothing particularly biblical [or sinful] about the food), and then half the group went bowling. Mack and I were too tired, so we went back to our respective host families to rest up.

"Adam & Eve: You can resist everything except temptation!"

When I got home, Lena was napping, but she woke up and did some homework and stuff while I took a nap. When I woke up about an hour later, I heard indistinct chatter and figured it was Lena and her brother Iliya. Then I remembered that Gleb was supposed to come visit later, and sure enough it was the famous Gleb. So, the three of us chatted for a while, Gleb wrote a silly poem for me in Russian, translated it into English, and gave it to me, and then we went to the store to get stuff for dinner.

Naptime with Бонни (Boniface, or Bonnie ["like Bonnie and Clyde"] for short).

At 17:30, I had to meet my group at the theater by the American Home, where we would be treated to the dress rehearsal run-through of a performance opening on Saturday: an end-of-the-year recital given by the students of the Vladimir State art institute who are on track to become professional dancers. They were still working out the sound and lights, but it was really entertaining, and all styles of dance were displayed. We only stayed about an hour and a half before heading out, though, so we didn't get the chance to talk with any of the dancers or their instructor/choreographer, who we were told is quite renowned.

When I got back, Lena had made her favorite dish: a Chinese meal of chicken in soy sauce with pineapple and peppers. It was really delicious, and I could've eaten three bowls of it, but I saved room for the Russian candies she and her mom had me try. For Lena, this is a special dish to cook and eat, so it was a cool privilege to get to be here when she made it. So. Good.

The rest of the night was just Lena, Irina, and me sitting in the kitchen talking like we do, in a mix of English and Russian with the occasional German word or phrase peppered in, watching TLC Россия (TLC Russia) until we get tired and decide to go to bed. Also, a final note about today: Every 28 May is a national holiday in honor of the Russian Border Guards. If David hadn't mentioned it to us this evening, I would've had no idea. Still trying to get the story on this holiday; details to come later, hopefully.

Language, Lecture, Dog Days of Summer, and Russian Hospitality

As usual, today began with a Russian lesson at the American Home. Actually, Lena and I first took a detour, got tea and coffee at the café we went on my first day in town, and then continued to our destination, where we worked on pronunciation and vocabulary words. Russian is so time-intensive and our trip so short that I've asked to focus on the most useful points for daily life rather than the minutiae of grammar. With more familiar languages, I could afford to spend time reviewing the fine points, but here the clock is unfortunately ticking and my need and opportunity to use Russian will only last another few weeks. I accept that I won't be able to master Russian grammar in the time that I have here, and I know that I won't be able to speak fluently enough to have much of a conversation; any good discussions are either going to have to be in English, German, or through an interpreter. So, this is my rationale for just focusing on simple words and phrases and pronunciation.

At this point, I'm able to read just about anything written, though I often butcher pronunciation (mostly as a result of stressing the wrong syllable[s]), and reading cursive remains difficult. I'm also familiar enough with the alphabet now to be able to attempt spelling words in Russian based on pronunciation, though my spelling is almost always incorrect. What I'm finding most difficult about Russian is still (1) the Cyrillic script, as it requires retraining the brain to interpret, transform, and think in symbols different from those I've known and used my whole life (to me, a "P" is a "P," but in Russian, a "P" is an R," for example); and (2) the non-vocalized "hard" and "soft" signs, which I neither like nor care to figure out at this point in time.

Random: This morning, Lena and I watched Spongebob Squarepants in Russian. I knew it would be a good day. :)

Following our lessons, the group headed downstairs for a second lecture by the graduate student, Timur, whose thesis is focusing on migration, particularly on the part of Central Asians, to Russia. Today, the theme was darker: the tradition of some Central Asian cultures, like in Kyrgyzstan, wherein women are kidnapped and forced to marry. On this point, we learned the shocking statistic that every 40 minutes a woman is kidnapped and forced to marry in Central Asia. Furthermore, almost one-third of married women in Kyrgyzstan were kidnapped into their relationship; approximately 16,000 women are kidnapped every year; and, in 2012, only 596 cases of such kidnappings were reported to the police, and only one of the perpetrators in one of these cases was actually charged with a crime). The maximum prison sentence for someone who kidnaps a woman is 7 years (previously 3 years)--for stealing livestock: 11 years. Hearing that this practice exists and is so popular shocked us. Further disturbing is the fact that girls can't abandon their unloved husbands, lest they bring curses upon themselves and their families for such an act of dishonor and such a rejection of "fate." As one individual explained, talking about the kidnapping of their friend for a forced marriage, "What could I do? It was fate." (This was another moment I realized that people everywhere are alike: Every culture has its superstitions that give people a sense of security while at the same time depriving them of their agency and creating a sense of powerlessness, of being at the mercy of someone or something else. We craft stories of blessings and curses in order to justify practices that would otherwise make no sense, and through sincere belief in such stories we often lose the ability to recognize our own cultural idiosyncrasies. Everywhere in the world, what we do seems right; what they do seems wrong. And our often near-sighted certainty about our own beliefs is what prompts us to spread them to others with the same, unthinking zeal.)

We learned about the marginally "better" practice of women being sold as brides rather than kidnapped, but we also learned about something called Open Line, which is a project to help eliminate this practice and to educate women about what to do in the case that they are kidnapped.
We were urged to remember and appreciate the American values of "love, law, and liberty," even though the US has its own, many and urgent problems. We were told that, in the opinion of this graduate scholar, the hardest legacy left behind by the USSR is a "clash of mentalities" between the revival of traditions (which had been largely prohibited during Soviet times) and the progressivism of young Kyrgyzstanis (who are more enthusiastic about the ideals of "love, law, and liberty").

A final point from the lecture was drawn from a short video we watched, called "Stepmotherland." The topic was about how Russia serves as the "step-motherland" of many Central Asians, who have continued to flee their countries (such as Tajikistan and Uzbekistan) following the total economic collapse brought about when the Soviet Union fell apart. An ongoing problem is that husbands will leave their families, go to Russia to find better-paying jobs, stop sending money home to their families, and instead find another woman to marry and have a family with in order to get citizenship to be able to stay in Russia where wages are higher and quality of life is thought to be higher. As a result, of course, the wives back in the motherland must then also go out in search of work to continue to provide for their children.

Following this sobering lecture, our group grabbed a quick lunch at a Czech goat-themed (why not?) café. We then made the familiar trek out to the dog shelter, where one of the women had brought us delicious homemade Блины (blini) and apricot marmalade to thank us for our help. This afternoon, we continued picking up trash--particularly shards of glass, which are literally everywhere--and helped to post and build part of a fence to keep the doggies in the yard. We also played with the puppies a lot, but it was serious work; after all, somebody's got to socialize them! ;)

We learned about the symbiotic relationship that exists whereby, at night, a homeless man gets to stay in the little room built within the plot of land in exchange for serving as a security guard to make sure that no one trespasses, tries to steal or harm the dogs or property. So, a homeless man has a home for the night, and the vulnerable dogs and shelter-in-the-works have protection. We were surprised to hear about this arrangement, but we thought it's a good and practical model. As I saw on a bumper sticker inside the bus we took back to the center of town: "Russians helping Russians."

Something I've been wondering and thinking about a lot since we started working at the shelter is why it is that people often seem to show more compassion for animals rather than other people. I noticed it in myself, too, when we went from working at the Association for Parents of Handicapped Children to being told that we'd be working with puppies. I asked a couple of my group mates about this, and we guessed that maybe part of this is because we view animals as helpless, but we view people as responsible--for themselves and/or for other people (namely, their children). A dog on the street is a dog on the street, but a child on the street--well, where are the parents? I understand this line of thought, but at the same time, dogs possess instincts that humans lack. A two-year-old dog is more likely to survive on its own than a two-year-old human. Dogs can forage and have no need for jobs or education. But humans have built a world where money matters, and not all people are in a position to acquire resources adequate to care for themselves or their families. "Keeping up" has a different meaning for dogs than for humans. For the sake of our species and the future of our world, the lack of compassion for our fellow humans--regardless of how we justify it--is problematic.

It had been another long day, and we were dirty and smelled like dog, but we had a dinner party to go to. Some of the foreign language students at Vladimir State, who study English with Alexei (who helps run the American Home), wanted to host us, so we met at Alexei and his wife Galya's apartment, where we got the chance to shower and change before the students came over to cook.

When they arrived, they taught us how to make пельме́ни (pelmeni). I prepped the salad with a few of the girls, and other than that we got to sit around talking. Everyone was shy at first, and we Americans stuck together speaking English while the Russians stuck together speaking Russian. It's hard to break the ice, and it's awkward because you want to meet people your own age from a different culture; you want to practice their language; you want to have a conversation--but you don't know where to start, and it sometimes feels like a forced play-date. It wasn't really until about halfway through dinner, which lasted a long, long time, that we started really warming up to each other and talking more naturally.

By the end of the evening, it was a bummer to have to leave, but it had been raining hard and was already past 22:00 by the time we finished up. (My host mom actually called David, our professor, to check because she was worried since I wasn't home yet. I felt so bad!) Admittedly, a highlight of tonight was that several of the students also spoke German, and one particular girl and I talked for a long time together in German. Finally, I told David and my group-mates, I was speaking a secret language they didn't understand! :D

Back to Work

Due to a change in schedule, I was--thankfully--able to sleep in a bit today. Lena had to go to classes in the morning, so we got permission for me to have my Russian lesson in the evening instead. When I woke up at 9:00 10:00 (and luckily I did wake up, because I'd apparently turned off my alarm at some point instead of hitting "snooze"), Lena had left me a nice, big breakfast and a sweet note:

"Breakfast for Monika. Good morning! :)"

I ate breakfast, got ready for the day, and strolled leisurely on over to the American Home, just in time for our morning tea. We then attended a lecture downstairs by a local graduate student, named Timur, at Vladimir State, who talked to us about the topic of his thesis: migration (particularly from Central Asian countries like his homeland of Uzbekistan) to Russia. Certainly, the particulars that he was speaking about are unique to Russia, but it was an interesting and--for lack of a better word--comforting presentation/discussion. I say "comforting" because, again, I think this was a moment where the differences between "us" and "them" disappeared. In the United States, there is a lot of talk about immigrants, immigration, and the ethics and challenges thereof, but today we heard the same exact rhetoric, the same exact challenges, expressed in a country on the other side of the globe. Perhaps immigration--though not a top priority for either Russia or the US, considering the other problems our countries face--could serve to unite these governments that currently view each other with great suspicion. In this way, an "issue linkage" could be created to improve Russian-American relations and to facilitate greater future cooperation on other issues. Surely, such improved relations and cooperation couldn't hurt.

For what it's worth, this particular individual who lectured to us today--himself an Uzbek immigrant to Russia who also previously lived in Ukraine and is devoting his life to the study of migration--thinks that Russia should take a lesson from the West about how to deal with immigration. No, the US and Europe aren't perfect, as immigration is not just one single issue, but a complex web of issues with many variables (like everything else in life, no?); but nevertheless, Western approaches to regulating migration are seen--at least by this scholar--as worthwhile to be learned from and emulated by Russia.

Following this insightful lecture, our group stopped for a quick lunch at the restaurant next door and then headed to the plot of land that is slowly but surely becoming a dog shelter. (Russia has a problem with stray dogs, and some attention was brought to this issue by the 2014 Winter Olympics in Со́чи [Sochi].) We were heading in the direction of "my" house, so I made a quick pit stop to change, as I had been wearing jeans, and it was probably 85+ degrees Fahrenheit today and really sunny--not at all jeans weather. I've learned that the iPhone weather app is woefully inaccurate, at least for our current location. After taking the bus to the end of the line and trekking through blocks of an industrial park, which reminded me of the backlots of Universal Studios in Hollywood, we finally made it to the location of the shelter, where we were greeted by two of the three women who started the project--and by some of the doggy dwellers!

For four-ish hours, we worked, picking up trash, painting doghouses, collecting buckets full of rocks to support fence posts the guys constructed, and playing with the sweet puppies during our intermittent water breaks.

Today we learned that the plot of land used to be a junk yard, which is why the local government gave it to the women, but once several rounds of junk were removed by a dump truck, the authorities realized what a nice spot it actually is and decided that it should no longer be free to the women to use as a dog shelter. Apparently, the local government is recanting their gift and is now saying that the women will need to start paying rent and/or tax (I don't remember the specifics) on the property; the women plan to take this case to court, so keep your fingers crossed that everything will work out in their favor. They are three older women who are kind, gentle, concerned, and determined enough to act on a problem they see in their community, and even though the language barrier is great it's been a pleasure getting to help them.

We called it a day around 17:30, walked back to the bus stop, hopped on, and headed back to town. When I got back, I ate dinner while helping Lena with her German homework, which I enjoyed a lot! When her mom got home, the two of us spoke a bit in German and tag-teamed to help Lena with translating Russian sentences into German. As I told Lena, it was fun to finally be able to understand the language being spoken and even to have a "secret language" with her mom--I think she felt a little bit like how I feel when I witness the two of them (and everybody else...) speaking Russian. :P

After dinner and the obligatory, delicious tea, Lena and Irina asked if I wanted to go to the mall. Turns out Lena, also quite the tomboy, hates dresses and skirts but Irina's been telling her to get some "girlier" clothes. I took a shower before we left so that I didn't smell like dog (yum), and I donned a dress to show my moral support for Lena. It was a successful shopping trip, and we like similar clothes, I think; I picked out one of the dresses she ended up buying, and the other one I had seen and was about to point out when she saw it. Although it was in Russian and mostly incomprehensible to me, the banter between Lena and her mom while shopping--her mom pointing out stuff to her, trying to get her to try things on, dragging her from store to store--reminded me of many a shopping trip with my mom. :) Refrain: People are the same everywhere.

We got back, snacked a bit, simultaneously watched an episode of The Simpsons dubbed in Russian and consulted on German translations, and now it's time for bed. Tomorrow will be much like today, I think, though it's supposed to rain, which should at once make everything muddier but also cooler.

More to come later, but for now, Спокойной ночи и До завтра ("spokoynoy nochi i do zavtra")--good night, and see you tomorrow!

"What Happens in the Banya Stays in the Banya"

Saturday, 24 May
Today, we didn't have to wake up as early as usual, so I was thankfully able to sleep in until 11:00. I awoke to a big, delicious breakfast prepared by Lena, then walked over to the American Home, where our group met and departed in SUVs for the banya.

As our whole group was remarking, when we arrived after miles--er, kilometers--of zigzagging down bumpy, dusty roads in the Russian countryside, it was like driving into a painting. The beauty of the place is unlike anything any of us had ever seen before, I think, and it was just surreal. From the moment we got there, we began referring to our weekend in this place as Сказка ("skazka")--a fairytale. I might've written this before, but really with each day I spend here and the more of Russia I see, the clearer it is to me why so much great art, music, dance, and literature has its roots here; it's hard to look around and not be inspired and introspective!

The Russian way of life, as we've experienced it so far, also seems much more connected to nature. It's not just that Russians observe and appreciate nature, but they interact with it in a way that is not so common in the US. Russians typically grow their own fruits and vegetables in a да́ча ("dacha"), or small second home; in the US, we are much less self-sufficient. We may occasionally grow some tomatoes, but usually gardening in America is viewed as a hobby--typically just involving flowers--and not as an essential part of life done for the benefit of health and the provision of a family. In America, we are also much more cautious about how we interact with nature. In the US, we shouldn't touch this, shouldn't eat that, shouldn't swim there. The people here (and in Germany and Poland, too, from my limited experience) seem much more carefree. Carefree, not careless. (More on this later, maybe. Note-to-self: notebook.)
 
Anyway, being at the banya, it was like a weight was lifted from our shoulders. Immediately, we were able to relax, to breathe, and it felt safe and secure there. As we pulled up, extended family and friends of the people who were hosting us were atop the roof of the new banya being built by hand--without nails, but rather like a jigsaw puzzle, in accordance with strict Russian tradition--as everything else on the expansive property had been made. The house in which we stayed fit that image exactly, as well, and it truly looks like something out of a storybook. This whole experience was like a taste of the idyllic "old-world" Russia.

Once we had all settled in, we took a nap for about 30 minutes before waking up, trekking down to the river at the edge of the property--the river that, by the way, Ivan the Terrible sailed down centuries ago--where we jumped in and went swimming for about an hour. (The river was much wider and deeper in the days of Ivan; it's quite small now.)

After swimming, we all trekked back to the house, changed, hung out, and then turned right around and jumped back in the SUV, in which we were driven 10 minutes away to the kupel'nya. With the above-mentioned river as its source, the kupel'nya is a small chapel-like structure situated behind a church. A sort of religious experience, going to the kupel'nya is often part of the banya process and is considered a religious experience, wherein you jump naked into a vat of cold, fresh water from the river and go underwater three times--one dunk for the Father, one for the Son, and one for the Holy Spirit, in Orthodox tradition. Also in accordance with the Orthodox tradition, a sign outside the kupel'nya states that only those who "have faith, are wearing a cross, are not drunk, are clean, and ??" (I'm forgetting the other criteria) may enter. Oops. :P All the guys went first, then the girls, and we giggled the whole time because it was so ridiculously freezing. We agreed that, at this point, "It got real." I'll simply say that it was an experience.

Following this ritual, we got back in the SUV and stopped along the way to pick up birch leaves to be used for the therapeutic whipping, basically, that goes on in the banya. (Apropos Dr. Evil quote from Austin Powers: "When I was insolent, I was placed in a burlap sack and beaten with reeds.")

The banya, unlike the kupel'nya, is not a religious ritual, just a Russian one. According to Russian sayings that the host dad of the family told us, "There aren't any generals in the banya" (all are equal...and, traditionally, naked; we didn't go that far); "In the banya, there is democracy in Russia" (again, tongue-in-cheek, the notion of equality); and, "The only place a Russian can take off his cross is in the banya" (lest it melt and/or brand his chest, presumably).

Although I've had a note-to-self here to update and fill in about the banya, I would just suggest doing some reading about it online. No amount of description would probably convey the experience or the reason that the title of this blog post is what it is... :)

Sunday, 25 May

 

Sunrise! 

After an incredibly long week and an exhausting day Saturday, today I woke up at 9:45, we ate a big Russian breakfast (including каша ["kasha"]--basically oatmeal--and fresh raspberry jam) at 10:00, and then the guys headed out to start shoveling sand and working in the farmhouse while we girls helped plant some seeds, lay out hay, and collect eggs from the hen house. After working for about an hour and a half, we had finished; the guys continued working, while we went back inside the house and relaxed. I took a nap, before being woken up by David, who announced that the group was going for a final swim in the river. I was too tired, so I just went back to sleep, and Mack stayed behind, too, reading his new passion: Game of Thrones. The next thing I knew, I was getting woken up to watch the cooking of шашлык ("shashlik"), or Russian kebab. We went outside as a group to watch the host dad cooking, and the host son Anton--who just turned 17 and whose delicious "Napoleon" cake we had the pleasure of helping to eat--prepared the traditional Russian самовар ("samovar") for tea!

Lunch was delicious, and after, around 15:00, I took a shower, because a day and a half of swimming in the river, going in steam baths, and romping around the fields left me feeling pretty gross. I then took another nap while the rest of the group was doing whatever they were doing--taking pictures of the property, which I'd already managed to snag, taking another dip in the river, reading, etc. I was awoken yet again, this time to leave. We said our thank yous and goodbyes, then jumped in the cars and were driven back to the American Home by the host family. The host brother invited all of us to go bowling this coming Wednesday night, so we might have a little reunion then. 

When I got back home, Lena was out seeing a movie, so I hung out with Irina (host mom), our babushka (grandma), and Sonya (Lena's niece, who's 6). Sonya said a couple of words in English, and I said a couple of things in Russian. We played games on her iPad, drawing things; she drew the Russian flag and had me draw the American flag. She proceeded to draw me a picture using my pencil and paper, complete with labels of words in Russian. She's sweet and a good little teacher. ;) When Lena got back, we ate dinner, and she had homework to do, so I got ready for bed and was able to do some blogging. Tomorrow is the beginning of Week 2, and I've been warned that I may have a pop test in the morning to check my progress in Russian. I'm not really sure what this week holds, but we were told it shouldn't be as busy as this past week was for us, since we're now settled in and have thoroughly toured the city. Next weekend: Moscow! :)

Before I close, I have to mention that--as I type--I'm witnessing my first Russian wedding--er, post-wedding. After weddings, the couple and their party drive through town honking and screaming and then stopping at the Golden Gates and other local landmarks and historic sites to take pictures. It's past 01:00, so I'm not sure why they're just now doing this, as it's obviously too dark to take pictures, but they seem to be having fun regardless.