tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33915221994795277362024-03-14T16:31:06.391+03:00Dispatches from MoscowDocumenting a year as a Fulbright ETA in the suburbs of Moscow, Russia.Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-20023187730993446662010-05-12T11:11:00.003+04:002010-05-20T09:00:38.104+04:00A Trip to Tatarstan<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT9loHJACocRTY97iNh_1FjPcKXeUPvQ-p6g5bY_u_cQ-d7quILQUNeEvMfsSj1nG49sPgKp7YiNjYJcmzfnD6m7A5Aotyo5peBzOdq0wX11-48fkjqtxyJLtY3x8nV-Gy-ZLgCg7Q4ZjT/s1600/DSC08615.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" 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id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5470279466382363586" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Near the end of April, I spent 3 days in the ancient Russian city of </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Kazan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> thanks to a kind-hearted professor I teach:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Akhiar Muginovich Gataulin.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Gataulin is a lively, intelligent, 72-year old agricultural economist and statistician and is well-known within </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Timiryazev</span></st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> </span><st1:placetype><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Academy</span></st1:placetype></st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, having served as the dean of the Economics department and dissertation supervisor for a number of current professors as far back as 40 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And he’s still going strong.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>In 1996 he founded the Independent Scientific Agro-Economic Society of Russia as a way to stimulate discussion among agricultural experts regarding the state of Russian agriculture as an integral part of the national economy.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Annual conferences are held to discuss the most current research and problems facing Russian agriculture, and this year the conference was in the capital of the </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Tatarstan</span></st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> </span><st1:placetype><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Republic</span></st1:placetype></st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Kazan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, and I was invited to participate.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Tatarstan is located southeast of </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Moscow</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">; </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Kazan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> is a hop skip and a jump 11-hour train ride from </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US">Moscow</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US"> (very close by Russian standards). <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The city is over 1000 years old, and its population is 70-75% Muslim and the whole republic is dotted with mosques whose architecture provides a stunning contrast to the usual Orthodox church-studded landscapes of </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Russia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Most of the population speaks both Russian and Tatar, a Turkic language that is very similar to Uzbek, </span><st1:place><st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Kazakh</span></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, </span><st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Kirghiz</span></st1:country-region></st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, Turkish, and the like.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I often found myself in situations when people would be switching back and forth between Russian and Tatar, and I couldn’t help but think that every time they moved to Tartar, they were saying something about me…</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Gataulin and I arrived after an overnight ride in a </span>купе<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> (good quality 4-person train compartment; my first time in one seeing as I usually travel in the crowded, smelly, but decidedly cheaper </span>платзкарт<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US"> section).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We shared our </span>купе<span style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> <span lang="EN-US">with a very soft-spoken and curious Russian bagpipe player on his way to a performance and a very outspoken Daniel Craig look-alike with a mullet, whose rate of speech matched the train’s high speed and who waxed poetic about New York City and America after discovering my nationality (“America: what a great country.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I love </span></span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There everything works.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Doors are simple to open and you know they won’t break when you grab the door handle…”).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">We were greeted at the station by the dean of our host center, the Tatar Institute for Advanced Agro-business Training—a man whose company I would keep everyday but whose name I never actually caught.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He was a very boisterous and generous man, delighted to welcome an American to his institute.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I ate almost every meal next to him in his exclusive dining room lined with elegant red velvet curtains and gold-rimmed chinaware.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I was treated to traditional Tatar foods, endless vodka toasts, and was taught a very important lesson in Tartar tradition: “Tatar men eat three things with their hands: chicken, blini, and women.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He then told to marry a Tatar woman and stay in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Kazan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> for life.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Thinking this was a joke, I laughed it off, but was then led into the dean’s office and introduced to his young secretary, Oksana…all eyes were expectantly on us.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">I was able to squirm out of the situation by saying that I wanted to go explore </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Kazan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> before the conference began the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The dean and Gataulin stared at me and asked, “By yourself?”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Yes, by myself.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I have a guide book.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And I would like to walk around.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“No, we will get a driver for you.”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The vice-dean’s son was requisitioned into driving me around </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Kazan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> for an hour and a half and pointing out all the landmarks.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He was understandably hesitant and caught off guard, but the drive was very nice, although conversation was limited.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I would have really preferred to go alone and not inconvenience Rushan, but Russian hospitality overruled my desires.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Plus, they didn’t seem to grasp the concept of independent travel.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Thankfully, in the early evening I was able to meet up with Alyson, the Fulbright ETA stationed in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US">Kazan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US">.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She grabbed two of her students and we went strolling through the downtown area, including a walk down Baumanskaya steet—a pedestrian-only avenue lined with cafes and dotted with statues and monuments.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It reminded me of parts of </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US">Istanbul</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The next day brought the start of the conference—and the end, seeing as not enough people arrived to share their reports for a second day.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I sat in a large auditorium and listened to presentation after presentation touching on the conference theme of “Theoretical and Methodological Foundations and Practice of Innovational Paths of Development of Economics of the Agro-Industrial Complex” (a very Russian title).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I understood the overall message of most presentations, at least when they didn’t speak too fast, and only after they finished their requisite 7-minutes of thanks and praise to the conference organizers and their superiors (there is something very Soviet about this tradition).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>One quote that stood out came from one of the conference supervisors, who made a scathing comparison of American and Russian agriculture.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He said something along the following lines: “</span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">’s most dangerous and powerful weapon is not nuclear; it is their productive force and the amount of money they make from it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Why can’t </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Russia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> match this with its vast agricultural resources?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It’s absurd.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Before leaving for </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US">Kazan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US">, Gataulin had asked me to prepare a presentation for the conference, as well.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I was initially quite shocked, seeing as I knew nothing about the conference theme, but he later clarified his request and asked me to give a presentation on the higher education system in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, which the conference participants would find very interesting.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He told me I would give it in English to a group of students studying the language, but during our lunch break he surprised me with the following:</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“</span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Bryan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, why don’t you give your presentation right after lunch.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“After lunch?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Well, aren’t there more people scheduled to present on the theme?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“Yes, but we can squeeze you in, too.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“OK, but am I going to give it in English?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Where are the students studying English?”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">“No no no, you will give it in Russian.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">I was completely unprepared.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I had made the whole slideshow in English, my mental notes were all in English, and suddenly I had been asked, in between shots of vodka at lunch, to present in Russian.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>“This is not going to be pretty” was the only thought in my mind, which was already beginning to swim a little from the strong alcohol.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">But, there I was at the podium thirty minutes later in front of about 45 Russian agricultural specialists and graduate students giving a presentation in broken Russian about the </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">US</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> higher education system.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I decided to keep it as short as possible since the expression on half of their faces upon the announcement of my speech looked like it could burn my soul out.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I must have spoken for about 10 minutes and expected to practically run back to my seat afterwards, but surprisingly, they had a bunch of questions for me.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I did my best to answer, and Gataulin actually had to cut the questions short so we could move on with the conference.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>After the last presenter, a group of graduate students approached me and wanted to know even more.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>After again struggling to answer very broad questions like “how much does a university education cost in the US” and “what kind of salary can you get with a masters degree compared to a bachelors”, we made our way to the banquet dinner.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Here, again, vodka and wine was poured to the brim and I counted at least 10 different toasts that required everyone to raise their glasses and drink to the bottom.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Some toasts were short and sweet, some involved singing traditional Tatar songs, and others were 10 minute long anecdotes by people who had clearly had one (or four) too many.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I was seated across from a group of five female graduate students from </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Orenburg</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> (southeast of Tatarstan and bordering on </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Kazakhstan</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">), who were stunned to discover I was only 22 years old.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Their eyes widened and they all gasped, saying out loud that we were the same age, but they had taken me for much older, although they couldn’t tell me exactly why.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They then invited me to go to the movies with them that evening, after they had been very awkwardly invited to a night club by one of the drunken members of the conference committee who was easily 25 years their elder.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">After the banquet ended, Kristina, </span><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US">Lena</span></st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, Tanya 1, Tanya 2 and two others whose names I can’t remember took me by the arm and led me down the street to the bus stop, where we hopped on for a quick ride to the center of </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US">Kazan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US">.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We went to two 10-minute 4-D ‘adventure experiences’ where you watch a 3-D clip and sit in seats that move like you’re in a roller coaster as water and wind are sprayed at you.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They thought it was the coolest thing in the world; I was just feeling sick afterwards.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">This was followed by a walk to an upscale sushi restaurant where I was further grilled about life in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> and my personal life: what are relationships like in the </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">US</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>How does dating work?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We hear that one-night stands are the norm in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">America</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">…is this true?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>What do you look for in a girl?</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">After sushi and some ice cream, we hopped into a gypsy cap waiting outside the restaurant for a ride back to the institute dormitory.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The guy driving looked very pleased to have four young women in his back seat, but not so thrilled that I was there in the passenger’s seat…talk about a buzz-kill.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Although I had a good laugh when we hopped into the cab and the driver asked the girls if they were freezing (it was quite a cold evening).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They replied that they were cold, and the driver then jacked up the heat in the car and said with a smirk: “Now it will soon be like </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Tashkent</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> in here.”</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">The following day had been rescheduled from a conference day to an ‘excursion’ day where all participants of the conference were invited to go on a bus tour of the whole city.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We made stops at the Kremlin so everyone could wander around for a bit, and even took a 30-minute detour to the Raifskiy monastery outside the city limits.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The monastery and churches were essentially like every other monastery and church I had visited so far in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Russia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, with one exception.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>This one had a very nice lake on its territory (although ice was still covering part of the lake…in late April).<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Our guide told us that this was the monastery’s holy lake, to which one woman replied in astonishment, “You mean the whole lake is holy?<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>All of the water?”<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The guide assured her that this was the case, and that it was the healthiest water in all of </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Russia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> to bathe in.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Russians really do love their religious superstitions; in their mind, there is no doubt in their truth.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Gataulin had changed our return train tickets to leave that evening since the conference had been shortened, so I spent my final few hours after the excursion going on a walk and sitting in a café with Alyson and the </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Orenburg</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> girls before heading back to the train station.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But it was this train ride that proved to be the most interesting of the whole trip.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Gataulin and I had a </span>купе<span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> entirely to ourselves, and I inadvertently started the most interesting conversation I have had in </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Russia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> when I innocently asked Gataulin if he ever came to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US">Kazan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US"> as a child, seeing as he was born in the neighboring </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Orenburg</span></st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> </span><st1:placetype><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Republic</span></st1:placetype></st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Gataulin launched into a nostalgic memoir of his childhood during the war, during which he worked as a 12 to 15-year old bookkeeper on a kolkhoz measuring the wheat and oat production of every woman in the commune.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He said it was here that he became fascinated in agriculture, and recounted several stories about how he made measurements, developed new techniques to make his job easier, and even delivered horse-drawn carts of wheat to a town 10 hours away through the driving winter snow as a 14-year old.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He told me of how almost all of the family’s belongings were transferred to the front in the war effort, and how after the war the country was in a state of disarray.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He told of how banditry and gang wars were rampant, especially among the teenage population, and how he became an experienced train-jumper in order to get anywhere, seeing as his family had no form of transportation and he had no money to afford a ticket.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He said that train conductors were often sympathetic to the young boys traveling without tickets, as they understood well the hardship of life at this point.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He even remembered one time riding in an empty, open-topped cargo cart when two rival gangs hopped in and began a knife-fight, during which Gataulin was cut across the hand before he managed to hop out.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It was the first time I got a really true feeling about what the war meant to </span><st1:country-region><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Russia</span></st1:place></st1:country-region><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, and the nature of its lasting effects.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Later, he told of how he made his way to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Moscow</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> to enroll in the </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Timiryazev</span></st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> </span><st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Agricultural</span></st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> </span><st1:placetype><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Academy</span></st1:placetype></st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, seeing as he had received highest marks in his schoolwork in </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Orenburg</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Again, he train-jumped to get to </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Moscow</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> (a 24+ hour ride), and immediately asked the dean if he could get a job while studying so he could earn money to send home.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He was attached to a work team that reaped wheat in the fields by the academy, and he again excelled in his studies.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>After a few years of post-graduate studies, he became a full-time professor in the Economics department and has been moving ever-forward since then.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">He then recalled a story of a visit he paid to the agriculture minister of the scarcely-populated yet huge </span><st1:place><st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Yakutia</span></st1:placename><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> </span><st1:placetype><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Republic</span></st1:placetype></st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US"> in the northeast of </span><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Siberia</span></st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He was taken by helicopter along with the minister and a few other people to a remote fishing ground, where they were to spend the day outdoors.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The weather in Yakutia is very harsh and tempermental, and when the helicopter returned to look for them, it could not locate the group through the thick fog, although they could clearly hear the helicopter not far off.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They were stranded and forced to spend the night in the wild.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They built fires, made makeshift tents out of wood and leaves, and waited until the next day when the helicopter made another effort and finally found them.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So Bear Grylls.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">All in all the trip was a huge success.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I formally participated in an official Russian conference, made some new Russian friends, heard a GREAT story, and thoroughly enjoyed the city of </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Kazan</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">, which I found to be much more friendly and personable than </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Moscow</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>And after just one week of being back at work, I took off for </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">St. Petersburg</span></st1:place></st1:city><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But I’ll save that for my next post.</span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language:EN-US">You can see my photos of </span><st1:city><st1:place><span lang="EN-US" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US">Kazan </span><span lang="EN-US"><a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2151705&id=7606312&l=090cc902e7">here</a>.</span></st1:place></st1:city></p>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-43271611389512167772010-04-09T12:19:00.004+04:002010-04-09T13:08:07.737+04:00Someone has flipped the switch<div style="text-align: center;">Finally.</div><div><br /></div><div>Over the last two weeks, Moscow has been blessed with a very dramatic change in the weather. We have risen out of freezing temperatures, all the snow and ice has melted, and we've been basking in temperatures around 60 F for the last few days. After a 5-month winter, I feel like it is well-deserved. I have seen grass for the first time in Russia since early December, and I can finally start exercising outside again. </div><div><br /></div><div>I can't afford to get my hopes up too high, however, as I have been warned that frosts can (and usually do) return to Moscow by the middle of May, and the city has been known to suffer frosts as late at as the first week of June. I will go crazy if this turns out to be true.</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, it's been a long time since my last update. To keep things short, however, I'll just tell you the basics of what's been going on since the first week in March. </div><div><br /></div><div>-I've been to a Russian cabaret performance. GREAT.</div><div><br /></div><div>-I went to see the wonderful Picasso exhibit at the Pushkin Fine Arts Museum. Since the exhibit opened, there hasn't been a day when the line hasn't been at least a two-hour wait. Worth it, though.</div><div><br /></div><div>-I went with a couple friends in search of an Old Believer's community in the east of Moscow, but we were foiled by the Lonely Planet's directions and the trolley-bus system. Instead, we ended up hiking across east/southeast Moscow for about 3 hours until we reached Kolomenskoe, a beautiful territory where a few tsars/tsarinas used to reside occasionally. Here is a photo of some of the grounds.</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg557WWdCgo3RqL8Mo4Xb3B76WkOJ6qMZd-EWfKv64edGz4OiCIgEwH3t4hPG7cSsXQpWkkM-5qYy9zswffIlbQU9aZOqKvBIJJj3MF5K9RE85Ybgz5WYi3JgA0li3Na_y6Pz9y-Pfl0F0Y/s320/DSC08270.JPG" /></div><div>-I participated in a student conference here and gave a presentation on the cultural difference of smiling between Russians and Americans. </div><div><br /></div><div>-Had an American-style beer-party with some friends here, during which we played quarters. I missed Paul's Deli on that night. And I even missed Bud Light...which goes to show you the quality of Russian beer, and why they stick to vodka.</div><div><br /></div><div>-I checked out Kuskovo Park where Count Sheremetyev had one of his several palaces. Beautiful grounds, especially when approached through the adjoining forest, which gives you a great view across the massive pond where the count used to stage naval battles to entertain the masses. Unfortunately, the weather and the lack of funding has taken its toll on the exterior of the buildings. There is no heating inside, either, making for a very chilly experience in the winter months.</div><div><br /></div><div>-I went with Thaddeus to a Russian hockey playoff game. Unfortunately, Spartak (our team) lost to Yaroslavl's Lokomotiv in overtime and were soon after eliminated from the competition.</div><div><br /></div><div>-I went to a free concert at a nightclub by this really strange gizillion-person band whose oldest member appeared to be about 19. They were dubbed the "Russian Arcade Fire" because of their range of instruments and the fact that they covered "Wake Up." You could only distinguish about five of the instruments, however. And we waited all night for them to play 'Wake Up', which was their finale, and it was terrible.</div><div><br /></div><div>-I went to the city of Tula with some friends for a day-trip. There we went to three museums which exhibit the reasons for Tula's fame: samovars, prianiki (apple/honey-filled cakes), and weapons. It was a nice little city. The highlight, however, was the Ukrainian restaurant that we lunched in. Here's a photo of a GIANT samovar.</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM26CcZ1Tv6Ayf4Z_z3Bvatvw1SqVdEWmAUmZSxSOpTrptLuNTV9KkG8tsBqakttRSTnt2y_v6ZilgvX_gVYi-JW37euRkVPywdxeKfuwbMhAeVSN3E3q39CE6O4Q3HI9S6YXTvQBnBh9l/s320/DSC08343.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div>-I had tickets to see Swan Lake at the Kremlin theater with some friends, but we arrived only to learn that the costumes for Swan Lake had been left in Beijing, from where the troupe had just returned. So, they had The Nutcracker on stand-by for us. It was beautiful, although a little out-of-season.</div><div><br /></div><div>-Went to an English pub to watch the first leg of the Arsenal-Barcelona Champions League match-up. Great comeback by Arsenal, although ЦСКА Moscow was also playing that night, so the whole pub was shouting about that game, which they lost, of course. Arsenal also went on to get schlaked by Messi and Barcelona the next week.</div><div><br /></div><div>-Had a great visit by a few W&M people to Moscow: one a fellow ETA in Tolyatti, and one studying abroad in Vladimir---both in Moscow to show the city off to friends from home. We had a great Georgian dinner and a fun time at a bar (after getting face-controlled at another bar...ouch).</div><div><br /></div><div>-Returned to Kolomna on Easter Sunday for a day-trip with a tour group. The convent and cathedral were open this time, so I got to see some things I hadn't seen earlier. We also witnessed a fun Easter egg-rolling game for the kids. Plus, the weather was gorgeous. </div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibnlFmBy_Y4eQVQBJAylYDM8ZFOWnp-OUJ6UjXHGEPqu0Soi3A32b-CYoC88pbEPlTq6qJ5g4UtYrRuW1Nur3EimYomVMzq1SguzwZ4e3ZLZtrYNn0hUXv27tBOYYzBhtY1seGBeO1IcNg/s320/DSC08389.JPG" /></div><div><br /></div><div>That's what I've been up to (in addition to work, of course), and here's what I've got coming up:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. A trip to Kazan from April 22-25 to participate in a conference.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. A vacation to St. Petersburg, leaving from Moscow on May 1. I don't have a return ticket yet, and I might just keep it that way.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. Another student conference May 21-22 at my univeristy.</div><div><br /></div><div>4. A big FAO conference is being hosted at my university June 2-3. Apparently, I was signed up as a representative of the US by my uni, without first asking me. I'm not quite sure what my responsibilities are going to be, but it sounds intimidating.</div><div><br /></div><div>5. Immediately following this conference, I'll be making my way to Elista from June 5-12 to teach in an English camp for students. Elista is the capital of the Kalmykia Republic in southwest Russia, and is the only Buddhist republic in Europe. I'm really looking forward to it. Plus, they say that the weather there in June is HOT--just what I'm looking for.</div><div><br /></div><div>After returning from Elista, I've only got two more weeks of teaching left!!! Then, I've got some hopes to go to Lake Baikal for a week in July before returning home. Can't wait. Not being able to watch the Phillies or the Master's is eating away at my spirits.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-9658055617752494962010-03-06T18:42:00.002+03:002010-03-06T19:43:54.683+03:00The Land of CelebrationsYou may be wondering why I have not been blogging as frequently in the previous two months as during the final months of 2009. Or, if you're like I imagine you are, you really couldn't care less. Except you, Tim Bacon. But, the reason for my general absence is more or less as follows: Russia has a lot of celebrations during the beginning of the new year, and I have been taking full advantage of them. A recap: <div><br /></div><div>January: a 10-day New Year's vacation, during which I frolicked around Red Square and learned to handle my vodka as though I'd been drinking it from the womb. Then I jetted to Istanbul for a few days. After returning to teach for two weeks, I made my way to Vladimir and Suzdal on the Golden Ring before our mid-year Fulbright seminar. </div><div><br /></div><div>February: I spent the wee hours of the morning on Monday, February 8 watching the Super Bowl in an American diner...and losing three bets on the way (why, Saints, why?). </div><div><br /></div><div>The next week/weekend was Maslenitsa--an old pagan holiday that is still celebrated by many in Russia to welcome the coming of spring. I could not help but notice that it was, indeed, still the middle of February, which generally means <i>at least</i> two more months of winter weather in Russia. I spent Sunday the 14th in the middle of a snow-covered forest with friends where a large clearing was made to hold festivities. This day deserves a more detailed description. </div><div><br /></div><div>First of all, this celebration was 'secret'. That is, it was planned by a select group of individuals and 'advertising' was done by word-of-mouth only. Supposedly, this tradition is over a century old. Every year, the festivities are held in a different location somewhere outside of Moscow, but the location is always kept a secret until the day before. I spent the day prior at Lyoha's house with some other people making blinis (pancakes--the traditional Maslenitsa dish, as it represents the sun). At some point in the evening, one of the guys received a phone call and was told the location of the celebration and how to get there. The next morning, we hopped onto an elektrichka and rode about an hour outside of the city to a random stop in the middle of a forest (I mean, absolutely no civilization sight...why there is a train stop there is beyond me). Here, however, almost the entire train disembarked and the hundreds of people who had been informed of this 'secret' jumped across the train tracks and started trekking for almost another hour through the woods with snow up to their hips. </div><div><br /></div><div>We had been told prior to leaving that we had to learn a Russian folk-song to gain entry into the festivities. Myself and a group of other internationals chose the most easy of all folk songs, Катюша, and prepared ourselves to sing once we finally reached the entrance to the clearing where three women in traditional Russian outfits judged our performance. Upon hearing that we would be singing Катюша, however, they moaned that they had already heard it too many times that morning. Sensing that we were not from these parts, they asked us to sing a folk song from our own countries. Everyone balked, but then I remembered the one song that has brought me so much joy over the last couple years: Old Crow Medicine Show's "Wagon Wheel" (a W&M 'education' at the Green Leafe comes in handy SO often). While not exactly a folk song, it has folk qualities, so I stepped forward and gave it my all--the women were amazed, gave us a huge smile, and parted to let us through.</div><div><br /></div><div>The first things I noticed were the huge ice/snow sculptures that littered the clearing in the woods. There was an old-fashioned viking-like ship upon which children climbed and played-our imaginary battles with passerby, an ice-mouse, a turtle (I think) and a huge wall that was meant to be 'raided' by common-folk while the event organizers pelted them with snowballs from above and pushed them off the wall if they made any progress trying to scale it on the shoulders of their comrades. Then looking to my left, I saw a huge log standing completely vertical in the snow. Men wearing nothing but their underwear tried to ascend this log to reach the prizes hanging at the top. This log was easily 100 feet tall, and the men scurrying up and sliding down were rewarded with scrapes and scratches all over their body as well as near frosbite in the -25 weather. I have no clue why they thought this was a good idea.</div><div><br /></div><div>I had been forewarned that this event would be full of "positive energy"--that is, no alcohol, and even though things might get a little 'rough', it was all in good fun. I soon figured out what was meant by 'rough'. The games offered at this celebration ran the gamut from traditional singing games, jump-rope competitions, tug-of-war, and duck-duck-goose types to the more 'masculine Russian' games such as Стенка-на-стенку (Wall-to-wall). This is played by lining up two groups of men opposite one another and then having them scream and charge at full-speed until they smash into each other head-on like a rugby scrum. This is repeated until one-by-one, men start dropping out of the game. I saw one guy spit a tooth out in a pool of blood. </div><div><br /></div><div>There was also Слон, or Elephant, where a team of people lined-up and bent over, grabbing the hips of the person in front of them to make a sort of wall. Meanwhile, members of the other team took turns leap-frogging up the line of people, landing on the backs of the first team until their combined weight forced the wall to collapse. There was also wrestling, arm-wrestling, and a game where opponents were blindfolded, spun around to lose their orientation, and then commanded to swing pillow-like sacs until they finally found and knocked down their opponents. After nearly having my skull crushed against the hip of a teammate in Слон, my shoulder dislocated by a random dude in arm-wrestling, and several bones snapped in Стенка-на-стену, I decided to take a rest. But it was all about positive energy, man.</div><div><br /></div><div>We spent a full day in the forest, keeping warm in the frigid weather either by participating in competitions or taking tea and blini breaks and sitting by the campfire of some other jolly Maslenitsa-ers. The day was incredibly fun, and you can find my photos from this event at <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; ">http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2144793&id=7606312&l=57bbbedb65.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; ">February 15 was the celebration of Valentine's Day in Lingva, so I co-organized a little shindig for the English students where we sang Sinatra's "My Funny Valentine", read a poem about love, and played a few games before sitting down to tea and cakes. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; ">The next weekend I attended a wedding of an American man and Russian woman who I had met through a few other Americans doing missionary work in Moscow. It was a lovely ceremony, and had a nice touch of America as all of the groomsmen wore cowboy hats to represent the groom's home state of Texas. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 16px; "><br /></span></span></div><div>February 23 is the Day of the Defender in Russia (formerly Red Army Day but now a day celebrating all of the past and present members of the Russian Armed Forces). It is sometimes referred to simply as Man's Day. I was invited out for drinks with a few other Russians, and guess what: Man's Day means cheap vodka at every dining institution. And that means a lot of drunk men. You can guess what followed.</div><div><br /></div><div>Last weekend I took a trip to Sergeiv Posad, an iconic old Russian monastery-town on the Golden Ring that draws thousands of tourists to see the beautiful monastic buildings and to pay homage to St. Sergius, the patron saint of Russia, who is buried in the Trinity Cathedral. Just outside the entrance to the Cathedral of the Assumption across the courtyard is the grave of Boris Godunov, the only tsar not buried in the Moscow Kremlin or in Saint Petersburg's SS Peter & Paul Cathedral. There is also a great archeological/ethnographic/history museum and a fun toy museum! I hope to have pictures edited from this trip soon, so I will post a link when I've got time.</div><div><br /></div><div>Last Wednesday, I attended a great free concert with American friends of a female Russian guitarist and her group. This was followed by a tiny-portioned Italian dinner with the sounds of Russian karaoke blaring in our faces. I enjoyed the concert more.</div><div><br /></div><div>And finally, this Monday, March 8 is International Women's Day (celebrated by Russia and other CIS countries). So, it's a three-day weekend, and I'm heading off on a day trip tomorrow to the New Jerusalem Cathedral with a professor.</div><div><br /></div><div>So, that explains my lack of blogging lately. I hope I've sated your appetite. Until next time...</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-50414827664591703342010-02-13T15:02:00.003+03:002010-02-13T15:30:55.110+03:00...I thought I would share a few of the more memorable moments from my last week.<div><br /></div><div>1. A man came into the cafeteria one day and sat down at the table next me for lunch. He was clearly having some trouble walking as he stumbled over his own two feet, and he was audibly grumbling something, although the only word I actually caught was "завтрак" (breakfast). He then pulled a beer out of a plastic bag and proceeded to wash down mouthfuls of his lunch with swigs from the bottle. He continued to intermittently grumble completely unintelligible things, and after watching him for some time out of the corner of my eye, I realized that he was having some trouble keeping his food down. He began swaying back and forth in his chair, shifting his weight occasionally, and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Finally, he vomited. On himself. And on the floor in front of him (he missed the table and his meal). I think I was the only one in the cafeteria who noticed, as everyone else seemed to be engrossed in conversation with their table-mates and I didn't notice any reactions to this man's upchuck. The man then continued to shovel forkfuls of food into his mouth, until I noticed he vomited again inside his mouth (this time swallowing it to avoid making another mess). Finally, he rose from his chair unsteadily and walked out of the cafeteria, leaving everything in its place at the table (and on the floor). I left soon after.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. I was having a discussion with my professor-students in class about travel and their ideal alternative habitats, or at least vacation destinations. Interestingly, Sweden and Australia were overwhelming favorites, being chosen by about 80% of the participants. As one professor related his fascination with Australia, he struggled to think of the word 'marsupial' (I can't blame him). After considering the word in Russian (сумчатое животное) he came up with the nearly transliterated: "pocket animal". He was very satisfied with his cunning, and I couldn't help but laugh.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. With the same group of professors, but a few classes later, we were discussing the topic of 'work'. I asked the question: "What jobs have you done in your life and what did you like or dislike about them?" As is usually the case, hardly anyone <i>actually answered</i> the question. The standard response was, "I like my job now. It is good for me." When prompted with an example of my own about a job I did not really enjoy (greasy-hamburger-flipping concessionaire), one woman offered an answer that was more what I was looking for. She described to me her early childhood desire to be a crime-lab technician due to her fascination with chemistry. Then she related the following story:</div><div>When she was in the 7th class (akin to 7th grade) her entire class was taken to a factory and assigned non-paying jobs for the summer--Soviet tradition, I suppose, to learn the benefits of labor. She worked as a 'turner' at an train engine factory. Her job, for an entire summer, as a young girl, was to turn a lever at one stage in the production process of train engines. I hope she learned some valuable lessons.</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-36213448297260849692010-02-04T11:33:00.003+03:002010-02-04T12:15:39.651+03:00Testing Fate and Faith in Russia<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJLeg_VVddz5eP67hVxGLNEgmH5ZniQLwg3p4KRn4G8FPhQMfjAAoWJV4H18BaZ1NHRhrn2zlHKR8Z3YAdTxl-kZ2yNnP2wxNpVen0KnVF_UAdECqbBae03kXAnbhURWx5xI4WfZj3iMN/s1600-h/DSC07004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJLeg_VVddz5eP67hVxGLNEgmH5ZniQLwg3p4KRn4G8FPhQMfjAAoWJV4H18BaZ1NHRhrn2zlHKR8Z3YAdTxl-kZ2yNnP2wxNpVen0KnVF_UAdECqbBae03kXAnbhURWx5xI4WfZj3iMN/s320/DSC07004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5434312428310366818" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>As the elektrichka slowed to a snail's pace and eeked toward the Vladimir rail station after a 3.5 hour “local” train ride from Moscow, Lonely Planet's warnings of “commotion” and “busy, industrial town” seemed to completely outweigh the promises of “the grandeur of medieval Vladimir” displayed in “Russia's most formative architecture.” I was seriously beginning to question Vladimir's claim as a “jewel” of Moscow's Golden Ring—the historical group of principalities that once composed the heart of medieval Rus' centuries before any mention of Moscow was even made in the ancient Chronicles.</div><div><br /></div><div>To my eyes, we were about to witness another sad story of Soviet, life-sucking destruction. A once valiant, majestic, faithful Russian town fallen victim to the poverty induced by communism. Our train crawled past shacks built into the hillside that rose above the train tracks. We could practically taste the devastation from inside the chilly train car.</div><div><br /></div><div>A glimmer of hope came in the form of the gold-leafed onion domes of Vladimir's churches meekly poking their way over the crest of the hill. We emerged from the train into the frigid air (this would be a constant theme of our 4-day trip) and were slowly carried with the crowd through the station and out the other side. The taxi ride to the hotel did little to assuage my doubts. Sure, we caught our first glimpses of the monasteries and cathedrals on our left, and we drove around the famed Golden Gate of Vladimir (an Arc de Triumph-like structure dating back to 1164) which stands in the middle of Vladimir's main street, but the right-hand side of the road exhibited the aforementioned “commotion” and industrious nature of modern Vladimir. Our hotel fit in nicely with this latter bunch. A goliath structure seemingly straight out of the Soviet textbook on architectural aesthetics, the Hotel Zarya offered cheap rooms, and that was all we were really after.</div><div><br /></div><div>Thankfully, the city and its people proved me wrong. Our first half-day of sightseeing, despite the nearly unbearable -30 cold, gave us a glimpse of the Vladimir of yore. A museum tour of the Golden Gate and a friendly Russian babushka manning the exhibits informed us of Vladimir's role in Ancient Rus' (and a great appreciation that we Americans had come from so far to learn about it). This was followed by a museum of Vladimir's more modern history (through tsarist times) set into the four floors of the city's old brick water tower, the top floor of which revealed to us a 360 degree view of Vladimir's true beauty. Vast expanses of white snow, birch trees, and farm plots brought back all the images of Ancient Rus' that I had from Russian class at W&M. This was the Russia I had set out to find.</div><div><br /></div><div>Our early-evening stroll took us past Vladimir's Assumption Cathedral, one of Russian Orthodoxy's most revered sites for its original Andrey Rublev frescoes of the Last Judgment, as well as the original coffin of Alexander Nevsky, the hero of Russia who turned away German and Swedish invaders while preserving his principalities with appeasement strategies during the Mongol Yoke. It happened to be a Saturday evening—the time of the Orthodox service. What better time to step inside the Assumption?</div><div><br /></div><div>We were hit immediately by an aromatic wall of incense as our eyes adjusted to the darkness of the entrance way. As we turned the corner of pillars, we were greeted by the majestic sight of gold-rimmed icons and frescoes covering the walls, and lighted candles that sprouted from golden holders. Our ears were met by the rhythmic, hypnotizing chords of the priest reciting the sermon, occasionally interrupted by spouts of song from the choir hidden in a raised balcony and the recitations of the faithful with whom we were sharing this experience. They stood in no particular order; some close to the front, some far in the back. We snaked our way around the church interior, taking in all the sights, smells, and sounds of this accidental discovery.</div><div><br /></div><div>How does one follow this experience? Well, we were cold and tired, so we decided to follow it with a bottle of vodka and juice back at the hotel before setting out for a restaurant we had marked for dinner. Yeah, right. After resting our legs, warming our bodies by vodka, and watching some MTV Russia, no one felt the need to venture back out into the cold to find the restaurant; we decided to delay our departure to Suzdal the next day until the afternoon so that we could still make a stop at the restaurant for lunch. This would prove to be a very important decision.</div><div><br /></div><div>In the meantime, we were hungry, and the hotel had a cafe, so down we went. Little did we know, we were walking into the dying throes of a wedding banquet full of drunk Russians. We sat at our table in the corner while being intermittently grabbed from our chairs and asked to dance and sing along with the boisterous crowd. We were confronted with a terribly catchy European song about Obama (that none of us Americans recognized), and we also suffered through the strained notes of drunk Russian karaoke singers. Conversations with this crowd ran the gamut: from disbelief that we were from America (or that we had someone named Liz in our group; because “Elizabeth” is a Russian name...) to offers to join a few of them in their dacha/banya getaway, which we couldn't help but feel was actually some kind of sexual advance... Anyways, the night ended on a good note, and we carried our exhausted bodies back up to bed for some much needed sleep.</div><div><br /></div><div>The next day began with a breakfast experiment in a nearby cafe. Russians are not known for their breakfast foods. Каша (oatmeal) and каша (oatmeal) with a side of каша (oatmeal) is a pretty safe bet. Oh, and a cup of tea. But we found a place that offered omelets, so why not give it a try? Here's why: Russians don't do omelets. What we got instead were bowls of microwaved eggs with various toppings (I apoligize, Sammerz, if you are reading this...). But at least my omelet was cooked all the way through (sorry, Kristen). </div><div><br /></div><div>Thankfully, however, it put something in our stomachs to protect us against the cold, so we then set out to explore the Assumption Cathedral in daylight, followed by a stop at the much smaller but more detailed Cathedral of St. Demetrius, both of which are designated UNESCO World Heritage Sites. This latter building's exterior was adorned with beautiful stone carvings dating back to the 12th century, and its interior still featured a few frescoes of the apostles also from this age. After stopping in a monastery and viewing the interior of another church, we decided to make the hike back to the restaurant we had skipped out on the night before. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was on our way there that one of the most strange experiences of my life occurred. Walking down a small side-street off the main road toward the restaurant, I noticed a young woman heading in our direction. Her scarf was pulled up to the bridge of her nose and her hat pulled down to her brow (this is normal dress for such bitter weather). As she passed us, I had a strange feeling that I recognized her eyes. My own eyes followed her as she walked by, halted, and then asked in a disbelieving tone, “Liz?” She had recognized one of our travel companions, a fellow ETA working in Tolyatti. Liz and I studied together at W&M, and it was right then that I realized the identity of this mysterious passerby. I called out, “Suzanne?!?!” She turned toward me and we suddenly realized we had stumbled upon one of those bizarre meetings that you will remember for the rest of your life.</div><div><br /></div><div>Suzanne also studies at W&M and is currently doing a year abroad in Vladimir. While I knew she was in Russia, I had no idea where (besides not in Moscow), and I NEVER thought I would run into her like this. I mean, Russia is kind of large. And not only did Suzanne, Liz, and I study together in school (and perform together in a wonderful version of Красная Шапочка), but Suzanne also knew Thaddeus from last summer's Middlebury Russian Program. We were like one big happy family (along with our other Fulbright friends Nicky, Kristen, and Emily). </div><div><br /></div><div>It had just so happened that Suzanne had decided to leave early that day from the Jewish Center where she volunteers, and it just so happened that she was taking this little road home. And it had just so happened the evening before that we decided to postpone our departure to Suzdal so we could come to this one restaurant for lunch, which just so happened to be located on this same little side road. It just so happens, that it's quite a small world, after all. (Мир тесен!)</div><div><br /></div><div>Suzanne joined us for a delicious, traditional Russian lunch with friendly service (a real shock coming from the Moscow restaurant scene). Upon hearing of our plans to move on to Suzdal for the next two days, she decided to tag along and introduce us to some young, local friends of hers that could show us the town. After lunch, we hopped onto a little bus and set off on the 45 minute trip to Suzdal, a picturesque village that has been billed as the “Mecca of Russia” and a place with “more churches than people”. I think these are both accurate descriptions.</div><div><br /></div><div>The bus ride itself gave us a good enough idea of this. We rode through the pristine Russian countryside covered in pure white snow and spotted with birch groves, and even passed a kolkhoz on the way. We pulled into the fairy-tale village and were greeted by Ira, Suzanne's good friend in Suzdal. Ira proved to be the best host and guide we could have hoped for. Boisterous in the best of ways and a near-native English speaker, Ira was very keen on showing us her hometown. She accompanied us to the hostel where we were staying, located on the banks of a frozen river amid a row of traditional, Russian, wood houses with finely-carved, decorative trim straight out of old Russia. </div><div><br /></div><div>At the hostel we befriended the man-in-charge, Vasiliy, a wonderfully friendly Ukrainian man who was eager for conversation as he ran the hostel completely by himself. He was patient with our Russian and we even exchanged phone numbers so we can chat when he gets lonely at his work. He graciously invited us to return whenever we wanted, promising us space in the still-unfinished hostel. There we also met two young French girls, Clementine and Melanie, who are studying abroad in a business program in Moscow, as well as two Scots who had embarked on their “romantic idea” of traveling the Trans-Siberian Railway in the middle of the Russian winter without knowing a word of Russian or being able to read Cyrillic. When we asked them how it was going so far, their immediate response was, “It's F**KING cold.” No, really?!??! All in good fun, though.</div><div><br /></div><div>Ira in turn introduced us to Grisha, Olya, Olya (yes, two Olyas), and many other Russian friends with whom we shared our experience of Suzdal. We were taken on a tour of the old Suzdal kremlin, strolled through the open-air museum of wooden architecture, and popped into a few monasteries and convents during our two days there. While the history and the picturesque nature of this village—made even more majestic in the traditional Russian winter cold and layers of shining snow—are certainly what draws most visitors to Suzdal, perhaps our greatest impressions of this sleepy village came from the friendships we made with the locals. After going on these makeshift tours, we were invited to two dinners (read: a little evening meal with our bottles of vodka), two lunches (read: experiencing Suzdal's famed медовуха, an alcoholic mead-like drink made of honey in the kremlin restaurant which features a 300 year old menu), and even to one of the Olyas' houses for an evening of conversation, caviar, and a screening of a documentary she had made about a Russian biker festival. </div><div><br /></div><div>Our final morning in Suzdal was spent in a local ceramics factory where we were taken on a tour and then given our own private master-class during which we hopelessly struggled to make something even mildly resembling a pot-like structure. This was the Suzdal that not every tourist is lucky enough to see. This was the experience we had all been yearning for; an experience that does not involve burying one's nose in a guide book and looking up every now and then for a street sign that probably doesn't exist to make sure one is going in the right direction. This was Russia. And the ceramics factory gives us an excellent excuse to go back—perhaps in the spring when the village will look entirely different without the snow—to pick up our finalized works of 'art.' And anyways, Vasiliy is waiting for us at the hostel...</div><div><br /></div><div>We left Suzdal with heavy hearts, reluctantly saying goodbye to Ira, Grisha, the Olyas, and Vasiliy as we hopped into taxis that would take us to the bus station. The trip back to Vladimir was quiet as we all reflected on our recent whirlwind experience, but we were met by Suzanne at the Vladimir train station as she saw us off on our way back to Moscow. We also ran into the two Scots at the station as they prepared to board a train to Irkutsk, a 3-day, 4200-km (2610-mile) trip eastward. Wishing them luck on their journey, we hopped onto the train for our ride back to Moscow. We did our best to catch up on some rest, because we were about to enter another non-stop environment as all of the Russia-based Fulbrighters descended on Moscow for our 3-day mid-year seminar. </div><div><br /></div><div>The seminar was also a wonderful time. It was great hearing about the experiences of other people stationed throughout the vast expanse that is Russia, learning about their respective research projects, and sharing some great laughs during meals (and even discovering that one of the ETAs got engaged over the winter holiday! Way to go, Travis!). The weekend inevitably came to an end, however, and now it's back to work.</div><div><br /></div><div>But this trip could not have been better. It restored my faith that Russia can be an exciting, inviting, and spectacular place—a faith which had been severely tested and subsequently drained after the first four months of life in Moscow. This was a perfect jumping-off point for the remaining five month<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">s of my time, and I just hope I can squeeze in several more trips like this during that time. After all, there are a lot more things to see, and a lot more people to meet in this country, whether on pur</span>pose or by chance. </div><div><br /></div><div>Postscript: </div><div>You can find more of my photos from our time in Vladimir <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2143101&id=7606312&l=046ef77c67">here</a> and Suzdal <a href="http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2143190&id=7606312&l=1f2727c8e1">here</a>!</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-36058642267829759482010-01-13T19:39:00.006+03:002010-01-13T21:26:53.645+03:00How to properly 'встречать' the New Year<div style="text-align: left;">The fireworks are still going off throughout Moscow, for today marks the end of the New Years holiday in Russia: Старый Новый Год. Due to the Orthodox Church's continued use of the Gregorian calendar, the Old New Year celebration is held on January 13, although the state still recognizeы January 1st as the <i>New Year</i>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>So, what does this mean? Russians have been celebrating for 13 days straight.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>And what does this mean? Russians have been drinking for 13 days straight.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Well, at least for 10 days. The Russian government declared the official holiday from January 1-10. And the Russian people milked those 10 days for all that they're worth. I tried my best to keep up. I decided to stay in Moscow to experience part of this grand New Year celebration and to try on my fledgling 'Russian-ness' for size. I succeeded for only a day and a half.<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>My plan had always been to go to Red Square and 'do it right'. Everyone I told of this plan, however, warned me against it, saying it would be too crowded, too cold, and too dangerous. After drinking with some professors in celebration of yet another birthday, I finally got to the bottom of their concern: Caucasians. They were warning me that only people from Chechnya, Abkhazia, Ossetia, Georgia, etc. go to Red Square for New Years. Russians, to put it politely, are wary of these types after decades of wars and recent terrorist attacks (Nord Ost in 2002, Beslan in 2004, and most recently the Nevski Express explosion in late November 2009).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But I was doing it for the memory, and I was going to do it. So I planned my night out:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>First, drinks and dinner with my friends Kristyna and Alex in my room. We didn't have much food, but we <i>did </i>have a lot of vodka.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP6QTYNl2wjscTxEkWYZ2-RFZpeCmUemuScKv8XeJUNc3syFyr0hQhWUkxIdNxQMcBSOEk16_LTyYqUvF-wlNvbRVMthc_eJ55JIWJ3xJfiYF2f0W0ZQi1frlTtNEo_7vAv2wsPcmvmJVv/s200/DSCN2728.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426271379387163442" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Second, concerts and fireworks on Red Square with Kristyna, Alex, Nadia and Polina. More drinking; this time champagne and cognac.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfE4RJUeFoKXKLfYO1xaokQkV0GlrRKRKGnd3UgY2SCG8URphnnYu2_HCbYt8M_PanLDJ9n0V4zci07SJsROosN1ZRO_jxc1s9H-yY-JMOKUoftmes9yL2aA5Bk_hsclQEHu2dhn1LAhe/s200/DSCN2808.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426271381632951554" /><div>Third, return to the university and meet up with Lyoha and go to his apartment for a big party with his friends (after a snowball fight on the main square of the campus). There were several bottles of champagne, seven bottles of vodka (read: more drinking) and a large новый-годный стол packed with mayonnaise-filled meat-salads, bread, salami, cheese, and Russia's famous холодец--boiled pigs feet chilled in its own juices until gelatinous--to be eaten strictly with horseradish (and I would recommend some vodka to help forget what you're eating).</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHU3R9wvgxVtUyuyIomWfpkEh5qmUwZ1ltKZ66Ga3ipVcSOd7g-6XL1BLh_0Ge1ewryHvpwMkJoJmYVbE3X78LJPSSQzl3Sy7VQGvLwp_GqoBe7CCag6yLzWWIzlKaatjOwU7qJqxeDVZw/s200/DSCN2824.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426271392205703314" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I'll sum up my New Years 2010 night with the following statements:</div><div>- I enjoyed myself immensely.</div><div>- Red Square <i>was </i>cold and crowded, and perhaps dangerous too, but I didn't notice. I had had enough to drink to make sure of that.</div><div>- I met some great people at Lyoha's party and got some good Russian practice in. I also ate холодец. (no comment)</div><div>- I drank a lot, but retained perfect consciousness. The Russians are artists at drinking and not getting a hangover, and they have generously taken me on as their protege. 17 shots of vodka, 2 glasses of champagne, and 1 shot of cognac. Still alive.</div><div>- Before I knew it, I was dancing on Lyoha's couch, and it was 7 A.M.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>7 A.M.! "I need to go home."</div><div><br /></div><div>I put on my boots and jacket and trudged home through the snow as the sun was rising, and passed out until noon, when my phone rang.</div><div><br /></div><div>Lyoha: "Bryan! Where are you?"</div><div>Me: "Uh...home? In bed?"</div><div>Lyoha: "No no no no! This is New Years...in Russia! It is a 10-day party! Come back, everyone is waiting for you!"</div><div>Me: "Okay." (I'm very stubborn.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I put my boots and jacket back on as the room spun slightly around me, and made my way back through the fresh snow to Lyoha's apartment. I was conscious enough to notice that <i>no one</i> was outside. I had been warned of this. January 1st in Russia is the most quiet place on earth. The entire population is at home, either passed out in all their glory from the night before, or still throwing back shots of vodka with friends. The latter was my fate. I arrived back at Lyoha's to the clinking sound of shot glasses and vodka bottles being slammed onto the table. 2 more down the hatch within 5 minutes of arriving. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Thankfully, I had an excuse for leaving before midnight on this second day of partying. Two fellow Fulbright ETAs were coming through Moscow on their way back to Russia from their respective vacations, and I promised to spend a few days with them. So I slipped out of Lyoha's at around 11:30 P.M., just as a dubbed "Tropic Thunder" was coming on TV (it's a good thing I left then, or I would have been sucked in.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The next two and a half days were spent with Fulbrighters Kristen, Nicky, and Andrew, as well as with Thomas--one of my classmates from Middlebury who was in Russia for a few weeks doing senior thesis research--and Thomas' sister, Lee. We hit up several great museums, a killer bakery for breakfast, ate at the same vegetarian restaurant for dinner two nights in a row, and I fortunately managed to limit my alcohol intake to a couple of beers over those days.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The evening of January 4 saw me off on a 4-day adventure to Istanbul to meet Jed, my good friend from W&M, as we had been planning on doing for several months. I can't possibly go into great detail about everything I saw and did in Istanbul, but I will give some bullet highlights:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>-most important for my morale, I saw grass (well, greenery in general) for the first time in 3 months; and the temperature got as high as 14 degrees (compared to -15 average in Moscow) </div><div>- got a native tour of Taksim, the young, hip, modern part of Istanbul (unbelievably fun, and also a 24/7/365 kind of place; "Istanbul never sleeps," we were told---and we believe it)</div><div>- saw the entirety of Istanbul from the Galata Tower</div><div>- went to a nightclub and saw two great Turkish bands play live</div><div>- bought a 50-year old carpet handmade in central Turkey from a 4th generation carpet merchant in the 5 century-old Grand Bazaar (I love saying that)</div><div>- visited the Basilica Cistern--an underground wonder--with its two mysterious Medusa-head column bases</div><div>- visited several mosques, including the world-famous Blue Mosque (unreal)</div><div>- visited the Hagia Sophia (the most incredible part of the whole trip in my mind)</div><div>- took in one of the most breath-taking and history-filled views of my life: looking out of the second-floor balcony of the Hagia Sophia across to the Blue Mosque</div><div>- visited the Topkapi and Dolmabahce Palaces (and their respective harems), which were home to the Sultanate of the Ottoman Empire for centuries</div><div>- saw a Marc Chagall exhibit at a modern art museum</div><div>- ate a ton of baklava, drank a ton of apple tea, and smoked a water pipe in an open air joint completely covered in carpets and pillows...classic</div><div>- spent a night eating stellar seafood and drinking raki while overlooking the Bosphorus</div><div>- took a ferry across the Bosphorus to the Asian side for some more exploring</div><div>- heard a great deal of Russian (and spoke some) with the HUNDREDS of Russian tourists visiting Turkey---sometimes I felt like I never left...</div><div>- learned some Turkish! [merhaba = hello; gule-gule = goodbye; teshekur = thank you; tashakur = my balls (be careful between those last two); sau = thanks (a much safer bet); lutfen = please; bir = one; iki = two; bira = beer ("bir bira, lutfen"); yagshemash = goodnight! (you may recognize that from Borat)]</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>It was an unbelievable time, and I was so glad to be able to share it with such a good friend. Some may call it a once-in-a-lifetime experience, but I have a feeling I'll be going back. Here are just a few of the 800+ photos I managed to take:</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMx6OKu5tLQ00dd2GE628XW4YjnrjobqNnpbijpj1xVGttc8WY2zjzyEMnF2hqhTEk4SZM59ZG3n3p59RKuilFqIU-f5k3RxBbf0lbe4pYEhMOI3FJ6EaYX1Ko0DskNyt8rrVEYgqdkwrG/s320/DSC06389.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426287985836196226" /><div style="text-align: center;">Jed admiring his rug purchase with Mustafa Kemal Ataturk watching over his shoulder, as he does everywhere in Turkey (and I thought Russians were big on personality cults).</div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEuamfAchpFKwomBzomtz83brJPXRM2coUQ4Qr4YhWKH99-mRrRdoJjck4u4E64_2zrf6wFdcmro6HjU5laQd8Oj-R6_zR78XbGDJfxkAWXBA5HGaUhkGbF7B15dAUOYWUfrR0O7T7dd-a/s320/DSC06068.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426287982550632818" /><div style="text-align: center;">A look back at ancient Istanbul from the ferry across the Bosphorus to the Asian side.</div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0g-XJOhCSws9V6h-_p0RoOg4qMJ6KxLL1oLOwAn30efHDkZx6Z7MvAgPkU2sIIPGpVrKChNaHnKYcr0aOCTayYdNJzB_ejTesxaabaEwxUW3-hy191iNQGe9uTdBSocASbXa1vIuwjM1f/s320/DSC05851.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426287976684383362" /><div style="text-align: center;">The incredible Hagia Sophia as seen from from the main entrance of the Blue Mosque.</div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6a3gVSwTxBBN-eKQ08x1AEk8kaIdxh1wArZ-sH3DEpkyytAv08hSvH-98UoJW8tCzcuAxqyl7xrN65AXLD8xZ1BejRpAYGWZGILv_sMABQDeBDVXvRoWPq_0HZ_5fwXycb-9PR1KnUT1R/s320/DSC05824.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426287975184937650" /><div style="text-align: center;">The Blue Mosque--an incredibly intricate structure.</div><div><br /></div><div>For now, though, it's back to the frigidness of Moscow and the teaching regimen. What a downer after such an exhilarating vacation.</div></div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-62807539547474179792009-12-29T10:04:00.004+03:002009-12-29T10:17:22.995+03:00ABBA is alive and well in Moscow, unfortunately.Last night was the Christmas/New Years celebration with the English students of Lingva, so a few other Americans doing missionary work in the city joined me to talk about our traditions, sing a few carols, and screen 'A Charlie Brown Christmas'. The students had even set up a fake 6-foot Christmas tree (or елка) in the middle of the room. <div><br /></div><div>Then one Russian student had a few songs she wanted to sing. I had been told of her wonderful voice well in advance, so I thought it would be lovely to hear. I just didn't anticipate the genre of songs she enjoyed: very bad classic electro-pop. Her performance was capped-off by a memorable finale of ABBA's "Happy New Year". <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcLMH8pwusw">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dcLMH8pwusw</a></div><div><br /></div><div>She addressed everyone, "I think you all know this next song, so lets gather around the tree and sing together." I glanced suspiciously at the other Americans in the room, but we nonetheless stood, joined hands around the tree, and began walking in a circle while the young woman conveyed to us her passion for all things ABBA. None of us Americans knew the song, but the Russians were certainly into it, raising their hands high up in the air each time the phrase 'Happy New Year' was sung.</div><div><br /></div><div>I learned one important lesson that evening: ABBA's song is four and a half minutes <i>too </i><i>long</i>.</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-27915021753920602292009-12-28T11:26:00.003+03:002009-12-28T11:47:26.065+03:00There is a shaman among us.<div style="text-align: left;">For the last two days I have noticed something very strange. There have been two chairs in my hallway, always occupied by people, although the people seem to change every few hours. They carry on conversations from 7 a.m. to 10 p.m., and the sounds travel up and down the hall, penetrating the wooden doors and paper-thin walls that make up our rooms.</div><div><br /></div><div>Last night, I returned home from a day of exploring the Novodevichy monastery and cemetery, and passed two women, one old and one young, seated in these chairs with a young man hovering over them, carrying on some sort of animated conversation. An hour or so passed in my room, and then I emerged to go boil some water in preparation for my pasta dinner. I stepped out of my room to find the hallway absolutely frigid. The people were still there, just a few doors down from me, now wearing their winter coats but still engaged in their talk.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I turned two corners and arrived at the kitchen to find the window wide open and the curtains blowing inward toward the stove tops. It was below freezing outside, so whoever decided to open the window was clearly not thinking straight. I closed the window and turned around to find the kind дежурная (woman-on-duty) standing in the doorway. She exclaimed my name and rushed in to start a conversation, as she always does when she sees me, although I only understand every 4th word that comes out of her mouth. </div><div><br /></div><div>She asked me if the people in the hallway were bothering me. I said no. Just as I was about to ask what they were doing there, however, she preempted my question and launched into an explanation:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>There was a man in the room who had a very poor back; something about severe spinal pain. The family had called in the help of a local shaman to cure him, and they were using the room as a hospital bed. She rolled her eyes, telling me that she was a 'believer', but that even this stretched her own spiritual-mental limits. She then composed herself and said, "But, what's most important, is that you believe."</div><div><br /></div><div>So, I am now living in the midst of shaman-believers (and a shaman)...in the dormitory of the Moscow Agricultural Academy. This is such a strange place.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0PhsB4cuRn6MGmIlH0tKIq3VAYc-wqna5abnn0o7p3vvPYK6AvWLVccczp4wWgaywGGeVrU9NE6G-7Ikqlw7clFcSy24ULjWPZBAZWLT5koCOjAj_5FCA1FfQ84pmd4cjrxbmMUSvzlR/s320/DSC05404.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5420205670993904962" /><div style="text-align: center;">A shot from the monastery.</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-60973308349335754872009-12-25T00:43:00.003+03:002009-12-25T00:58:08.475+03:00Happy Holidays From Moscow!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bvlAnSmskh1eH05pn8CnCVh015ZIyIm5_TK1RYBBJY_sbgaf_efG5p5O4KE2ChgNLUIxY1UdASlntkXfByeyHpZ2FE6ML0Bw8fHK4hXCcHXQLAhdhERHM-iLt0MEGxAGlBBSZrsdA48I/s1600-h/DSC04704.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 268px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0bvlAnSmskh1eH05pn8CnCVh015ZIyIm5_TK1RYBBJY_sbgaf_efG5p5O4KE2ChgNLUIxY1UdASlntkXfByeyHpZ2FE6ML0Bw8fHK4hXCcHXQLAhdhERHM-iLt0MEGxAGlBBSZrsdA48I/s400/DSC04704.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418925067200701090" /></a><br />Brought to you by Volkswagen.Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-26987817103167034502009-12-23T10:23:00.003+03:002009-12-23T10:45:47.135+03:00A Lesson in Celebrating a Life Well-livedMy class yesterday evening was abruptly stopped at 6:25 by an elderly professor who said, "We must stop class. We have something to celebrate. The dean is coming."<div><br /></div><div>All of the other professors proceeded to clear the table of their papers and dictionaries and lay out paper-placemats, napkins, and plastic plates, cups, and utensils. Then out came dishes of sliced salami, cheese, bread, mandarins, and a huge cake. The dean entered the room, gave me a big smile and a handshake, and then out came a big bottle of cognac.</div><div><br /></div><div>As it turned out, it was the elderly professor's 74th birthday. Seventy-four! (The current male life expectancy in Russia is 61.) I have a great deal of respect for this professor. He has already served his term as the dean of the Economics department (giving way to the current dean), is one of two faculty members at the university who is a member of the Russian Academy of Sciences, is the chairman of an organization he created relating to Russia and CIS agro-economic issues, and speaks fluent Tartar, Russian, Kazakh, and Uzbek, along with a healthy knowledge of German and English. A life to be jealous of, for sure.</div><div><br /></div><div>It quickly became evident how much the other professors in the room respect him, as well. In typical Russian fashion, each person stood and gave a toast in honor of the celebrated septuagenarian. They waxed poetic about the man's numerous accomplishments, his intangible contributions to their own personal success, and showered him with wishes of good health and even more success in the years to come. Of course, this meant that in typical Russian fashion, you had to throw back your drink after each one of these toasts. After about 8 cognac-toasts, I had my fill. </div><div><br /></div><div>The dean then taught me a few key phrases in Tartar (his native language): "<i>Zhakhnim</i>!" means "Let's drink!" and "<i>baseballdravos</i>" means "We can!". Following this, he invited me to the faculty party on Friday. Then, he decided that I will join him for a trip to the sauna on Saturday. Finally, he promised to find me a wife here in Russia so that I would never leave and could continue teaching his professors. I'll go along with the party, perhaps even the sauna. But the wife? How do I politely say 'no' when they won't stop stressing to me the beauty and homemaking capabilities of their women?</div><div><br /></div><div>The best part: this is the third time I've had a party with this group of Economics professors in the last month. And another one has a birthday next week... They're a jolly bunch.</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-18532165465946045742009-12-20T14:54:00.000+03:002009-12-20T14:54:28.463+03:00Just In Case You Were Wondering...<div style="MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27rcxB4r_bEDueHfnOd1adKg8NB9UW_nXqIPSdn8yfaqlw80LothygRQXgtqGYFmfg9ckrmMDgsOxR8QpKDbCw4S8oRcVDjG5_nNIRR9apZTryVEWFDJNyjgYqb7AuZ6aWXc7qrJjZ5fS/s1600-h/DSC04724.JPG"><img alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi27rcxB4r_bEDueHfnOd1adKg8NB9UW_nXqIPSdn8yfaqlw80LothygRQXgtqGYFmfg9ckrmMDgsOxR8QpKDbCw4S8oRcVDjG5_nNIRR9apZTryVEWFDJNyjgYqb7AuZ6aWXc7qrJjZ5fS/s320/DSC04724.JPG" border="0" /></a> </div><br />No.<br /><br />You cannot lower your anchor in a frozen river.<div style='clear:both; text-align:CENTER'><a href='http://picasa.google.com/blogger/' target='ext'><img src='http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif' alt='Posted by Picasa' style='border: 0px none ; padding: 0px; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; -moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial;' align='middle' border='0' /></a></div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-5975552476044402992009-12-16T19:30:00.003+03:002009-12-16T19:43:44.721+03:00A Lighter Point of Teaching GrammarMy role as a Fulbright English Teaching Assistant ('assistant' should read '<i>professor</i>' in most cases), should be to help people with conversational English and American cultural studies. As I explained long ago, however, my sudden re-posting to Moscow changed my teaching responsibilities to fit my new university's needs, and now I am teaching English grammar to agricultural professors. In other words, I am spending hours teaching <i>myself</i> my own grammar and then passing it on to these professors.<div><br /></div><div>This tends to be a difficult and often quite boring task, especially since these individuals are not by and large excited about being forced by the university to learn English, especially at this stage in their careers. And grammar is...well, grammar. It's difficult to teach. It's often very boring. And it involves a lot of monotonous exercises to ensure that word order and verb conjugations are followed according to the numerous rules and their even more numerous exceptions.</div><div><br /></div><div>But today I had a good laugh while working on a 'Present Tense Verb Practice' worksheet I designed for my students. After asking them to formulate a question in the present continuous tense using a word prompt and provide an answer to this question, I found myself nearly on the floor laughing while most of the professors stared at me awkwardly. Here's what happened.</div><div><br /></div><div>The prompt: Why / they / to sit / on the floor</div><div><br /></div><div>Question: Why <b>are </b>they <b>sitting </b>on the floor?</div><div><br /></div><div>Answer: They <b>are sitting</b> on the floor because they are Japanese.</div><div><br /></div><div>Maybe you had to be there? But if you could have heard how the young woman struggled to pronounce her answer and the very serious look on her face, it would have tickled you, too.</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-21768795265738713672009-12-15T10:17:00.002+03:002009-12-15T11:06:12.970+03:00My Ice AgeIt's time for a change of face; hence, the new template. Why? Because the Moscow winter has finally arrived and completely transformed life in the city. Beginning yesterday, temperatures plummeted to -20 Celsius.<div><br /></div><div>I have a few things for which I can be thankful in this weather, however. </div><div><br /></div><div>1. It gives me personal 'bragging' rights for having survived the coldest days of my life.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. It gave me a great reason to buy a real Russian fur hat (raccoon) and wool-lined boots. </div><div><br /></div><div>3. The icy coldness has chased away the omnipresent cloud cover, leaving Moscow shining under a bright blue sky. The sun is finally visible, although it does not rise above a 45-degree angle with the ground, and only shines for about 7-8 hours a day.</div><div><br /></div><div>4. This weather also helps me understand why Russian food is so fattening, and why they love to eat sweets. It provides a high-calorie diet to help their bodies survive the cold. Thus, I no longer feel guilty eating as many fattening foods as possible, especially because the cold weather makes you very hungry. And most of them are really tasty.</div><div><br /></div><div>Of course, it's not all peachy. There's reason behind the phrase: "<i>bitter </i>cold". </div><div><br /></div><div>1. Temperatures in the -20s bring windchills hovering around -35 C. See, the problem with Moscow winter is not the actual raw temperature--it's the wind due to the city's humid climate. I've read that even in the -40/-50 C weather in Siberia, the climate is dry, which makes going outside bearable, if not even pleasant (depending on your definition of 'pleasant'). It can be a very different story here in Moscow.</div><div><br /></div><div>2. The winds have snuck in through the side of my window, dropping the temperature of my room to the mid-60s F. Luckily, I have three wool blankets on my bed, but it sure makes it difficult to get out of bed in the morning and leave my cocoon. </div><div><br /></div><div>3. Any extended walk outdoors quickly turns into a nightmare, especially when in wide-open spaces, which unfortunately happen to be the most picturesque and charming locales of the city. The wind seeps in through any crack in your clothing, and soon you can't feel your ears, hands, or toes. The solution: don't stand still. Run around every few minutes. And you can't be self-conscious about it; even the Russians do it. Also, if you don't have a wind-proof jacket...fughetaboutit.</div><div><br /></div><div>4. I've been suffering from an eye infection for the past 5 weeks or so, which has inhibited my ability to wear my contact lenses. Wearing glasses in this weather, however, is NOT recommended. The moment you step out of the cold into the metro, a store, or a restaurant, you immediately go blind. Glasses fog up instantaneously and you are left stumbling ahead, holding your arms out in front of you, and wondering where the person addressing you is standing.</div><div><br /></div><div>5. The snow that fell last week has not disappeared completely, but has rather become compacted into a couple inches of ice on walkways. My 'winter wipeout' count is currently only at 1, but it was a rough one...and there were a lot of people there to see it.</div><div><br /></div><div>6. Ice has also formed on the <i>inside </i>of all tram, trolley, and bus windows. This is not a case of simple fogging that can be wiped away with your hand. This is ice, meaning it can only be tackled by scraping with your nails if you want to be able to look outside and make sure you don't miss your stop.</div><div><br /></div><div>All in all, however, I like this weather. A lot. The cold really refreshes you. And the crisp blue skies and bright sunshine aren't too bad, either.</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-15450050169060483492009-12-11T16:00:00.003+03:002009-12-11T16:20:59.370+03:00Lesson Learned?<div style="text-align: left;">No doubt everyone has now heard about the devastating fire in the 'Lame Horse' nightclub in Perm last weekend that has left 141 people dead and another 89 still hospitalized suffering from smoke inhalation and injuries related to the stampede of people attempting to escape the flames. The source of the disaster: fireworks. Fireworks set off <i>inside </i>the nightclub to celebrate it's 8 year anniversary. Subsequent investigations have found that the nightclub's fire escapes were not up to code, and this has led to a wave of resignations among the local fire department and even the local government in Perm.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>But it has also sparked a nationwide interest in fire code regulations. Hence, my university has taken its own steps to prevent similar mishaps. Well, really just one step: they have labeled the fire escapes.</div><div><br /></div><div>This still leaves one major problem. All of the fire escapes are locked. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>There is one such stairwell right next to my door at the end of the hallway, and it features a nice-sized padlock. Now, however, there is a sign telling me where I can find the key to this lock! It is located in a room all the way on the other side of the building (although still on the 5th floor). This door to this room, however, is only open 8 hours each day. Otherwise, the key to this room (in order to reach the key to the fire escape door) is located in the main office on the floor below. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The only other way out of my dormitory is by way of the main staircase, which is also located all the way at the other end of the hallway from my room. The elevators in my dormitory--in a superb example of intelligent Soviet design--do not go down, and they only go up from the lobby. Therefore, from any floor in the dormitory, from the fourth all the way to the sixteenth, the only way to reach the exit is down one set of stairs, which dead-ends on the second floor. To reach the lobby from this point, you must walk all the way across the second floor to another set of stairs. (I should point out that the third floor is completely boarded up and impassible. Don't ask me why.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Where the main staircase dead-ends on the second floor is another gate that is padlocked shut (the second fire escape). As of two days ago, however, this fire escape has been freshly labeled in red paint, "Emergency Exit," and a sign generously explains the location of the key to this padlock--again to be found in an office down the hall whose door is unlocked only during working hours.</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2Q9w1EppMcyZE4WvCj8CZdxasfamBMuT7w1CNXZliqb0mfEoJt5sCRoNW_CiLBZF-NyGKvkz7r915vqdRgzFAnFXJrTJQRNcqF1DVI61JcfuzVZc9bFwi_MAksZ4gARa6ktjGPmdGyeZ/s320/DSCN2727.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5413967248605635698" /></div><div>Do people really value human life here?</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-28631204192933415722009-12-09T16:05:00.001+03:002009-12-09T16:06:31.696+03:00Note to SelfDon't ever forget your scarf when venturing outside into the Moscow winter.Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-47910884380415933982009-12-08T14:19:00.003+03:002009-12-08T14:26:36.575+03:00This is the joke.Yesterday I gave a short photo-presentation to my group of Advanced English professors about my study-abroad experience in India in 2007. I told them the story of the elephant charge while on a safari in Karnataka. They loved it. Then, this morning, I received an email from one of the professors:<div><br /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" border-collapse: collapse; font-family:arial, sans-serif;font-size:13px;"><p style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><i>"Thank you very much for your story about India. I was very impressed by the story about elephants. May be you will meet the bear in snowy Russian wood? This is the joke. It is more pleasant to meet the bear in the Moscow zoo.<br />I wish you interesting and productive week."</i></span></p><div><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;">Classic.</span></span></div></span></div></div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-62785927582085109992009-12-08T01:26:00.002+03:002009-12-08T01:43:27.529+03:00The Point of No Return<div>The Moscow winter has finally arrived. And this time it’s here to stay…I hope.</div><div><br /></div><div>The last snowfall was over two weeks ago, and since then the city has been experiencing a serious December heat wave of 5-6 degrees Celsius. Yesterday, however, just as the East Coast back home got hit with a serious snowstorm, the temperature thousands of miles away in Moscow dipped to 5 below. Snow has been falling steadily all day today, and who knows when it will stop? </div><div><br /></div><div>Yesterday also just happened to be the day that I took a trip to Kolomna---a small, old village a few hours south of Moscow---to explore the city’s old Kremlin. After a two-hour outdoor walking tour in the subzero weather with whipping winds (no snow, though), I was left wondering if I would ever feel my toes again. I could not hold my camera viewfinder up to my eye without shaking---hence the below-average pictures I ended up with. The day was nonetheless fascinating, as I got my first real taste of not only the Russian winter, but also another glimpse of an old Russian medieval town.</div><div><br /></div><div>Not only have we reached the P.O.N.R. in terms of the weather, but I may have crossed the same barrier in my mentality toward Moscow. The city captured my heart late last week when I took a stroll downtown to Patriarch Ponds (this should sound familiar to anyone who has read Bulgakov’s classic, “Master and Margarita”). It is a small park with a walkway, benches, a playground, a huge statue of Mikhail Bulgakov and even an upscale restaurant surrounding the pond. The streets leading to Patriarch Ponds seem to be pulled right out of Paris. Narrow lanes with tall, neo-classical buildings towering over them, in the basements of which stand bakeries, restaurants, wine bars, boutiques, and the like (all extremely expensive, in the true Paris fashion). I walked through the 3 square-block area for two hours---and made a detour to the Bulgakov house museum where he wrote his classic---taking in the sights that warmed my heart. Finally--the romance of Moscow. If only I could wrap the overhead tram lines with Christmas lights. </div><div><br /></div><div>This secluded Wonderland is located just two streets over from Thaddeus’ apartment. </div><div><br /></div><div>Damn him.</div><div><br /></div><div>Also, however 'harsh' the winters are here, Moscow is beautiful with snow. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.</div><div><br /></div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-90215421206378696182009-12-05T17:47:00.003+03:002009-12-05T17:50:30.222+03:00"I don't believe what I just saw!"<div>Any self-respecting baseball fan out there is familiar with the above quote. Jack Buck’s call of Kirk Gibson’s improbable, pitch-hit, game-winning home run in the opener of the 1988 World Series is timeless. So is the tradition of the Russian theater. Is it any wonder, therefore, that Buck’s quote immediately popped into my mind after I saw a modern Russian rendition of Shakespeare’s timeless “Romeo & Juliet” on Thursday night?</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, yes. It is a wonder. Why? Because the show was terrible.</div><div><br /></div><div>Granted, Shakespeare is difficult. Even when read and performed in the original English, the antiquity of his work presents challenges to the modern actor that only the most skilled can overcome without looking and sounding like an ass. I suppose that’s why it’s quite chic to modernize and reinterpret these classics. But I left the Moscow Dramatic Theater named after Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin not quite able to fathom just how badly this troupe missed the point.</div><div><br /></div><div>Don’t get me wrong: I’m not an absolute stickler. While I adore the classicism of Big Will’s pieces, there is some merit and intrigue in a modern interpretation. There have even been some good ones---West Side Story, for example. Hell, even ‘10 Things I Hate About You’ was bearable. But this…this was in a whole ’nother ballpark. This was in the realm of the performance of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” that I took part in during my freshman year at W&M. After 8 years of doing theater, this would prove to be my last show. Why? One reason was that the modern interpretation pursued by our director was, in a word, bullshit. It killed the art for me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Let me break down what didn’t work in last night’s play:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. The set. The set was two PVC-pipe jungle gyms on either side of the stage with plexi-glass panels on hinges (whose swinging motions resembled those of the far-too-heavy swinging doors leading into and out of Moscow metro stations--a real hazard to one’s safety). These two constructions represented the homes of the Capulets and the Montagues, respectively. What they mostly served as, however, were gymnastics bars for all the actors to perform stunts on. Stunts in Romeo & Juliet?</div><div><br /></div><div>2. Hoola-hoops. There was a big party at the Capulet household in the first act where everyone was dancing with pink hoola-hoops. These objects made repeat appearances throughout the show, including at the point of Mercutio’s death, when he grabbed the stack of hoops and tossed them through the air before collapsing offstage. Dramatic.</div><div><br /></div><div>3. Peeing on stage: At one point Mercutio comes on stage with Romeo and begins joking around with him. One of the jokes ends in him on all-fours, lifting his leg and mimicking a male dog peeing. He holds has a hand-held water bladder, which he then squeezes for full effect, “peeing” all over Romeo. He later does the same thing to Juliet’s nanny.</div><div><br /></div><div>4. Music. I could go and on for this one. First, there is beat-boxing and fake rapping at one point. There is a blast of a gong between each scene. Indian drum-music was used extensively in the first act. French café music featuring accordions and violins is the music of choice in the second act. There is a completely unnecessary ballet scene with Romeo and Juliet dancing in all-black sport underwear (i.e. Juliet in nothing but a sport bra and underwear) around an art-deco grandfather clock, and the accompanying music is a duet of two men’s voices saying “You could go, You could go, You could go Around, Around, Around” in accented English. </div><div>But the real winner in the music category was the use of Weird Al Yankovic’s “Lasagna”--an atrocious parody of the already-atrocious “La Bamba”. The director made the unfortunate decision to use this song not once, but TWICE, including in the fight scene that ends in the fatal wounding of Mercutio. If you’re curious as to what a song about Lasagna sounds like, check it out at: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ps1oYsvlEzI">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ps1oYsvlEzI</a></div><div><div>Now imagine this song being played twice during Romeo & Juliet. WTF.</div><div><br /></div><div>You may think that perhaps I missed the point. Perhaps I was lost in the translation? Maybe I missed the humor? </div><div><br /></div><div>No.</div><div><br /></div><div>Bad is bad is bad is bad, in Russian and in Old English.</div><div><br /></div></div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-84025456834227948012009-11-28T16:54:00.019+03:002009-11-28T18:12:14.671+03:00"Вперед, Спартак!", Thanksgiving in Moscow, and other recent adventures<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnhmgd_oANnSn2mfKxi-Ys5YRbLoLOatliR6jFQadHRuG0z3oQIccZOq4kh8zmGxqMztu0DXbVb7FRZS9wNOn92_kyW_0TEmDMdRryDuIBpYet3bBCAzpUctLHX891f393tWEqUJybvvq/s1600/DSC04079.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNnhmgd_oANnSn2mfKxi-Ys5YRbLoLOatliR6jFQadHRuG0z3oQIccZOq4kh8zmGxqMztu0DXbVb7FRZS9wNOn92_kyW_0TEmDMdRryDuIBpYet3bBCAzpUctLHX891f393tWEqUJybvvq/s320/DSC04079.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409159817901472274" /></a><div style="text-align: left;">I got a taste of Russian hooliganism last night at my first professional Russian hockey game. Спартак (Spartak) played host to ЦСКА (the Red Army Team) in a match of cross-town rivals. These are two of the Moscow hockey triumvirate, the third being the esteemed (and so far in the season better) Динамо squad (Dynamo). After two lead changes, a penalty shot goal (see image below), and some really intense cheering, the game ended in 3-2 victory for the home team--my new favorite team (I bought a hat!)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhghpUt6gqBMrhgGD_6ZLLfUAW7fSs2UMh1mdhTZ-VFVkjqZK2KsGVwRA8GQYG8CvQ5EYzN_FFGK-zdxrL7CzZsBgkyoo53boCC3WGxmHp5cukn5f1768lLMDPwl9i1AfOb7cqQRaPplbtW/s320/DSC03774.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409162284551702802" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div>While the КХЛ (Continental Hockey League of Russia and various former Soviet Republics) is the second-best in the world, there are obvious differences between the level of play here and that of the NHL. Surprisingly, it seems as though penalties are much more wont to be given over here, and therefore there is little checking. The extent of the physicality on the ice comes in the form of light shoves and swatting at each other's sticks. The <i>real physicality</i>, however, can be found in the bleachers.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesGprwUfzUEV-MMloc5iCtmG0kpeMF6TpDA_bLL4EmW_JOtsqxHbuIDGvlkPqf1LhwZ9_5xzt3qzfhgd2N-74qT4yrcy4UDn2uww4BJJtZd5MaqBp6Lh__Pb6iBEZ-_dS0ZGceXXGc2VI/s320/DSC03744.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409160626091507042" /></div><div>I attended the game with my suitemate from Middlebury and fellow Fulbrighter, Thaddeus--an avid hockey player and fan from Wisconsin--and his friend Jenny (who studied with him at Midd's Russian School this past summer) and Jenny's friend Lily (studying abroad in Moscow from Tufts). We got what we thought were going to be GREAT seats--front row, rink-side just to the right of one of the goals. The presence of the opponents' bench and the low height of the glass, however, provided a little bit of an obstruction...no wonder the seats were left when we bought our tickets. We also happened to be one seating-section over from the 'Spartak fan' section---a riotous group with non-stop cheers, ranging from the benign "RED, WHITE!" (Spartak's colors) to more pointed chants involving insults to ЦСКА's pride (and perhaps mothers, too). We were even graced with a splendid rendition of "WE WILL, WE WILL, F*** YOU!" sung in poor English accents to the tune of Queen while flipping the bird to the opposite side of the rink where the ЦСКА fans were positioned. I was all for doing The Wave, but I don't think it would have gotten very far.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Here are a couple more shots from the game.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9Ml-TGa05aj_Flsa9z3lojQEHgky8i7YRBgcmc95DEZEW6RlPRyCUQqdvNExJRX5HXOjiw9adSaRPrLIr2xq4ipOw7nUo70Bfy4_PHEZf5-ao3ApY_oJzmG0BJAKH6QcwTHwR5ClJF6Zz/s320/DSC03856.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409161837803733010" /><div style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4RRPB_LhEecsTwdBUaT3TCZt50t2TE7XnLr6G7zADEnxafx_Ybt-k6ZTb4SQtvtKKgCxJQ2Bz5EPLAt7266cajtvJWMSZz1jkRENIcgV9Vh2D2EDTtwyGpQYz-sCMyWQtXUw6rbmdF8ii/s320/DSC04008+(2).jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 310px; height: 320px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409171825666173314" /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Even the young ones get into it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">On a completely unrelated note, I neglected to write of an earlier excursion I took to the small village of Aleksandrovskaya located about 2 hours outside of Moscow. Here is situated Aleksandrovskaya Sloboda--a small walled-in complex, that, as far as I can understand, was the capital of Ivan the Terrible's oprichnaya--his private security forces. In Russian history, the oprichnaya are feared and infamous for wearing black robes from head to toe, traveling by black horses, and sporting the symbols of a broom and a dog--one for 'cleaning' and one for 'aggression' (thanks to Prof. Corney for his unforgettable lectures). Inside the walls stand several whitewashed churches, tall spires, a nunnery that is still in use, and even a building featuring the rooms where Ivan the Terrible would sleep, eat, and torture his subjects during his stays in the Sloboda. Although I had a really hard time understanding our guide, I was nonetheless impressed by the village. It provided a great small-scale example of an old Russian medieval village--something I am sure to see much more of as I make my way around the Golden Ring in the near future.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here are some photos from that trip:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsLenqT74iRnETFzBq84j0pxcUGvom4H0habiigawpYDXhepg1kSgqpN32Gwac_ffzZnw4z3RtLe3j8OhienqdhfR5J7PpZlNDsmsq4RPTGmjq5zSs4u6jT7ji_SjN4Vv6Bp_rjS1ZXbT2/s320/DSC03480.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409168848201693970" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5byZyLMmDX5joqXyZvFNpjohbCwRjO-uKQEB668LK6ge-L7ff4RzuhbmVowwrn-zCb6XlDW5ySIaehjsa3oNVotDGVh5b5VkHlX618xpD4tbh9PMVIHtuVJDSaySRu6cmRm1QEPC2hcik/s320/DSC03485.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409167832996703426" /><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwUKIt5J_t5wG5nQq4DQAghIt7hsjBN4nNHWR0D9LyKCdQrjnKKfM1Gtio9hQ9ofeREY7svAoThgNK9b87dI02bW6rzBrNSr0-x9my4JyH-EmruP7OnorcNdphycVd62Hg3-4lNjuqi1-K/s320/DSC03439.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409166468940321266" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I should note that this trip to Aleksandrovskaya Sloboda also brought good fortune. It was the first day I had seen the sun in three weeks.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">And finally, I'm sure some of you may be wondering how I spent my Thanksgiving in Moscow? Well, the answer is simple: <i>in style</i>. I received an invitation to attend a feast at the Ambassador's House with other Americans who are currently here on study-programs, and some Russians who either studied abroad in the US or who are employed by the Fulbright office in Moscow. I think it goes without saying: the house is gorgeous. The food was spectacular. The company was lovely. The ambassador is a great guy. But I still missed home. Again, some photos:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzswR_tMO9FbHB-xB09FhE_tBqNj6AJGOPTNj438VB9hFEPFIaxCTqq0AiNnC2dGgkZFa55GzspntbgNST-qTmHDQ6i5dCUpRNBe0q4k87iSrgVrV5I-UJrmy4d73XFPWByRT4Cm-UFlYm/s320/DSC03690.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409171019243617714" /><div style="text-align: left;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkkF129AtUSgDwk1Ib0DsIb65s-1WtxqpCXksXqajpLnHqaoqKI0XHZI54CI_zqOufiCo6eVFMdiVRCuqAo29Gft9Skhyphenhyphen3vxVqfDxI0l1Tw6bukuLTSOk1AW4Z0-2ewkGnF1mAqxjSJ5oT/s320/DSC03701.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409171548269343794" /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">P.S. At last, I got around to uploading almost all of the photos I have taken so far during my stay in Russia to my Picassa site. The URL is <a href="http://picasaweb.google.com/bryan.terrill">http://picasaweb.google.com/bryan.terrill</a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Here you can see more from all of these events I described.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Enjoy!</div></div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-63106339861782375702009-11-25T23:16:00.000+03:002009-11-25T23:17:18.926+03:00The URL says it all.<a href="http://www.rferl.org/content/Putin_In_Da_House/1885715.html">http://www.rferl.org/content/Putin_In_Da_House/1885715.html</a><div><br /></div><div>A must-see.</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-13811591494628704512009-11-24T22:55:00.005+03:002009-11-24T23:35:07.978+03:00The Resurrection of Steve PrefontaineTonight I managed to do something for the first time since my arrival in Russia. <div><br /></div><div>I exercised. </div><div><br /></div><div>I have not had any success figuring out how to use the gym at the university. No one here seems to be of any help, whatsoever. I am beginning to wonder if <i>anyone </i>here uses it. Or if inside the building labeled 'спортскомплекс' is any sort of 'sports complex' at all...</div><div><br /></div><div>Well, tonight I finished teaching at about 7pm and walked outside into the balmy 6 degree weather with just a spritz of rain. "This is it," I decided. "Now is my chance."</div><div><br /></div><div>I speed-walked home, threw down my bag and changed into my sweats. I didn't even need to put on my beloved spandex. Six degrees is a HEATWAVE. I plugged into my iPod and ran down the five flights of stairs and out the door into the great unknown that was my path for the evening. </div><div><br /></div><div>I began down Лиственничная Аллея, which is a pedestrian-only street that spans nearly the entirety of the university's campus. It is lined with trees, academic buildings, a couple of ponds, and fields where students get hands-on training for their agricultural studies. This sounds like a very picturesque scene, but trust me, it is only so in a very Soviet sense. Nonetheless, it's about as picturesque as things get around here, especially in the 'burbs.</div><div><br /></div><div>Anyways, the 'alley' goes for about a mile, but by the time I reached the far end of the street, reality hit me like a brick to the chest. The lack of exercise since coming to Russia has really taken its toll. I haven't been on a serious run in over two months. And I could feel it in every part of my body. </div><div><br /></div><div>Thankfully, I managed to make the return jog without collapsing, and even stopped to have a nice chat (albeit between heaving breaths) with the vice-rector of International Relations as he was on his way home.</div><div><br /></div><div>I have since spent the last few hours making a spaghetti dinner, wasting time on YouTube finding clips of The Office to make me feel more at home, and doing my dishes in the bathtub.</div><div><br /></div><div>Speaking of home, some strange things have been happening lately.</div><div><br /></div><div>First, listening to my iPod on shuffle has resulted in an abnormally high proportion of Christmas songs. Hearing these songs tends to make me really sad, as I begin to realize that this will be the first Christmas that I have not been at home with my family. I usually skip the songs because I don't like the feeling they give me, but tonight I listened to a jammin' Transiberian Orchestra rendition of 'O Come All Ye Faithful.' It was nice.</div><div><br /></div><div>Second, I gave a presentation (three times) to students studying English in the Lingva department here last week about New York City. The idea was to introduce them to an exciting part of the US, and it also gave me an excuse to play Sinatra's "Theme from New York, New York" and the new "Empire State of Mind" by Jay-Z and Alicia Keys (both of which they loved, except for the one super-long-haired boy in the 1st year who prefers heavy metal). I covered the distinct nature of each of the buroughs, the subway system, shopping in NYC, and interesting facts about the city (many thanks to my sister for all the info and photos she sent me). Of course, I could not get around talking about 9/11, the Twin Towers, Ground Zero, and the impact this had on NYC and America. In the middle of explaining what I saw when I visited Ground Zero several years after the attacks, I began to get choked up. Seriously choked up...enough to force me to pause for a few seconds. It was strange. Even on the day it happened, which I remember so well (sitting in Ms Truesdell's 9th grade World History class when we got the news and the TV was turned on...never to be turned off for the next three days), I never once cried. I don't even remember my eyes getting teary. Nor when I saw Ground Zero in person. But there was something strangely revealing and sobering about describing this event to foreigners who have no idea what it was like to watch this footage as it happened and to be an American on that day. As I attempted to describe just how horrible a day it was in our history, I nearly lost it. I suppose the strongest connections to your homeland are forged when you are thousands of miles away. </div><div> </div><div>I've got a few more stories and some photos to share, but I think those can wait for another post, hopefully not too far off in the future. But I've got an early morning tomorrow.</div><div><br /></div><div>Signing off,</div><div>'Pre'</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-6815584247666787732009-11-15T18:37:00.002+03:002009-11-15T19:00:23.506+03:00Baptism by VodkaWell, I have at long last been officially 'Russified.' Initiated. Christened. Re-born, even.<div><br /></div><div>I spent Friday night in the company of two new Russian friends, Julia and Alyosha, and a new PhD student from Slovakia, Kinga. </div><div><br /></div><div>The plan: hand-make pelmeni (Russian meat dumplings) at Alyosha's house and watch a classic Russian comedy, "Служебный роман."</div><div><br /></div><div>The outcome: five-and-a-half hours of making dough, pulverizing meat and vegetables, wrapping this meat/veggie concoction in little circles of dough, boiling the pelmeni, eating the pelmeni along with smoked fish from the Far East, taking 4 (or was it 5?) vodka shots, only getting through 15 minutes of the film, watching Russian comedy skits online, looking at Alyosha's photos of an expedition he took to the Russian Far East, and sprinting home through the rain to make the 1 am dormitory curfew just as security was locking the door.</div><div><br /></div><div>Julia is a third-year Lingva student to whom I give presentations, and through her I met her friend Aleksei (Alyosha) who is quite a character. His sense of humor is right out of my own backyard, and so far we have a really great budding friendship. He also happened to take a trip to Kamchatka and the Commander Islands last summer to research the Arctic fox population, and he knows of my new-found obsession with getting to the Far East after the debacle with my university in P-K. He enthusiastically showed me photos of wildlife from his trip: pictures of brown bears taken from a distance of 20 meters, four different whale species (orca, sperm, humpback, and southern--of which there are believed to only be about 30 living in the world) that swam up to their boat and even performed jumping spectacles for them, puffins, arctic foxes, sea lions, fur seals, and more. He even showed me a video he took at the summit of a mountain on the Commander Islands where the wind was so strong that he could lean into it at a 45 degree angle and remain 'afloat'. Needless to say, I got really jealous, but spent the whole time awestruck.</div><div><br /></div><div>Alyosha and Julia have proven invaluable friends so far---always willing to take me out somewhere and keep me company. So far we have plans to go to museums, go bowling, to the theater, and more. </div><div><br /></div><div>Saturday night I met up with my other new friend, Miriam, whom I met at Thaddeus' Halloween party, and who is also an English teacher at a school in another Moscow suburb. She was heading out with some other teachers on her program for drinks downtown and invited me to go along. They were all Brits (except Miriam, who has a mixed-heritage background of India, Canada, England, and Scotland and her friend Lisa from North Dakota), and I felt like I was in a proper pub for most of the night. It was great fun, and interesting to speak with people who have a similar job and who can offer me plenty of advice.</div><div><br /></div><div>Finally, I'm feeling at home.</div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-52188024198209339092009-11-12T13:48:00.006+03:002009-11-12T15:19:53.632+03:00"Chai chairny, brother" (or Exploring Belgorod)<div style="text-align: center;">"Город спитe!" ("City, sleep!")</div><div><br /></div><div>This was the cry I heard from 11pm to 2am last Friday night, emitted from the 12-year old girl sitting on the lower bunk of the train cabin across the aisle from me.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I was on my way to Belgorod for my first out-of-Moscow experience since arriving in Russia, and I just happened to be in a train wagon FULL of young children, probably returning home from an excursion to the capital. The four-bunk enclave next to me was occupied by four young girls--obviously the ringleaders of the class--who decided to have a night-long game of Mafia with the rest of their classmates. Their teachers, of course, thought nothing of telling them to keep the noise level down after the lights were turned out just before 11pm, and I did not really have the courage to ask them to keep it down when my level of Russian would make me appear to be only half their age. So, I endured until about 2, when my bunkmate--a young man on his way between work and family--finally decided to give them an earful. The little boys of the class, who had earlier made a big show bragging about how they had just gulped down energy drinks at 11:30pm, sulked back to their camps. Finally, I could sleep.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>At least, I could sleep until the train pulled into the Belgorod station at 7:32am, exactly the time advertised on the ticket. (I still can't get over the efficiency of mass-rail transit in Russia.) Belgorod, located a few dozen miles from the Ukrainian border, is a small city which contrasts sharply with Moscow. Unlike the capital, old Belgorod was demolished in WWII as a consequence of heavy armored battles between the Germans and Russians. It's current architecture is mostly that of modernity (albeit oftentimes a Soviet idea of modernity), but the numerous and humorous brass statues that make their appearances around the city and the young trees that line the sidewalks make for an entirely different atmosphere than Moscow.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>I was traveling to Belgorod to visit my friend and fellow Fulbright ETA, Nicky, who is teaching at BelGU, or Belgorod State University. After meeting me at the train station (and perking my sleepy-self up with a chocolate bar and orange), we strolled along the main streets of the city toward her university. After asking me about my first impressions of her much-smaller-than-mine city, I immediately responded, "It's clean. It's really clean." And I wasn't kidding. Compared to Moscow, the Belgorod streets looked like they were hosed down and power-brushed by zamboni street-cleaners on the hour, every hour. Nicky laughed and remarked that cleanliness is what all outsiders say upon arriving in Belgorod, and it is exactly this trait of which Belgorod-ians are most proud.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Upon arriving at her super-modern university (at least when compared to mine), we began walking across a bridge located outside the front doors of her dormitory. The bridge is covered in padlocks, and on each one the names of a newly-married couple and their date of marriage is engraved. According to modern Belgorod tradition, there are 7 (I think) places in the city that each newlywed couple must visit, and on this bridge, it is good luck to leave a lock. Some say that the bridge will collapse one day soon because of all the extra weight...I wouldn't be surprised.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>It was on the bridge that we ran into Igor, an IT employee at BelGU and a private English student of Nicky's. He invited us to his office for tea and snacks, and after about 3 hours of broken conversation in English and dramatic storytelling in Russian, he guided us to the 'Winter Garden,' or greenhouse on the sixth floor of the building. Not only did this garden feature plants from around the world, but also fish, birds, and reptiles (including a boa constrictor). It was pretty impressive. We also visited Nicky's departmental office and met a few of her colleagues. Naturally, I was asked my impressions of their city and university. I unashamedly pronounced: "Clean and modern." They were pleased to hear that.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>Then we met Nicky's German friend Suzanne outside the university. Suzanne is also in Belgorod on a very similar program as the Fulbright ETA, although she teaches German and is in the midst of organizing a massive conference for all of her colleagues from around Russia to showcase the program and help build upon it for the future. Suzanne also speaks flawless English, and it was in her apartment that I spent Saturday night, as Nicky's dormitory was under a 'no-guest quarantine' policy thanks to the swine flu scare (as is my dorm and most others around Russia, Eastern Europe, and Central Asia from what I gather).</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>The rest of my more or less day-and-a-half in Belgorod was spent exploring the city sights. We strolled through the main market to pick up fruits and vegetables for dinner. We walked along and across a quaint river that runs through the city. We saw the exhibits in the Belgorod Regional Museum, which ranged from soil and stuffed-wildlife samples (my kinda thing!) to Jurassic period flint samples, all the way through to Soviet-era sport memorabilia. We took a 'night hike' up the 383 (or somewhere thereabouts) stairs that lead to the top of a hill which overlooks the city to see it lit up at night. The hill itself has fallen victim to many a construction project, so new apartment buildings and businesses line the top of it, but there is also an impressive statue of Prince Vladimir. Old Vlad's contribution to Russian history was the wholesale adoption and enforcement of Orthodox Christianity from Constantinople to Kievan Rus' in 988 A.D.---some may even consider him the man behind the Russian Empire, as his choice of Orthodoxy to reign in paganism led to the first comprehensive territory across the land.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3dOn2j9LRky8Y1OksQnsWwQPVMFk7ayX6xbJQyMS8pEN-7BBYDHjyzRFlBluyPAb2R7GthPKOkOK4boSigvI00m3p478am0ZkT19GKUFLNaadA7SW1-kMj11DGDwjmV2lKqh_iigchkn7/s320/DSC03295.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403190183470758946" /><div><br /></div><div>Perhaps the querkiest thing happened within the last three hours of my departure back to Moscow on Sunday night. Nicky and I were sitting in her favorite coffee shop (the chic "Coffee Bean" attached to the Art Museum) playing a makeshift game of dominoes while Suzanne worked on her conference planning, and in walked one of Nicky's English students. She came right up to say hello and then told us that she met another American in the city, and he was on his way to the coffee shop as we spoke. Sure enough, a few minutes later a tall brown-haired (definitely non-Russian) looking man walked into the shop and introduced himself as Joe. </div><div><br /></div><div>Joe is a hockey player, and has been traveling around the world playing in different leagues since his adolescence. Having made his way through the US (he is originally from Long Island but lived in Seattle for a time), Canada, Italy, and China (where he played in Shanghai), he had finally come to Russia. Joe had just finished a stint with a team in Samara before his agent gave him the news that he would be transfered to the Belgorod team on a possible two-year contract. He said he loved Russia so far, but he didn't speak a word of the language. Well, almost no words. He went up to the bar to order a black tea (чай черный, or 'chai chorniy'), but his variant was a nonchalant 'chai chairny.' After ordering, he came back to our table to tell us of his success at being understood by the barrista, and then remarked that those are the only two words of Russian he would ever need to speak: "Chai chairny, brother. That's all you need to know." I gave Joe my phone number in case his team ever travels up to Moscow. I hope to treat him to some more tea, just to see the reaction of a not-so-friendly Muscovite.</div><div><br /></div><div>My time in Belgorod was super. It was great to see how another Fulbright ETA lives and the differences between cities, universities, students and friends. But I was hit hard by reality once I arrived back in Moscow early Monday morning. Cold, misty, and most visible of all after Belgorod--dirty. Classes went relatively well on Monday and Tuesday, but I struggled through class on Wednesday with my non-responsive group of professors. But, the evening picked-up, as I led an 'excursion' of Lingva students to the movies to see '500 Days of Summer,' which I found playing in English with Russian subtitles at a theater downtown. I saw this movie in September before leaving for Russia, and jumped at the chance to see it again. Thankfully, the students also really enjoyed it. We finished the evening with a midnight walk through a park before returning home just before the dormitories closed at 1am. </div><div><br /></div><div>Needless to say, I'm a little sleepy today. Guess I need some of that chai chairny, <i>brother</i>.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-51923776599540701752009-11-03T14:18:00.003+03:002009-11-03T14:40:47.521+03:00The self-consciousness of my self-conscious self-conscience<div>Everyone here looks at me funny. </div><div><br /></div><div>Is it my clothes? I don’t have a black pleather or down jacket, so maybe that’s it.</div><div><br /></div><div>Is it my face? I’m trying my best to adopt the oft-expressionless glare, but my nodding-and-tight-lipped-smiling-upon-making-eye-contact tendency is a dead giveaway. </div><div><br /></div><div>Is it my hair? I am devoid of a mullet or shaved head, so that may have to change. On second thought, no it doesn't.</div><div><br /></div><div>Is it that my eyes always seem to be bloodshot? I blame my new contact lens solution, or maybe its just the dirt. </div><div><br /></div><div>Or am I imagining all of this? Probably not. I do give off the ‘sore thumb’ vibe here.</div><div><br /></div><div>As far as I'm concerned, however, the real sore thumbs are those wearing surgical masks against swine flu. Check this out. <a href="http://www.rferl.org/content/Swine_Flu_Fear_Leads_To_Designer_Masks_In_Kazakhstan/1802846.html">http://www.rferl.org/content/Swine_Flu_Fear_Leads_To_Designer_Masks_In_Kazakhstan/1802846.html</a></div><div><br /></div><div>Also, I butchered a fried chicken yesterday. It became part of my 11 pm dinner.</div><div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggSRJ3HAGaW7vvVfaZStPfwWJTxTxIqD9JtbfSoEU5jysY1U_QKY27IHvpXrsHkXxL31FLjgIJ8HCtO_xtvBhABwyv4UJIFGqXWrS29RbXpA3Ibo7iQwo0Jd7NqxGRLtE5ei6fNALR70G2/s200/DSC03253.JPG" style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 134px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399840657856696162" /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3391522199479527736.post-83148067945780905722009-11-02T12:05:00.001+03:002009-11-02T12:07:47.773+03:00Snowing on Halloween<div>Halloween morning in Moscow brought the second day of snow in a row. I woke up to see specks falling from the sky, and I bundled up against the cold (futilely) and did my best not to slip on the sheets and puddles of ice as I walked outside. It’s -1 degrees Celsius outside constantly now. And everyone keeps telling me that this is ‘summer’ weather. </div><div><br /></div><div>I gave five presentations about Halloween to students and professors alike this last week--they seem fascinated by the whole idea of dressing up and eating candy. And the more I talked about it, the more excited I got to celebrate it. My friend and fellow Fulbrighter/Middlebury suitemate, Thaddeus, hosted a Halloween party at his apartment in downtown Moscow which he shares with two other Fulbrighters, Emily and Sasha, and I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. On Halloween morning, one of my second-year Linva students, Sveta, took me to a costume shop where I bought a Sherlock Holmes-type hat to go along with my sports coat and tie (all on top of my long underwear, of course). I even made a pipe out of paper to top the costume off. Although it was kind of sad that the only thing I had to buy to look like Sherlock Holmes was a hat...do I really dress that old-fashioned?</div><div><br /></div><div>The party was a blast. I got to spend it with fellow English-speakers and met a few very interesting people, including another English teacher from Scotland/Canada/India/England and an American from North Dakota working for a pair of companies in Moscow. I hope to run into them again sometime and someplace in the future…it was great being able to joke around and have people laugh because they actually understand you.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tonight, Monday night, I will be screening the classic ‘Hocus Pocus’ for all the Lingva students, and then we will have a Halloween party of our own featuring American songs (once again, the singing!) and hopefully some food. One guy, Alex, even offered to bring in a pumpkin for me to carve. It’s been a while since I’ve done that, but I’ll give it a go!</div><div><br /></div>Bryanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14654024089435954264noreply@blogger.com0