the big vote.

Elections. Presidential elections. Sunday, here in the lovely Ukraine, people will go out en masse to take a second stab at voting in a new president. Round 1 of Ukrainian presidential elections 2010 (January 17) did not create the margin necessary to secure the win, and so, Sunday, February 7, we are holding a run-off. (Sidebar — Please, note that both election days in question were and are on a Sunday. SUNDAY. Insert subtle suggestion that blatantly hints at the fact that the United States is not better… such as… In the States, elections are held on Tuesdays. TUESDAYS!?). While, in my opinion, presidential elections are always quite important, there are all sorts of elements flying around in the background of these elections that make them rather huge.

The last Ukrainian presidential elections, held in 2004, were riddled with chaos, scandal, chemical poisoning of candidates, and well, revolution. The Orange Revolution. Viktor Yushchenko rode into the saddle of president on the wave of said revolution, promising modernization, democracy, and a general westernization of Ukraine. Interestingly enough, both of the current candidates at one time or another served as his prime minister. Riding the Orange wave into office with Yushchenko, Yulia Timoshenko filled the chair first. After some political hiccups, she was replaced by the president’s former rival Viktor Yanukovych. For obvious reasons, this partnership was not ideal, thus Timoshenko regained her cushy seat. I will spare you all of the sticky details, but Ukraine is not exactly thriving. Development can be seen in some areas, but the economy is in a shambles and Ukraine continues to struggle for democracy.

The candidates…

It might be safe to say that they could not be more different. Woman versus man. East versus west. Democracy versus authoritarianism. Ukraine versus Russia. Timoshenko, current prime minister, does her best to continue riding on her wave of democracy while separating herself from the bad taste that Yushchenko, the current president, is leaving in the mouths of the masses. She campaigns on a Ukraine for Ukrainians platform, speaking of  Ukraine’s new path to democracy. On the flip side of the coin, Yanukovich is promoting a rebuilding of Ukraine’s economic and industrial base. He promises a Ukraine for the people. She is the liberal left leaning candidate. He is the more conservative, reestablish the principles of the right and Ukraine will thrive, candidate.

In the end, regardless of their platforms, it seems that it all comes down to Russia. Ukraine is very divided between the idea of Ukraine as a strong, independent, Ukrainian state, and Ukraine as a economically thriving and stable Ukrainian state with undeniably strong and important Russian roots. Yanukovich is pro-Russia. He promises to make Russian the second national language and redevelop ties with Russia to aid in rebuilding economic and political stability. Ironically, he is from eastern Ukraine, though he stands as the voice of western Ukraine. Timoshenko, is from western Ukraine, although she has done quite well to project her self as an eastern Ukrainian. She is fluent in Ukrainian, dies her brunet locks blonde, and is the perfect image of a strong and intelligent Ukrainian woman. She is the voice of eastern Ukraine.

Who will win, you ask? Yanukovich pulled in 35% and some odd percent of the vote in the first round of voting to Timoshenko’s 25% percent, but, in the end, this may not be an indication of his victory. While most have issues with holding on to a candidate who was so tied to the last presidential administration (Yulia), Ukrainians value their political independence from Russia and they seem to really want a substantive democracy. On the flip side, the average Ukrainian struggles to function economically and views a strong relationship with Russia as their country’s only means to become economically stable. With Timoshenko, the people will have political independence, a chance at democracy, while they struggle to feed, clothe, and house their families. With Yanukovich, they will again find economic stability and success, but they will sacrifice a bit of their independence, in turn sacrificing their Ukrainian identity.

I project that Victor Yanukovich will be the next president of Ukraine. With that, I believe that the Orange Revolution and its promise of democracy will become a thing of the past to be looked at longingly in years to come. The meaningful democracy that these people yearn for will slip through the cracks and Ukraine will become all the more like Russia’s pseudo-democratic clandestine authoritarian state. I hope that I am wrong.

slogging.

Culture shock. Reverse culture shock. Popular opinion says that when one goes abroad for an extended period of time, she experiences a period of jolting caused by cultural differences between her new home and what she identifies as her own culture. On the flip side, it is said that she goes through a similar period when she returns to her ‘normal’ life. Again, she must adjust to the difference in culture. I often disagree with popular opinion. In this case, I do not. Culture shock and its counterpart is something that I believe everyone experiences in their own way. For me, culture shock is only a minor hiccup. I chalk this off as a result of my being so caught up in a new adventure that I hardly notice the ’shocks.’ However, reverse culture shock hits me like a ton of bricks. After living in Russia for 10 weeks last summer, I remember returning home, finding everything to be different. It took months before these differences were again normal and comfortable to me. Regardless of what you call it, culture shock, reverse culture shock, all it really is is a transition. Transitions are hard, no matter how you slice it. I am currently finding myself in a sort of double whammy of a transition. Culture shock (arriving in Ukraine) and reverse culture shock (leaving Russia) have joined together to prepare me a tremendous dose of jolting. Borrowing terminology from a wise woman that is very dear to my heart, I am ’slogging.’ “Forward movement is evident, while not appreciable.” I do not know that the sloggling will continue for the duration of my three months in Ukraine, but it is the current reality. And so, I will slog, as I am pretty sure that perseverance builds character.

This week’s adventures have required some extreme slogging. As my time here in the former U.S.S.R passes, I find that I have far fewer answers than when I arrived. Really, I am finding myself in a state of bafflement more often than not. There have to be answers and explanations, I just cannot begin to know what they are. This week, the weather. I would try to explain to you the shockingly unfathomable weather that we experienced here this week, but I do not know that it is it possible, as I am baffled by it, and well, I am pretty sure that you wouldn’t really get it anyhow. Know this, it was at least ten degrees below zero Monday-Thursday. Mind you, this was the actual temperature, not accounting for wind-chill. The feels like temperature was -32º Fahrenheit  here on Tuesday. This is colder than cold. Breathing is actually painful. I will put it in these terms… brain freeze. You are familiar with the brain freeze that happens when one slurps up a cold beverage too quickly? This is what happens when you walk outside in these temperatures for more than five minutes. First your sinuses begin to hurt, as in it feels like someone is punching you repeatedly in the face, and then the wrenching headache begins. The brain freeze.

So yeah, I got sick. After musing to a friend over the weekend that I could not believe that I had not been sick since leaving home, I got sick. I blame the cold and the flu that is wandering around here, but mostly the cold. A fever tucked me into bed and I did my best to keep my whiney sick self from falling apart. The Ukrainians checked up on me now and then, telling me that if the fever went above 37ºC to call them immediately. The Russians checked up on me incessantly. After chastising me for not making myself soup and verifying that I was consuming copious amounts of lemon and garlic, they told me to sleep. All was well, until low-grade fever day two. Two days of fever is apparently not to be toyed with, and so I was told to get out the vodka. After putting up an extreme protest, I gave up the fight and did as instructed. I heated up vodka and rubbed it all over my face, neck, chest, hands, arms, legs, and feet, tucked myself under a warm blanket and went to sleep. I still cannot believe that I did it. That said, it worked. Shocking.

Even worse, my mom informed me that rubbing warm vodka all over myself was the right advice. Apparently, the alcohol draws out the fever. In fact, hospitals, at least when my mom worked in one thirty years ago, often rub rubbing alcohol over feverish patients to bring down their temps. Unbelievable.

After a day of warmer temps (7ºF) and blizzarding and just as my sickness was packing its bags to leave, the sun came out, creating the sound of drip drops of melting snow for my little ears. I took a walk yesterday and it felt like winter. It felt like a walk in the winter is supposed to feel. It was delightful. This morning, I woke to the sound of RAIN! It rained, really rained, for just over an hour. Baffled. I am baffled.

всё не так…

Or, if you prefer, fcyo ne tak. Literally translated, us English speakers would say, everything is not so…. I love this phrase. I love the way Russian takes away all the words that actually mean something and yet the statement means something so expansive.

Everything is different.

Nothing is as it should be.

Everything is not so.

This has been my life in Zaporozhye. It is so strange living in a place that is so similar to everything in Russia, while it is simultaneously completely different. Everything in this city screams former Soviet state just as Volgodonsk does, but it is nothing like Volgodonsk. Ukraine was a Soviet Socialist Republic. Russia was a Soviet Socialist Republic. They are the same. They are entirely different. The people are different. They look different. They dress differently. They speak differently. They act different. The buildings are different. The stores are different. The candy is different. The dairy products are different. The meat is different. The beer is different. The vodka is different. The marshutkas are different. The trees are different. The river is different. Everything is different.

It has been like I have had to start my life all over again. You might think that a hop from Russia to Ukraine would be no thing. They are neighbors, right? Speak the same language. Both former Communist states. Seamless transition. Not so much. Interestingly enough, prior to moving here, I could have and would have gone on and on about how different Ukraine and Russia are. I believed myself to be very well-informed on this matter. I knew it to be true. I had no idea that the differences would throw me for such a loop. Still, I find myself walking down the street, looking for something in a market, being anywhere, doing anything, and it hits me. Wow. This place is not like Russia at all!

I have spent the last week trying to set up my life here, get a grasp on what things will look like, what I will do here and how I will do it. I have come to grips with the differences. Nothing is or will be like it was in Russia. It will be different and  it will be good. Now, it is time for me to learn something.

What it looks like…

The Zap.

Zaporozhye is a strip of a city. It is rather like Las Vegas in this sense, but without all the lights. Prospect Lenina is the artery of it all. Stretching 14km, it is the longest central boulevard of any city in Europe. I live in the center of this vast strip. To the south, I can walk 7km and find a massive damn that once competed for a place on the modern wonders of the world list. To the north, I can walk 7km and I will find the train station. A quick jaunt to the east and I will bump into the Dnieper River. We also have a massive car assembly plant (biggest in Ukraine, one of the biggest in Europe), an aircraft production facility, and.a hydroelectric power plant. Oh, and of course, what sort of former Soviet industrial hub would we be without a nuclear power plant?! Zap used to be big. It once boomed with industry. As Ukraine’s economy struggles, factories continue to close, poverty is becoming more pervasive, and the greatness that once was Zaporozhye is increasingly dwindling.

The Dnieper.

While in Ukraine, I am still working for HOPE International. For the most part, I will be continuing to work on Russia-related projects, but I will also be doing some things for the Ukrainian offices. Being that HOPE International’s international activity began in Zaporozhye (there are now offices in 14 different lesser developed countries), the system here is far better established and functional than in Russia. Nadezhda has three office here. Two of the offices are smaller, with only two or three staff — a secretary and one or two loan officers. The third office, where I work, is larger and is the work home of eight employees — director, assistant to the director, two accountants, an auditor, two general secretaries, and the assistant director/guy that gets things done.  Our office is big, in a factory, is freezing cold, and has some of the most disturbingly disgusting toilets that I have ever seen.

Just as Ukraine is different from Russia, Zaporozhye is different from Volgodonsk, Nadezhda Ukrainy is different from Fund Nadezhda. The space that we rent in the fabulously freezing transformer building factory is massive. In an attempt to manage this space, three walls were built. There are four stalls. Maks and I share stall one. Natasha, Natasha, Yurya, and Ira share stall two. Tatyana and Zhenya share stall three, and Kostya has stall four all to himself. I have worked in a bullpen style office for years, in the States and in Russia. I prefer the bullpen. The stalls are taking some getting used to. My commute has also taken some getting used to. Our fabulous office space is not so much close to my fabulous apartment. In the morning I squeeze onto marshutka number 63, 76, or 85 for a lovely 25 minute drive to Kosmos, a lovely factory neighborhood not so close to the artery of Prospect Lenina. After I ditch the wheels, I walk for 15 minutes to Neon, our friendly factory. I love riding and I love walking. I think that this is mostly because I love watching.

I have successfully completed Ukraine week one and transitioned into week two. I am still confident that I will be happy here. It has snowed over two feet in the last three days, I am freezing my gronchkies off, and everything is not so, but it will be soon enough.

RIR: Act I Comes to a Close.

I am currently sitting in a coffee shop in Zaporozhye, Ukraine. There are two key elements in this sentence. Coffee shop and Ukraine. My 90 days out of every 180 have expired. I left Russia on Tuesday. The first act of my three act play has come to a close. I have much to say.

My last month in Russia was full of excitement. Its review will be all over the place; bear with me.

Visitors. As I have previously mentioned, Drew and Rachel were here for the holidays. For me, their visit was fantastic and exhausting. Being with them, speaking English, laughing at everything, laughing at nothing was fabulous. On the flip side, speaking English all of the time threw my Russian language skills down the crap shoot. My grammar was all over the place and my accent went to hell in a hand basket. The cozy life that I developed for myself was thrown all out of whack. The good won out in the end. I would not have traded my time with them for anything.

Moscow. As a visit to Russia is not possible without a trip to Moscow, three expat kids and one uncultured Russian went north for Orthodox Christmas. Rachel and Drew made a list as long as my arm of things that they wanted to do in our two point five day visit and the Russian’s only request was that we visit McDonald’s. The highlights:

1. I saw Lenin. Again. He is still dead. It occurred to me how amazing it is that I can say I saw the dead Lenin, once let alone twice! Hundreds of thousands of Russians who actually want to see him will never see Lenin. Millions of people across the globe that would be interested in seeing this guy never will. I have seen him twice. I am a lucky kid.

When the uncultured Russian saw him, she had this to say, “He is so short!” Priceless.

2. We went to the Bolshoi Theatre. Last summer, when I lived in Moscow, I developed a whimsical dream that one day I would see a show at the Bolshoi. When I was there in October, I sat outside the theatre thinking how lovely it would be to see a Russian show is such a famous venue, thinking it would never happen. Thanks to my stupendous parents, who floated the tab on our pricey tickets, I was able to spend a splendid evening in one of the most famous theatres in the world. As if that was not enough, I got to see Tchaikovsky’s The Nutcracker, a Russian ballet, on Russian Christmas.

Once in a lifetime experience.

3. I got to see Moscow in the winter, decorated for the holidays. It snowed the entire time we were there. It was fantastic. There were lights and giant Christmas trees everywhere. I love Moscow in the summer, but I think that this time of year presents the heart of Russia at its best. You have not really experienced Russia for all that it is if you have not experienced it in the winter, the same goes for Moscow.

There has long been a running joke between my dad and a Ukrainian friend of ours that there is no Russian word for ‘efficient’ (something that I have since learned to be untrue), but let me tell you, snow in Moscow is efficiency at its best. It blizzard-ed for two and a half days, and life went on without a hitch. I wish that you could have seen it. Snow plows lined the streets. Dump trucks and skid-steer-loaders carted snow out of the city en masse. Tractors plowed and brushed the sidewalks endlessly. I have never seen anything like it. I have never been so impressed with the Russians.

4. I almost got frostbite. No, I am not kidding. In all of my infinite wisdom, I failed to take the proper footwear into the frigid and snowy capital. It was not snowing and not so cold when we left Volgodonsk. I did not think twice about taking more ‘appropriate’ shoes. Of course, my Chuck Taylor low-tops would be just fine! Not so much. Day 1 left me with very cold feet. Disaster struck on Day 2 when the snow got heavy and the slush came for a visit. Re: cold, wet, and canvas shoes do not mesh well. Wool socks are no help when they get soaked. The real problem came around when the cold got so cold that the wet feet froze.

Once it occurred to me that the extreme pain I was feeling was not going to go away, that it would likely only get worse, and that I should probably make a bee-line for home, it was far past the point of okay. The burning turned to tingling, the tingling eased into block-like appendages, and the block-like feets turned into something that I was not really sure was there at all. As my feet were nursed back to a state of normalcy, I witnessed an uncultured Russian, who is clearly far more brilliant than I, I never imagined could be so angry. I reveled in my stupidity as I sat crying with my feet submerged in cold water, not so cold water, not so warm water, warm water, and hot water. My feet were various shades of red for four days and they hurt for two. Never again.

5. The best part. I took an uncultured Russian to Moscow. There were several firsts. Airport security. Airplane. Metro. Hostel. Lenin. Ballet. Bolshoi. Nutcracker. Patriarch’s Ponds. Novodevichy Convent and Cemetery. Lubyanka Prison. Mexican food. Tortilla chips. Moscow. She learned more about Russian history in two days than she did in twenty-four years. The uncultured Russian is now more cultured than almost every Russian she knows.

Leaving Russia. I left my home away from home on Tuesday at 11:30 Moscow Standard Time. Aleksei drove me 100km and I hopped a train to Zaporozhye. Fifteen hours later, I arrived in my home away from my home away from home. Leaving was far harder than I thought it would be. Before I left for Russia I imagined that Ukraine would provide a much needed break in the monotony and state of lonesomeness that would be my life in Russia by 13 January. As life generally does, it did not go according to my plan.

I am fairly confident that life here in Ukraine will be delightful in the end, that I will likely become attached to the people and place in much the same way that I have Volgodonsk. However, right now, my heart is heavy; I am sad and lonely. I am now grappling with trying to manage the missing of two homes. My missing of the States and the people there that I love so much has been more or less latent for the past two months, though it rages its sad head here and there. Having left Russia, I am dealing with a whole new set of people and place to miss, and wouldn’t you know, as soon as my emotions were thrown into a tailspin, the missing of home became extreme. Really, my heart just hurts. A lot.

I will leave you with this. I have a callous on my right thumb from sunflower seed eating. I bought a pair of skinny jeans the day before I left Volgodonsk. I have a hole in my sneakers. I am about to put a second new hole in my belt, and there are two coffee shops within walking distance of my apartment here! Two!

Sitting here, sipping an Americano, reveling in free wifi, I have not felt so close to home since I left.

Christmas in Russia.

Karl Marx called religion the ‘opiate of the masses.’ We are all familiar with the line, yes? Yes. Lenin steered away from Marx as Communism developed in Russia. However, this idea of opium and the masses won out here in the former U.S.S.R. The Russian Soviet Socialist Republic was very much atheist. Christmas was a casualty of said atheism. The Jesus lovers did alright here for a while, and underground churches remained through the entirety of the Communist Period, but in the end, Christmas lost the fight. Stalin killed Christmas.

Thus, Christmas in Russia is not so much like Christmas in the Land of Liberty. It still exists, we call it rozhdyestvo, but it is not something to get excited about. Further complicating the issue, prior to Lenin and his gang, Russia was Orthodox. Thus, the bulk of the Christians ‘round these parts are Orthodox. And so, the kids that celebrate Christmas generally do so with the Orthodox Church on 7 January. While all of this is important to understanding Christmas in Russia, the key is that Stalin really did kill Christmas. He did so by making New Years the be all and end all of holidays.

Our Christmas is their New Years.

I decided that there were many possible approaches to how I would feel about/approach my Christmas away from ‘home.’ There was the most obvious super buzz-kill option that would have left me sad and moppy about the fact that I was here in this non-Christmasy winter wasteland as my family celebrated without me; or there was the, forget Christmas option, Grinch-style if you will; or I could come up with something altogether different. I went with the option behind door number three. I am currently floating through what I like to call the ‘Crankin Russican Super Holiday.’ As in the Colleen Rankin Russian-American Super Holiday.

Crankin Russican Super Holiday looks like this: Our Christmas is my Christmas. Their New Years is my New Years. And their Christmas is my Christmas. Really, I win, no matter how you look at it.

Thus far, my strategy has been a brilliant success. Rachel was here for Round 1: the 24-25 December extravaganza. Sadly, I had to work both the 24th and 25th, but we didn’t let it keep us down. On the Eve of X-Mass, Katya came over and there was baking. That is right, I baked! (It was even edible this time!). True to Colleen Rankin style, I woke up with the sun, always the annoying little sister, eager to greet Christmas morning. The three of us opened a few small presents from my mom and Rachel, and us working kids trekked off to our day jobs, through the ice fields, carrying my 20 pound cake. There was food at work that day. Lots of food. Wrapping up the day in style, Rachel and I had some quality face time at the Yellow Elephant with Dima, and I was in bed by eleven. Perfection (minus my family and everything in the U.S. of A. that I love).

After a few hiccups (which are very standard here), Drew arrived in Volgodonsk, for Russican Super Holiday Round 2, at 3:07am Moscow Standard Time on the 30th to bring in the New Year with us cool kids. I cannot tell you the relief that I feel in being able to spend the holidays with my family. The Rankin and Schmotzer kids were woven together as one unit by the time I was six. For a decade, many were uncertain who was a Rankin and who was a Schmotzer. The three of us would have been all alone, us ex-pat kids, so we decided to do Christmas together. Of course, given that Russia is by far the best, Rachel came from Muscat, Oman, Drew came from Cairo, Egypt, and well, I sat here looking pretty.

I will spare you the endless details of the closing of 2009 and arrival of 2010. However, you should know this… There was vodka. There was surprise chicken pot pie (my favorite food on this lovely planet). There was gulyat-ing. There was bottle breaking. And there was attempted singing of  ’Olde Lang Syne.’ After a lovely sleep-in, there was the best Russian breakfast ever! What is the best Russian breakfast ever, you ask. Champagne, and toast with cheese, cavier, and raw garlic! Oh, and fireworks. There were copious amounts of fireworks. I can feel your jealousy from here.

All in all, I am quite pleased with my RussiCan Super Holiday. We will be rounding out the festivities with a trip to Moscow for Round 3: Their Christmas. My family will leave me from Moscow. Drew heads back to Cairo, Rachel will be train-ing it to Petersburg, and I am hopping a plane back to the city that straddles the Reservoir that connects the Volga and the Don. Four days after I arrive on a plane, I will leave on a train.

My heart is happy. My heart is sad.

The end of my life as we know it…

I am leaving Russia in sixteen days. On 13 January, I will be moving to Zaporozhye, Ukraine for three months. My Russian visa allows me to be in the country for a total of six months over a nine month period, with a three month absence after the completion of 90 days in country. The thirteenth is my 90 days. I am not happy about this.

Before I hopped a plane and settled down here in lovely Volgodonsk, I was so excited for the change that would come after 90 days. I was sure that I would be desperately lonely by this time, thus in desperate need of change. Now, as I am living what was then the future, I find that I am very much not lonely, and that I am dreading the change that I previously thought would be a relief.

I have been fighting an intense battle with myself over the past week. Optimistic Colleen is fighting with pessimistic Colleen. The battle waxes and wanes from one to the other. Today, pessimistic Colleen is winning. I am in love with Russia. I am not in love with Ukraine. I do not want to be in love with Ukraine. I do not want to make new friends; I do not want to like another city or become attached to a new home; I do not want to settle into a new work place; I do not want change. And if you want to know the real truth, I think that Ukrainians have funny accents! As if I do not have a hard enough time trying to sound Russian. I cannot even imagine the ridicule that I will suffer when I return here in April with an American/Russian/Ukrainian accent. God help us all.

As I see the vast wasteland of my life in Ukraine looming before me, I have been reflecting quite a bit about what my life here has been. All in all, it has been fantastic. I have learned and seen more of myself and others in the last three months than I had in the last year (this is a huge statement, as I grew in leaps and bounds during the last year). I have struggled internally and externally. Every day, I am challenged, enlightened, frustrated, exhausted, and growing. I will never be the same, and I will always be the same. I am still me; I will always be me. I would like to think that every day I am becoming a better version of myself.

They tell me that they have never met anyone like me. They tell me that I am not an American. They tell me that I am Russian. They call me ‘our Russian.’ They love me. They are my family. I cannot imagine my life without them.

My Russian family is growing in leaps and bounds. I have adopted some dogs. Her name is ‘your dog.’ Her name works best in this context, “Colleen, ‘your dog’ is waiting by the door for you. She says she wants her dinner now.” Or “Colleen, ‘your dog’ jumped on me this morning! Why doesn’t she jump on you?! She just licks your hand so nicely. Why does she love you more than me?” We fell in love quickly, ‘my  dog’ and I. She lives in a crack between two of the apartment buildings on my street. She is the best ever. After we became friends, I wanted to feed her, but I did not want to create cultural waves. When Katya moved in, she said, “That dog loves you! Why don’t you feed her?! She is so cute!” The rest would be history, but then, ‘my dog’ had puppies! There are seven puppies. They all love me. When the kids arrived, the other Russians in the neighborhood started feeding ‘my dog’ as well. Everyone is fattening up a bit now and the family is quite pleased with the recent remodeling of their abode. Three days ago, someone covered the massive crack between the buildings with sheet metal, leaving a lovely hatch at the bottom for ‘my dog’ and the rest of the family. Russians are great. This is what we do. We take care of each other.

my kids.

the family.

The other things I will miss…

Sunflower seeds. I am addicted to sunflower seeds. Now, I know that sunflower seeds are quite popular in Ukraine as well, but it is just not possible that they are as good as the Russian variety.

Ice. Ice everywhere. Russia does not have plows, and it does not have salt. It has front-end-loaders on excavators and sand. Let me just say, it is a big dirty snowy mess here. I do not know how anyone gets anywhere. Ever. We drive on ice; we walk on ice. This is a talent. You think that running in heels is impressive… if you even saw the heels that Russian women wear in this icy winter wasteland. Wow. They can keep their heels. My converse and I have a lovely time sliding hither and yon. Who would ever have thought that hours of running on ice in junior high ice hockey would prove to have been time so well spent? I walk on ice like a champ.

Roman numerals. I will miss going through stacks of paperwork in search of random historical financial data and finding dates written in Roman numerals! I kid you not. Roman numerals. It looks something like this, 17 IX 2006. Don’t ask me why it is only ever the month. I love it. Every time, it makes me giggle, and every time, it makes the monotony of going through stacks of paper, in Russian, far less monotonous.

Really. I will miss everything.

What they said about winter in Russia…

… they were not kidding.

The seasons here in Russia are not determined by the solecists as they are in the States. This came as a bit of a shock to me, as I previously operated under the belief that seasons everywhere followed the patterns of the sun. Not in Russia. The seasons here begin on the first of the month, every three months. Thus, winter, known here as zima (also a malt beverage enjoyed by many in the States), begins on 1 December.

It has been cold here since November. Talk of my needing a new coat began in November. I kept telling them that I would be fine. They kept telling me that winter was not even here yet. They kept telling me that it was not even cold yet. I did not believe them. They were right. December brought cold like I have never seen. Ever.

With the first week of December cold, I bought a new coat. It is down; it is long; it has a hood, with fir around the edge; it is totally Russian; it is one of the best purchases I have ever made. So, yes, the first week of December was cold. Then, the second week of december arrived, crippling the astonishing colds of its predecessor. I realize that I cannot communicate coldness via the written word, but I really would like for you to understand the excesses of winter in Russia.

I grew up in Cleveland. We have a lake, and with it comes wind and snow. Winters in Cleveland are not friendly. Winter here makes Cleveland weather look like a gentle lamb. The wind here could rip your face off and make your ears feel like they really are going to fall off. There have been several occasions that I have actually laughed as the wind whipped around me. He is strong, packs a mean punch, and is not to be messed with. An illustrative example: Imagine me (mind you, I am not small) standing/attempting to walk across a giant sheet of ice (i.e., almost every sidewalk in Volgodonsk), I am moving right along, and then vyeter (wind) comes to say, hello. This lovely greeting generally results in him pushing me across the giant sheet of ice. Seriously, vyeter is strong enough to push me across ice! This is serious business.

There was a blizzard on Thursday. snyeg (snow) and vyeter came together and had a lovely party at our expense. Extreme sub-zero temperatures joined in too. A good time was had by one and all. We looked on in astonishment as the party ragged. The fall-out has left snyeg pretty sleepy, vyeter has settled down a bit too, but he is still stopping by to say, hi, now and then, and well, temperatura, she is still pissed. We are doing our best to maintain diplomatic relations.

The truth. I love it. I love, love, love winter. I have loved winter for as long as I can remember. My feelings about winter in Russia are no different (I might actually love it more). That said, I am pretty sure that I would be miserable and or dead if I had not purchased a new coat. And the Russians are still telling me that we have not seen anything yet. They simply smile and give a little chuckle as they tell me that it is not even January yet.

RIR: The Passing of a Second Month.

Today, on this frigid 15 December 2009, I find that I have been in Russia for two months. Hurray for two months! I love two months. Soon, I will have been in Russia longer than the longest I have ever been in Russia. I am pretty sure that at this point or in the very near future, I will actually start learning something.

This past month’s topics of interest:

Yesterday, walking home from work in the super cold, I observed as a young lady, likely around my age, walked to the edge of the sidewalk and droped trou. This is not entirely abnormal. In Russia, when you have to pee, you have to pee. I cannot understate the value of the pay-to-pee port-a-potties found in the big city.

Smoking. I would venture that it is safe to estimate that approximately half of Russia’s adult population smokes. It is very typical that a greater portion of society in newly industrializing and lesser developed countries smoke. I am not sure exactly sure why, but I have always been intrigued by a place where ‘everyone’ smokes. Strange, I know.

I used to smoke. I do not condone it; I think that it is a pretty nasty habit; I agree that it kills, but I do not judge. If you want to smoke, have at it. I will think you are swell either way. I digress. Smoking tricks! Russians are the most impressive smokers that I have ever seen! Given that I used to smoke, I am amazed by what these kids can do. (1) They can successfully and with ease light a cigarette in any wind thrown their way. I have no idea how they do it! (2) They can talk a mile a minute while managing to keep a cigarette tucked between their lips. Seriously, this is amazing. We are talking normal conversation. If you were not looking at their face, you would never know that they were smoking. (3) It is really cold here. Walking in the cold, something that is a must in my lovely town, Russians always have their hands tucked into their pockets, always. How can one smoke with her hands tucked into her pockets? A trick! I like to call this one, my favorite by far, the ‘cigarette roll.’ Said smoker lights her cigarette, tucks it into one side of her mouth, and tucks her hands away. AS SHE WALKS, she rolls the cigarette from one side of her mouth to the other, without ever using her hands! This deals with the problem of smoke in the eyes due to wind change, while simultaneously ashing the cigarette! It is AMAZING!

The FSB (formerly known as the KGB) came to the office for a visit. Truth, they stopped by to check me out. I work for an NGO. The government does not like NGOs. The government really does not like NGOs that have Americans working for them. And so, we sat for a solid hour explaining to the nice gentleman from the FSB why I would want to move to such a hole of a town as Volgodonsk to work for this organization. While he gave us no indication of his thoughts on the matter, it seems that we successfully led him to believe that I am not a spy and that I love all things Russian. This is good and true. 5 points for us.

This past month was filled with interesting client to office interactions. Russia’s leading causes of death are disease related to or caused by alcoholism and traffic accidents. It is quite typical to have a drunk client come into the office to pay on their loan. The other day, a young girl (I would guess in her late 20’s/early 30’s) came in to make a payment and holy moly, was she tanked. Initially, I was quite amused. However, as she sat, waiting for her loan cosigner to arrive, whom she needed to sign some paperwork, I became far less delighted with her presence and drunkenness. She stank, and as she sat, the office began to stink. I kid you not, before it was all over, I had a headache from the fumes. I did not even know that this was possible! And poor Katya, looked like she was on the verge of vomiting, when, thank the Lord, said cosigner arrived, and the drunk was on her way. Katya stood for a solid five minutes with her head out the window. If we do not find amusement in these things, we will not be able to function. There was also an incident with a yelling old lady who did not want to pay per loan. This was funny and terribly exasperating. Oy.

Russian food. I love it. I do not know why I love it (it might have something to do with my Slavic roots); I just do. This has become a sort of joke. I am told that I like everything, that even if I did not like it, I would say that I like it. While this is not true, my comrades are sure that it is. Well, they were sure that it was. Now, they know better. I HATE kasha (a grain product – I think it might be barly)! I hate every type of kasha! I was served kasha twice on Sunday! Prior to this day, I was well aware of my dislike for kasha. And so, when Katya said she was making kasha for breakfast, I did not protest. After that first dreaded spoonful, the sad face that it generated, and my very serious feedback of, “I really do not like kasha.” Katya responded with bliss, “Thank God! Finally! Something that she does not like!” It was priceless. I was then informed that no one really likes kasha, but that it is good for me, it is inexpensive, and I will eat it. Imagine the pleasure that Katya experienced later in the day, as we sat for lunch at the table of a friend, when a plate of kasha was set before me. She thought it was the best thing ever; I was in misery, but ate it with a smile.

Sunday, I was also served raw garlic and sala. Russians love garlic. It is one of those health remedies, like vitamin C and herbal supplements. As I was surrounded by five garlic eaters, contemplating whether or not to eat the cloves on my plate, it occurred to me that I was going to be suffering from the smell later. I took the ‘if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em’ strategy. It was a success. My little nose did not suffer… it is hard to smell the garlic, when you smell like garlic. Sala is essentially smoked and salted pork fat. Russians love it. They love it by itself, and they love it on bread. I have found that as long as I do not think about what I am eating, it is pretty palatable. To top everything off, I had some lovely menthol and eucalyptus flavored candy. This was also enjoyable as long as I imagined that it was a throat lozenge.

The favorite question, asked often by me and others as I sit happily or am expressing delight over something, has become, “what are you/am I going to do when you/I leave Russia?!” The answer: They are going to be sad; I am going to be sad. This month was delightful. Every day, I become more a little more Russian.

today, in the news…

There is a lot going on in Russia these days. Not so much with me, but the general buzz abounds. I have been watching quietly, thinking, not saying much, but now, I find myself a bit miffed. Peeved. Bothered. Pissed off. I am not sure if you know it, but Russia is a little bit screwed up. In fact, I think that really screwed up might be more appropriate.

Two weeks ago, yesterday, there was a train bombing on the tracks that carried an express train from St. Petersburg to Moscow. The Nevsky Express typically carries the wealthy, government officials, and foreigners. It was a perfect target. Two explosions killed 30 people (this is the number I am going with, but several sources post different numbers). Chechen rebels claimed responsibility for this incident, thus making it a ‘terrorist attack, deeply threatening Russian security.’ Saying that this was a big deal would be a tremendous understatement. Terrorism is taken very seriously here… very much in the same way as in the states. Further, the conflict in Chechnya has waxed and waned for decades. Big problem = people not happy. Big news.

Just as talk of terrorist attacks was beginning to dissipate, a week ago, yesterday, exactly a week after the Nevsky Express bombing, there was another incident. Last Friday, there was a fire in a night club in Perm. According to the Russian Health Minster, 109 people have died as a result of this tragedy. One-hundred forty-some people are still being hospitalized, with dozens in critical condition (people are still dying). This fire was a result of faulty fire safety systems, failure to meet fire codes, and stupidity. This fire was the result of corruption. The people of Russia have lived symbiotically with a corrupt system for generations. They are well-aware of its existence; they do not think that it is right; however, it is life. In this regard, despite occasional lip-service from the talking heads, corruption is not taken very seriously. It just is.

That is…

… until people start dying.

Civil society, something that struggles to exist in a country governed by a pseudo-democratic clandestin authoritarian leadership, is not something often seen here in Russia. Government has done quiet well to squelch voices of opposition and change to the current status quo. The Perm tragedy has birthed something that I believe to be beautiful. A vibrant and mass civil society currently screams in the face of Putin and his cronies, and they are far from happy.

The current dialogue on the streets: Terrorism vs. Corruption. The debate: government has spent billions in the fight against domestic ‘terrorism,’ while simultaneously thriving with the ever increasing growth of corruption. It is safe to say that no government official has gotten to where they are without copious quantities of money and gifts changing hands. Terrorism is no good, no question. However, when one looks at the numbers of innocent civilians dying, it seems that corruption presents far more danger to the mass of Russian society. Terrorism is viewed as a fight with the bad guys. Corruption is the state. People are dying because of corruption. Thus, in the minds of civil society, people are dying because of the government. In this regard, the state is killing innocent civilians. This is serious business.

In this regard, I see beauty in tragedy. Sadly, I fear that nothing will come of it. Putin is racing to pacify the situation. The families of each victim are receiving $17,000 (a small sum in the States, but more than many have ever dreamed of here). The regional government of Perm has already resigned, and government officials at other levels are dropping like flies. Just enough will be done to get people to shut-up. The guise of a clean-up of corruption will sail on for a while, then life will likely return to its former state. Civil society will again be suppressed.

Before the Tsar fell, and Communism rose, civil society thrived in Russia. From the latter half of the 19th century until the overthrow of Nicholas II, the people screamed for something better. Life during this period was miserable. Suffering and injustice were endless. In his quest for an answer, V.I. Lenin asked the question, what is to be done?

The people are still looking for the answer. Every time I dialogue with a Russian about the injustices of life, they say to me, “А что делать?” The nakedness of this question is astonishing to me. It strikes a cord in me every time they look at me blankly, with sorrow in their eyes, asking, pleading, “And what is to be done?” I have no answer.

Despite today’s headlines (Top Russian Prison Officials Are Dismissed by Medvedev; Killer of Journalist Gets 2 Years in Southern Russian Republic; Putin Seeks Crackdown in Club Fire), and everything that I see every day that tells me otherwise, I believe that there is an answer to this question. I believe that one day, this place will be different.

lost in translation.

Language barriers can be dangerous business. Not only can they cause mass confusion, they can result in offending someone unintentionally, or well, they can land you a roommate…

That is right. I thought one thing was said, it turned out another thing was said, and now, I have a roommate. This actually happened twice this week. Lyosha said ‘поймёт (understand).’ I thought he said ‘поимёт (fuck).’ Priceless. The story:

I do not like the phone, at home, or abroad. Frankly, I find it quite bothersome that given the constant presence of the cellular telephone I am always expected to be on the other end of it when you call. Or, that I am expected to promptly return calls (I am so bad at this). I think phones are annoying. I am a person, here is my face, talk to me. Alas, it seems that they are necessary. As much as I find phones to be a annoying in the U.S. of A., they are quite a problem for me here. I never knew how much communicating with someone face to face aids in understanding. Further, Russians talk fast, and they mumble. The phone only makes it worse. Thus, attempting to communicate with me in Russian over the telephone will be difficult for both of us. I will say, ‘что (what)?!’ a lot, and you will find that you will be repeating yourself, repeatedly. I do not recommend it.

My problem with the telephone has resulted in the development of what I had thought to be a fantastic defense mechanism. Really, I have the same defense mechanism in person when I do not know the speaker well, and I do not understand. My defense, smile, nod, agree happily, and flee as quickly as possible. At some point in time, this became my modus operandi on the phone, always. It is bad. I get nervous; my hands get sweaty, and if the conversation lasts too long, I get sweaty. I do not like sweaty nervousness, and so, I try to get out, run away, get off the phone… even when I understand you (which I typically do). It looks like this: Phone rings. Panic! Deep breath. Answer. Talk, talk, talk (in Colleen’s head — Eek! Get off the phone! I don’t like it! Get off the phone! Quick!). Sweat increases. Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh. Anxiety! Great. Okay. Okay. Bye. Sigh of relief. Deep breath. Wipe hands on pants. Anxiety slowly deflates.

Back story (sorry, I forgot that you needed this). I have been sad lately. Thanksgiving came and went. There was no turkey. No stuffing. No sweet potato casserole or resurrection bread. No family. I was not particularly saddened by my lack of Thanksgiving-ness until my interwebs went away, which resulted in my not being able to talk to my family on turkey day. My mom had arranged for the whole gang to be there for some face time. I had been looking forward to it for days. I missed it. I missed them. Mysteriously, it was like an unexpected blow to the gut that left me reveling in sadness that had been hiding for quite some time. Once the sadness showed up, I found it hard to sake. I work hard to not be one who is steered through life by my emotions. I took it all in stride and just kept on trucking, but those that are close to me noticed that I was in a funk. Being the fantastic kids that they are, they wanted to understand what was going on and do what they could to help me. I weaseled my way out of Alla and Lyosha’s attempts to get to the bottom of my grump. Katya would not leave it alone. I find it hard to talk through abstracts, like emotions, in Russian. It is just a lot of work. I did not want to do it. Katya made me.

I love Russia. I love being here. I love what I am doing. I love the people that I encounter on a daily basis. I do not want to come back to the States. However, there are things that I miss. I think all of the time here. I am almost always exhausted. I miss speaking English when I am happy, sad, and frustrated. I miss hugs. I am lonely.

Everyone in Russia lives with someone. Because the typical person dwells right around or below the poverty line, living alone is rather impossible. Me living by myself is very unusual.

As I sat and whined to my friend about the stupid superficial things that I miss, like speaking English and drinking beer with hops in it, she told me that if I ever get to feeling like I need someone around, she could come by, cook me dinner, hang out, and sleep over. This may sound strange to you. Here, it is normal. Feeling only slightly relieved, I walked home, by myself, to be by myself. Sad. And then the phone rang…

Panic! Katya asked if I wanted her to come over tomorrow (this was several days ago), cook some food, do some hanging out, and some sleeping over. In my smile and nod fashion, I agreed hastily. She than said something quickly about when Rachel and Drew come to visit for Christmas [I needed repeating on this one, but I let it slide (I was in the 'get off the phone now' stage)], I told her that she is swell, gave the standard parting words, and hung up. After completing my post-phone call routine, I thought, ‘what did she say about Rachel and Drew?’ Insert perplexed face and question mark in my head. Panic! (Please, excuse my French). Thoughts — ‘Holy shit buckets! Did she just say that she is moving in until Rachel and Drew come to visit?!’ Super panic! Review details of conversation. Translate. I must stress to you that translating Russian to English and vice versa is not seamless. Literal translation does not always, in fact, it infrequently communicates what you want to say. Russian has very specific nuances. English uses way too many words to say something simple. Russian is a minimalist language, while being totally non-minimalist. They are different. Because of this, I often hear one thing (mind you, I understand all of the words), when the speaker means something else.

The result of hearing one thing when Katya meant another… a roommate. My thoughts…

My alone time is tremendously important to me. However, being alone all of the time is never ever good. I am not what you might call the most talented cook. My weight loss is beginning to look like it will be a problem if it continues for nine months. I am lonely. Thus, rather than informing my friend that something was lost in translation, I welcomed her with a smile. She cooks, I do dishes. Perfection. Further, she does not so much have a home. Her parents live in a village 40 minutes outside of Volgodonsk. She visits them for an overnight once a week. She keeps all of her stuff there. On her return to the city, she brings two outfits… the one she is wearing and one in a plastic bag. She lives with her grandma. At her grandma’s she has one drawer. I gave her four.

This is how we change the world.