Russia in review.

As of yesterday, 17 November 2009, I have been in Volgodonsk for one month. Thus, I bring you what will now be called, “This Month in Russia” or TMR, which if you prefer, also stands for “Too Much Russia.”

I have the best Russian family ever. They are fantastic in each their own way. Tatiana, my boss, is my Aunt (in some ways she actually reminds me of my Aunt Peggy). She talks so fast and always thinks that I do not understand what she is trying to say to me. Sometimes, she writes down the key words because she thinks that I will understand better if I can read them. Eventually, she realizes that I actually understand the message that she is trying to convey, and well, I am pretty sure that it makes her feel like an idiot. Also, she is always trying to get me to eat cake. (Aunt Peg is famous for her cakes). She is also a little bit batty. Above all, I just love her and I cannot figure out why. My sister, Ira, is brilliant. She cares about me for reasons unknown. She talks more than almost anyone I know. Sometimes, I just want to shake her; others, I can’t believe how swell she is. Lyosha, my brother, who every once in a while fills the father role. He is one of the most sarcastic people I have ever met. We make fun of each other endlessly. He argues with me about everything. He makes me think. He makes me talk. He challenges me. My mom, Alla. She reprimands me every day, at least once, about something. Coat — I bought a new one. Shoes — if you think that I am going to stop wearing my Chuck Taylors just because they are not the warmest thing in the world, you are so wrong. Diet — I am not the worlds best chef, give me a second. I am trying, really. Rest assured, if I come home in one piece, it might solely be the result of this woman’s continual caring for me. She loves me, just like my mother. Katya, my best friend. She is the best of all. She is my mother, my father, my brother, and my sister. She knows me better than the rest. We laugh. Always. For days, we have been placing bets regarding whether or not it will snow… I now owe her $100, my car, and my computer, and she has to go to St. Peterburg with me before I leave. She wants to learn English; I suck at Russian; we are tutoring each other once a week; it has proven to be very fruitful. However, I have a problem. Kat can tell when I don’t understand something… just by looking at my face. It presents problems in public setting when I am trying to riff (i.e. pretend like I understand, hoping that the next bit will pull the entire meaning together). I hate it. After I have feigned like I understood, depending on the audience, she either laughs and says, “Look at her! She does not understand what you said! Colleen, what does x word mean?! Tell me in English (despite the fact that she will not know what the word is in English)!” or she leans over quietly and restates something in a way that she knows I will understand. I hate it, and I love it. She can tell exactly what word I didn’t know. Astonishing.

My family is perfect.

The water is not potable here in lovely Mother Russia. We boil and then we filter. Every day, I boil and filter. I hiked the Grand Canyon with my mom when I was twelve. That same Pur water filter that is stored in a little sack filters my Russian water. It pumps… sort of like a bike pump. I pumped my water in the same fashion when I was here last summer. I did not love it then. I do not love it now. Yet, I am sure that I will look back on it fondly.

I walk to work, twenty-five minutes each way. This is one of my favorite times of the day. I love walking. Typically, at home, I prefer the hiking type, but I will take what I can get. It clears my head. I think, I watch, I listen.

Some observations: Bus ladies. I cannot imagine the crowd of unemployed if Russia’s buses undergo some technical advancements, or someone realizes how inefficient the presence of these individuals is. What is a bus lady, you ask? She is the lady that walks around the bus collecting our 7RUB. Upon receipt, she tears off a bus ticket, places it in your waiting hand, and moves on to the next passenger. The bus ladies are fantastic. They each have a little area set up at the front of their bus, a nice table with tablecloth, a few personal items, and a specially padded seat. It would make more sense to pay her as you walk in the front door, but no. The front door doesn’t open! Ever. You enter through the door in the middle. She will find you. You cannot hide… regardless of the crowd in said bus. The bus lady knows all, and she is not to be reckoned with.

Skinny people. Russia has so many skinny people. It certainly has its fair share of plump babushkas and dyedushkas, but Russia is not a country of fat people. America, we are fat. It is time to gain some prospective and put down the food. Seriously. I was not uninformed before, but it is shocking how black and white things can become when the coin is flipped. Speaking of skinny, I was told today that I am skinny. I would like to say, I have never in my entire life been called skinny.

Clean cars. Dirty cars. Russia is dirty. It is very dirty. The typical person here cannot afford a car. Thus, those that own cars take quite a bit of care to keep said car clean. It has been raining for days here. Rain makes the dirty dirtier. The cars are filthy! Still, every day, when I come home from work, in the dark, people are washing their cars. They will be filthy again tomorrow, but still they wash. You have never seen anything like it.

Bee glue. I slashed my knee open. It got infected. Bee glue may have saved my life. The story:

I was getting into the shower the other day. My wall is not what you might call well-finished. Upon hiking up my leg to get into the tub (which is much higher than the typical tub in the states), my knee encountered the edge of said unfinished wall.

door frame, meets concrete wall, meets tile, meets tub...

Now, you see. It was not good. Blood gushed. In the shower, I thought to myself. “Wow. That is bad. I totally need stitches. If I were home, I would totally get stitches. I am not getting stitches here.” After the gushing, it bled. It bled for eight hours. And then, two days later, it was infected. Smell and all.

soft tissue. infection.

This was not so good. The triple antibiotic ointment came out in force. The infection subsided. However, there was a problem. If I let it “air out,” as is necessary for it to dry and heal, the infection would return. This went on for days. And so, Monday, I elicited the help of my family. Katya carted me and my gimp leg off to Romanovskaya (founded 1672) where, I was told, I would be fed borsch and her mom would “make everything better.” And well, it was true.

Seeing the problem, Kat’s mom scalded me for not coming sooner and hurried off to get the necessary medical supplies. Upon her return she handed me what looked like a hard piece of poop (I am sorry, that is what it looked like) and told me to rub it in my hands until it got soft, and once it was soft to shape it appropriately and put it on my knee. I was terrified, but not wanting to be rude, I did as instructed. As soon as we left, in horror, I said to Katya, “What is on my knee?!” She said simply, “Propolis.” I said, “What?! What is that?!” After searching my dictionary, she pointed to a word and said, “It has to do with that.” The word, bee.

It is magical! Propolis is amazing. Although, Alla informed me today that it is mashed up bee carcasses (only the bottom half) mixed with bees’ wax, upon Googling, “russia beeswax remedy” my brilliant and fantastic friend, Erin Molnar, discovered all that one might ever want to know about propolis. And let me tell you, it is fantastic! According to these guys, it is “made by bees collecting sap from the buds of plants or the bucks of trees and mixing it with a secretion from the pharyngeal glands in their heads to form bee glue, a dark resinous substance also known as propolis.”

it looks like this.

The moral of the story. This crazy Russian folk remedy has saved my leg from certain amputation! Now, just a day later, my knee itches (a sure sign of healing), and it looks like this…

knee minus infection.

Epilogue. The point. (1) Don’t knock it til you try it… maybe a shot of vodka with every meal was more legit than we originally thought. (2) My family is taking good care of me. Rest assured that I will return to the U.S. with all limbs intact. (3) Russia is fantastic; you really should pay us a visit.

my job, in the shell of a nut…

Please, allow me to tell you a little story. It is the story of how I got here and what I am doing…

I graduated in May with degrees in international relations and political science. Due to the combination of my life being too much for me to handle at the time and my being totally overwhelmed with graduate school options, I did not apply to begin a masters program this fall (as I had originally planned). Thus, I had what those in Europe like to call, “a gap year” on my hands For several reasons, I decided that I wanted to spend my year of gap-i-ness in Russia. First and foremost, I am in love with everything that is Russia. Secondly, I want to speak Russian fantastically, and well, I don’t. So, spending a year here seemed like a good approach to improving my language skills. Third, I am elbows deep in research (my pseudo-thesis at Kent, titled, The Problem of Development: Challenging the Conceptualization of Growth, bases its argument on a case study of Russia), which I hope to base my graduate thesis on, that would be furthered significantly by spending an extended period of time in Russia. Forth, given the field that I want to go into, time abroad AND working for an NGO (non-governmental organization) will look pretty dandy on my resume. Finally, there was no way on God’s green earth that I was going to spend a year in Akron, Ohio doing nothing!

After months of tremendous frustration, the opening and closing of countless doors, an offer from INTERPOL that I declined because I was holding my breath for this position, I was handed the opportunity of a lifetime. After a rigorous, pins-and-needles sort of interview process that took far longer than I would have liked, I secured a lovely long-term internship with HOPE International, and here I am in the beautiful, scenic, and luxurious Voldodonsk, Russia. The rest is just details… which I would typically not share, but Diana asked, so I will. Knowing of my interests and hopes to work for an NGO, a friend of my dad’s asked for and passed my resume on to someone at HOPE. They called me. I interviewed with various peoples of various positions. Interestingly enough, it was not the political science or international relations degrees, my knowledge of micro-finance, or my desire to work for an NGO that got me the job. I am here because I have business experience, I know how to use Excel, and I can speak Russian.

HOPE International,* Надежда (that is “Nadyezhda,” I like the Russian better), is an international micro-finance development non-governmental organization (NGO). We have offices in fourteen lesser-developed and newly industrializing countries. We specialize in a sort of grassroots development that provides small loans to individuals or groups of people that cannot get bank loans (wether it be because no banks exist in their regions, or because they do not have the collateral necessary). These loans are typically used to finance the establishment, continuation, or improvement of small businesses. While here, I have been assigned the task of implementing  a micro-finance institution (MFI) organization and analysis tool called FRAME that is becoming an international standard for MFI management . HOPE has been working to set up this program in all of their offices but has faced an issue with Russia because no one in either office speaks English.

I work Monday through Friday, nine to five. I have my own little desk, and I love it. My work is all things. It is intellectually stimulating; it is challenging; it is dull and boring; it is frustrating; it is rewarding; and it makes me think. The people that I work with are endlessly fantastic. We laugh; we cry; we share frustration; we grapple with baffling injustice; we love; and we are changing peoples’ lives. On a more microscopic level, every day, all day I do one of two things. I organize, crunch, or analyze financial data in Excel spreadsheets that I or someone else has created or in FRAME (which I am teaching myself how to use through it all). Or, I work on translating the FRAME Tool, which is in English, into Russian so that I can eventually teach staff in my office how to use it. Oh, and I speak Russian, all the time, which depending on the day, it quite a project in an of itself.

It is almost unbelievable how fulfilled I feel here. It is so much more than I could have drawn up for myself. One day, I will finish graduate school and move on to what I imagine to be fantastic things. I will be a high ranking diplomat, Commissioner for the United Nations, or running an NGO. I will be fighting tooth and nail for the little guy. I will be changing the world. Until then, I am fighting to change this little world that I exist in now. If I can return to the States having changed one person’s life, I will have done something great.

*HOPE International is far more expansive than I have outlined here. Given my audience, and the specifics of my job, I focused only on one element of the whole.

cultural relativism: my search for an answer…

As you likely know, I was a double major in university. I have degrees in international relations and political science. Thus, I have spent many an hour debating questions that have no answer and in many regards, I look at life through the lenses of these seemingly answerless questions. Today’s question: cultural relativity (CR). For those of you who are less well versed in international relations theory, cultural relativism is a principle which suggests that an individuals’ approach to life, actions, and decisions be understood by her own culture. In this regard, we are challenged to judge what is “right” or “wrong” based on some prospective for and sensitivity to the culture in question. Two examples: Female genital mutilation (FGM) is acceptable because the culture of a woman undergoing FGM says that it is necessary for an individual’s passage into womanhood; or, Muslims in France should be allowed to wear traditional garb as called for by their religious beliefs (i.e. head coverings) because their cultural foundations demand it — this example can also be flipped to argue the opposite side.

Since my arrival in Russia, particularly in Volgodonsk, I have been constantly challenged by the question of cultural relativism. Generally speaking, I find myself in the middle of the road on this issue. If you attempted to ask me to excuse FGM because a woman’s culture says I should, I would endlessly argue otherwise. If you asked me to understand the French government’s ban on religious garb or paraphernalia in public because such dress goes against French cultural norms, I would fight tooth and nail for you to grasp how absurd I believe this to be. I love cultural relativism. I hate cultural relativism.

Last summer, while living in St. Petersburg, I shaved my head; when I lived in Moscow, I sported a mohawk. Presenting myself in this sort of way is not what one might consider to be typical behavior of a Russian woman. However, I was a student, and with my final year of college looming before me, I wanted to take advantage of one last opportunity to free myself of this thing that I view to be so constricting, stereotypical, and a semi-misogynistic demand of society before I had to enter the “real world.” Though I have never seen a woman in Russia with a mohawk, I have seen many with shaved heads (they are much more fashion forward than we are in the states). Hence, I was not particularly shocking to most and I went unnoticed here far more frequently than at home. Well, that was then, and this is now. We are not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

It seems and I am becoming increasingly more convinced that I am living in Conservative City, Russia. In some regards, I love this, and in others, I struggle. The crux of my struggle — skirts. I hate skirts. I have hated skirts since I was six. I wore a skirt every day in junior high and high school. I am entirely over skirts. Why do I have to wear a skirt to look nice? Why do I have to wear a skirt to appear fully feminine? Why do I have to wear a skirt to be a woman? I do not understand?! I think that it is just lovely if you like skirts, but I don’t want to. I want to be done with skirts. Sadly, there are certain happenings here in Volgodonsk that require that I wear a skirt. And so, I have garnered the skirt and the nylons. In fact, since I have been here, I have worn a skirt more than I had in the last three years… combined.

Over the last week or so, my selves have been arguing. Should I or should I not rock the boat? To wear, or to not wear a skirt, that is the question. I have no answer. Despite the rebel that exists naturally within me, my parents raised me to be respectful. Skirt, 1. I strongly believe that it is archaic and absurd that a woman wear a skirt just because she is a woman. Colleen, 1. Everyone else is doing it. Skirt, 2. Since when do I do something just because everyone else is doing it? Colleen, 2. Being here, the work that I am doing, I stand as a representative of HOPE International… ruffling feathers is probably not a good idea. Skirt, 3. In life, wherever I go, I am representing myself, and in the end, all I have is me… compromising self seems unacceptable. Colleen, 3. I want to make a difference. I want to change the world. Can I do this while simultaneously pissing people off? Skirt, 4. How much of a difference can I make if I cannot be me, and if said culture I hoped to make a difference in demanded that I compromise to the extreme, would I do it, no. Is this really any different? Colleen, 4. Russian women in Volgodonsk wear skirts; it is their culture (cultural relativism), deal with it. Skirt, 5. I am an American, this is not my culture, and as much as I try to mesh with everything that is Russia and its culture, I will still always be a foreigner (cultural relativism). Colleen, 5.

And, we have a tie. Every time.

Today, and probably tomorrow, in my apparent gridlock, I will error on the side of sensitivity. As much as I hate it, I will continue to wear my lovely skirt and nylons. I will attempt to silence that headstrong voice within me that so fervently dislikes the man, and wear the womanly garments that I so strongly abhor. I will tuck away my feminist side. I will do my best to embrace the little girl who, every now and again, liked to play Barbies with my sister in leu of playing in the woods with my brothers.

the road.

Just in case you missed the memo, I have water, hot and cold. The cold returned Thursday morning and the hot on Friday. My joy was indescribable. I now have jugs of water in storage. I will never again be unprepared.

In more recent news, I went on a road trip! In an attempt to flip my lovely waterless town the bird, just as the water returned, I got out of dodge. Katya and I hopped a marshutka  (a sort of one route van-bus) and took off for the big city. Though my trip to Rostov and Taganrog was delightful (I saw the Sea of Azov and Chekhov’s birthplace.), I will not bore you with the mundane details. Instead, I will tell you a tale of life on the road…

The roads here in Russia are delightful, paved and everything. However, it would seem that there is some sort of design flaw. This flaw exists in two regards. It is first apparent in the quality of the road’s level. There are waves and ginormous potholes. Really, ginormous. The plus side is that the drivers seem to know the potholes like the back of their hands, thus allowing them to manuver around them. The second issue is in regard to Russia’s bridge to road, road to bridge connection. Think speed bumps. Big ones. The combination of these two elements makes for quite an exciting ride! Add in the high speeds that the typical Russian driver seems to employ, and  we are talking near constant removal of rear end from seat and endless jostling.

I am not sure if it is the road conditions, or the driving conditions, or both, but it would seem that many die on the road here in Russia. In the States, it is not uncommon to occasionationally see some sort of marker where someone died in an accident. They are everywhere here. Some are simple. Most are not. The typical death marker had an actual sort of grave stone with a likeness of the individual or individuals who died there. Some had a bumper metal panel from the car. One had a motorcycle half buried next to the marker. There were hundreds.

On a lighter note… not wearing a seatbelt in the front seat is now illegal (and enforced) in Russia. Every time I have gotten in the front seat of a vehicle, this point has been stressed to me. However, the effectiveness of the seatbelt does not seem to be a tremendous concern. Anya and I were seated in the front of our marshutka as five of us kids went to Rostov yesterday to pay a visit to Ikea and the megamall. Before our departure, the driver (we will call him Boris) opened my door to assure that our seatbelt situation was in order. There was one belt of the typical shoulder belt sort that was to be pulled from the door across both passengers, and well, it seemed as though it had been over-pulled. It no longer retracted and there was no where to ‘click it.’ Boris saw that we had set the belt across our laps and exclaimed with delight, “excellent!” We explained that it did not work. Boris informed us that this was “normal.” Anya giggled, and said “Only in Russia. Normal.” Boris then filled the driver’s seat and set his seatbelt across his lap, and off we went to Rostov. Priceless.

I woke up to snow this morning, and they were not lying when they told you that Russia is cold.

First, it got cold, then they turned off the water…

I have no water. Volgodonsk has no water. Word on the street is that this will continue to be the case for seven days. 7 days, zero water.

Yesterday morning I woke up to find that I had no cold water. This was almost amusing as last year, when I was living in Moscow, I had no hot water for a month. Talking about renting an apartment in Russia, it had become a running joke that I would not go without hotwater or a washing machine (which I lacked for 6 weeks in Petersburg), thus having no cold water was, well, funny. Then, I took a shower and discovered that it is far worse to have no hot water than having no cold water, as albeit uncomfortable, showering is possible, while bathing in scalding hot water is nigh impossible. After getting the essentials through the wash cycle, I ran off to work in the blistering cold.

Upon reaching work and mentioning that I awoke to no cold water, I was informed that the whole city was without cold water. Strange, we all thought, but oh well, it will be back in a day or two. No big deal, right? The only sizable issue with lacking cold water is that the toilets don’t flush, but this is easily fixed with a bucket of water and what I like to call the forced flush. I remained unphased.

Sometime between nine and the start of the morning bathroom breaks, bad things happened. First, ALL of Volgodonsk’s water went away, then they locked the toilet in our office building. As unfortunate as not having water was, I was still wearing my, oh well, it will be back soon enough attitude. I was more concerned with the lack of toilet.  But in our pinch, the lot of us ladies ran over to Ira’s apartment, which is right next door, to use her lieu.

Then, there was bad news. We were informed that Volgondonsk would not have water for 3-4 days. Panic. I was sent home from work to assure that I could purchase enough water to last the duration. People ran about like chickens lacking heads. It was rather fantastic to watch. So, I ran to the gipermarkyet (supermarket) and purchased the third to last case of water that they had in the whole place. That is right, I bought six liters of lemon flavored gassy water! I felt confident that all would be well. I was at least not going to die of thirst.

This morning, I was told that we will not have water for 7 days. Sigh. There is some sort of seaweed blockage where the water from the reservoir enters the water main. I am peeing in a recycled 5 liter water jug. You don’t even want to know about the poop, but it is ingenious! My goal, a smell free apartment.

The Russians are responding in quite the fashion. Sadly, it would seem that the forced flush is something that Russians are quite akin to, thus, they are employing it. However, they only use it when the number two is happening. The smell, it is not good. There is no showering. The smell… yeah. There is a general sense of panic across the city, people running all about looking for water. I secured two 5 liter jugs today. In my 20 minute walk home from work, I was stopped by 6 people to ask me where I got it and how much it cost. That is right, free market. Bottled water prices have skyrocketed, and they are shipping it en masse.

My favorite part: At work this morning, when we were talking in astonishment about a lack of water for 7 days, Alla asked me if this has ever happened at home. I said no, never. Ira then commented that she talked to her sister who lives in Spain last night and she said that it has never happened there either. My boss, Tatiana, worked in our office today because of remodeling being done on hers. She and Alla were talking about the topic at hand; Alla told her what I said this morning, that it would not likely happen in the states and that if it did, it would be catastrophic and chaotic. Tatiana went into the most beautiful rant I have seen in some time. It went something like this, “It should be here too (catastrophic and chaotic)! Things like this dont happen in other places, only Russia, not in Spain, or Germany, or Amercia, just here. and it happens because people are okay with it happening. It is not okay!”

I have done days worth of research about Russia. I have taken more classes than I can count, and I want more than anything to sit here and watch it work out of its issues, to become a balanced, well-functioning, and fantastic place in a regard that can be seen by more than those who have simply fallen in love with its hidden treasures. I believe that for a place to change, the people must demand it. Russia is a challenge in that so many of the people that demand change have been in the past and continue to be put down by the man. Thus, the majority of the populace has keeps quiet. It was beautiful to see this woman, in her late fifties, a former Soviet engineer, who still carries her USSR passport cover, become so impassioned about having no water. Change is possible.

Here I sit, in this lovely town in southeastern Russia, witness to an event that has never happened. I will pee into my jug and keep my poop bags handy as long as necessary. I will watch, and I will learn. And my apartment will not smell when it is all over.

Then October 25th happened…

… and it was cold in Volgodonsk, but there were no gnats!

So, next week is daylight savings, right? Right. Wrong. Today, was daylight savings. That is right, daylight savings happens in Russia one week earlier than in the States! No, I am not kidding. My life, for seven short days, is taking place seven hours before yours, rather than the standard eight. Your head is exploding. I know. (You don’t even want to begin to imagine the conversation that happened to try to explain to me that daylight savings was happening last night).

Today’s highlights (besides the mind-blowing news above) are as follows: Cold. Walk. Stink. Pictures. Pinapple. Maple.

Cold. It was so cold today. Beth Johnson informs me that 10 degrees Celsius really is not very cold, but that did not seem to be the case. I think that there were several problems. 1. I was running about in short sleeves yesterday. It was hot and gnatty. 2. The wind was painful. It was biting cold… that kind of cold that makes your eyes water and your nose burn. 3. It was dark when I woke up. The sun didn’t come out until after ten, and it tucked itself away before 12:30. Gloom.

Walk. I walked for three hours this morning. It was good. I needed it. I had yet to explore the city beyond my route to work and a jaunt yesterday with Ira and her lovely kids (Alena and Andrei), yesterday, to Park Pobyedi. Further, I was feeling a bit sad. I prefer nature and a solid hike, but walking in solitude does wonders for my inner self. Sadly, I found that I had not misjudged my new home. It is not much to write home about. It is dirty and underdeveloped. That said, I find that there is something very dear and unexplainably nice about it.

Stink. I found the Volgodon Reservoir. Said body of water, which connects the great Volgo and Don Rivers, is the reason that this town exists. Stalin began the Reservoir project post-World War II and with it developed this fantastic Russian burg. Sadly, our lovely body of water stinks. I would describe it as a sort of oily, algae, dead fish, rotten animal sort of smell. Needless to say, gross.

Pictures. I was kidnapped today. Marina, Alyosha’s wife, and her two friends, Olye and Pasha (married), took me on a joy ride. We drove about 40 minutes out of Volgodonsk to a small ancient town called Tsimlyansk. Here we found the fantastically lovely and appropriately natural Tsimlyanckoye Sea. Water (green and polluted beyond what I have ever seen), sand, cliffs, and an atomic power station. The nature and joy ride were fantastic, but the pictures were the best part. Russians like pictures, and above all, they like posing for pictures. For nearly an hour, we wandered about posing. Well, Marina posed, I mocked. It was priceless.

Pineapple. There was a wedding in Volgodonsk this morning. I did not attend. Post-joy ride, I was not released from my kidnapping. I was informed that we were going to the reception. I protested, saying that I was totally inappropriately dressed. Marina said, “You are fine. You are going.” I went. It was perfect. I had pineapple soda. Really.

Maple. Life for the typical Russian, in my opinion is far more difficult that the typical American. They have less, they make less, and they work harder to get what they have. Everything is more work. I have never seen such pure happiness as I saw this afternoon. Family, close friends, and the token American gathered to celebrate the union of Katya and Kolya. They laughed, sang, and had bride v. groom competitions. There was more food than I had ever seen, all homemade by a massive pack of babushkas. My favorite part, the presents. Every person came with some sort of gift in hand. And every person stood before the bride, groom and crowd to present their gift and blessing to the couple. Its beauty and the joy that it brought was indescribable. And then, there was cake with maple flavored frosting. Fantastic.

Today was endlessly lovely. I was feeling sad coming into it; some things happened at home this week that were making my heart feel quite heavy, and I was feeling a desperate need for some alone time. I don’t know how it is that one can go through life, moving from here to there, and be blessed to find love regardless of where they are. I am in the middle of nowhere, its impossible to get to Russia, and I feel loved and accepted. Because of this, for now, I can call Volgodonsk home.

Pertinent Information…

Hello, all! Here I sit, in the comfort of my own home, surfing the interwebs! Rest at ease, we now know that in this lovely city of nearly 200,000 fantastic Russians and one American, which is entirely lacking potable water, it is possible to have the internets delivered right to your doorstep. Amazing.

My head swims with all that goes on, and I find that I don’t know where to begin. Setting aside some minor and major hiccups, I can tell you that I could not be happier here. I have begun to settle in at work; I have moved into and find that I love my apartment; the world around me is beginning to feel familiar; all is well. At the same time, I find that life does not stop in the States while I am here in Russia. Terrible things happen, there is loss and sorrow, and I remain absent. I knew that this was something that I might have to deal with, but I never could have imagined how difficult it would be. I am sorry that I am not there, but I know that I need to be here. And so, I will be here.

On a lighter note… the things that will make you smile:

Gnats. Or, if you prefer, комар. They are everywhere, big clouds of them, and frankly, they are far more bothersome than gnats in the States. Here in Russia, they are friendly gnats, i.e. they want to spend all of the quality time with you that they can, bonding, if you will. Imagine this scenario: Colleen walking down the street in her typical attire (jeans, band t-shirt, track jacket and green sneakers) with Alyosha in his lovely pinstripe suit. Walking, walking. Colleen inadvertantly moseys through a cloud of комар and is entirely frazzled. They are in the mouth, in the eyes, and require that both parties stop, track jacket removed for a shake-off, walking continues. Walking, walking. Alyosha stumbles accidentally through a cloud of gnats. Repeat the above. They are terribly disrupting. How are we to function under such conditions?!

Toilets. (Be warned, this might be a bit crass. Skip to post-toilet section  now if you are terribly polite.)

I love Russian toilets… everything about them! When I lived in St. Petersburg last summer, I was introduced to a very special thing… the toilet with the poop shelf (which I am told is a German invention)! Said toilet is a sort of reverse version of the toilet that us United States-ians deal with. The entrance to the plumbing is in the front, the slant (or in this case, large shelf) leading to it is in the back. Hence, we call it the poop shelf (I leave the rest to your imagination). And for the big news… my apartment has a poop shelf toilet! It makes me smile almost every time I use it!

Now for the bad news re: toilets… there is no flushing of toilet paper in this lovely country (unless you are using a fancy new toilet). It is sad. That said, it is strange how quickly I readjusted to this practice. And finally, the work toilet… I am endlessly thankful that the toilet exists, but I wish that it had a toilet seat! Public toilets in establishments such as this (universities, offices (my entire floor shares one toilet — approx. 40 people), churches, etc.) seem to always lack toilet seats! I am all about hovering, but the hover poop. Not nice. I did not miss it.

Quickly.

My apartment key is fantastic. Almost everything about my apartment is fantastic. One problem. Запах. Or, if you prefer, smell. There is a certain section of my carpet that has a not so nice smell. I mean really not so nice. I have washed it four times now, and it only seems to be getting worse. I have even tried two different detergents, the latter of which I am told is the “best American soap that Russia has to offer”! Ira (that is “Eera”) informed me today that if the “Vanish” (said fantastic United States-ian detergent) didn’t work, we would likely have to pull up the carpet. Sigh. The “Vanish” did not work. … My washing machine is beautiful. I have a microwave, an iron, complete with ironing board, a vacuum, and hot water!

Life could not be better.

From the City on the Volga and the Don…

I am here! I am in one piece, and I have all of my luggage! And I was just now handed the keys to my apartment!

Though I am here, I am entirely unsettled. However I am doing well and in good spirits. The last two nights I have been staying with a lovely old Russian couple called Shtyefan – Luba and Vladimir. They are perfect Russians, a plethora of gold teeth and all!

Volgodonsk is about the most unappealing city that I have ever been to. The entire city reminds me of the neighborhood that I lived in in Moscow, which was about the worst that you could find, minus nice trees, grass, and any sort of character. I might do well to describe this place as a depiction of Soviet Russia at its best. Thus far, I have seen no banks (only two atm’s) and no restaurants. However, I have seen three movie theaters, which is bizarre.

All of those negatives said, here are the positives. The people that I will be working with seem for the most part fantastic. These fantastic peoples include, Aleksei (Alyosha), Katya, Irina, Olga, and Tatiana (who is the director, with a separate office). My apartment will do quite nicely. It is far from fantastic given our standards in the States, but is quite nice for here. I am not a particularly picky kids, so I am happy. Above all, I am quite pleased that it has a washing machine! There is also a market nearby and I can walk to work. As far as I am concerned, delightful!

All in all, I am well, and doing my best to roll with the punches (which is a requirement to survive here). Living out of a suitcase is not my idea of a good time, so I will likely feel quite at ease once I am settled into my own place and feeling more familiar with my surroundings. I am missing home, but am not close to falling apart. All is well.

I will leave you with this: Don’t ever try to learn Russian. It is hard. Also, I wore a skirt and nylons ALL DAY yesterday!

Fridays in Russia…

… are different than other days. Friday marks the end of the week, and not so unlike many other cultures, a halt to the daily grind that comes with a two day hiatus from what we here call, работа (work). Friday really is a beautiful day. However, all that is today requires that I retract my previous statement regarding the quantity of peoples walking down the streets with what we in the states call an “open container.” I was wrong. There are not any fewer peoples drinking on the streets, they were just waiting for the weekend, when it is more socially acceptable to let one’s hair down.

It would seem that I also need to clarify another matter. The title of my blog is “Back in the U.S.S.R.” and I referenced my being in the USSR several times in my last post. Such referencing and the title are a play on words. I understand that the USSR no longer exists. I, in fact, believe this to be a good thing. Further, the title of this blog was stolen from a Beatles song… “Back in the U.S.S.R. You don’t know how lucky you are, boy. Back in the U.S.S.R., yeah. … etc.” It is not my intention to be abrasive or offensive in any way in my use of this terminology. In particular, I am not trying to make light of abuses that so many suffered under the Soviet regime. Thank you.

Now that that is all cleared up, I have some things to say. I had a lovely day, seeing old and new. I would first like to note some tid bits, then I will get into the nitty gritty…

Hold the phone, Moscow now has a Синнибон! That is right, a Cinnabun! And it is not in a mall! It is right there waiting for you when you walk out of the Pushkinskaya metro station, or in my case, when you walk up the lane on the return from Patriarch’s Pond. It has all sorts of smells wafting about, all of which are competing quite well with the scents of Moscow.

Russia has the most bizarre crows. Have you ever seen them? They are scary. They were scary in 2001. They were scary in 2008, and they are still scary in 2009. In fact, they might be even more scary in 2009. One almost made me jump out of my skin today. Not kidding. Google image search “Russian crow,” and you will begin to understand. First of all, they are far bigger than anything I have ever seen, anywhere. They also have that heavy-ish gray coat over their standard black. Further, they are bushy. They are also quite loud (really). Finally, their eyes are crazy black. Hence, they are scary and I entirely freaked out by them.

I have only seen one Lada since I have been here.

Now for the serious business: I did some intense thinking about the contrasts of Russia today. I wrote in my journal, “I have never seen and I question the existence of a place and people of such beauty and harshness. They love and hate, smile and frown, live in grandeur and squalor to such remarkable extremes. They take the best and the worst and they truck on through life like no other.” Sadly, this often involves calloused uncaring for the individual to their left and right. After reflecting extensively and writing quite a bit more on this matter, I walked.

On said walk, I passed a Lamborghini Murcielago, which costs between $350,000 and $390,000. While this is not common, it is not unusual to see such fanciness in Moscow. Thinking about all of the peoples living here that live such lush lifestyles, my mind ran back to what it was that prompted the previous thinking about the contrasts of Russia. When I was walking into Patriarch’s Pond I saw a gent in a wheelchair. He had no legs and appeared to be severely developmentally disabled. The quality and cleanliness of his attire led me to believe that he was likely homeless. He had quite apparently soiled himself. It appeared as though someone had left him here in the park in an attempt to collect some money and would likely return at the end of the day to get him. The stark contrasts of Russia, beauty and harshness.

As sad as it is, this is why I love Russia. Such contrasts are beautiful in that they build a people that are tremendously dynamic, strong, and indescribably fantastic while they are simultaneously horrendous and unacceptable. These people have had to accept them, they have had to walk past them, seemingly uncaring, so that they themselves could survive.

So, here I am amidst a society that is starkly different from my own. I am here to do something good. I do not want to change these people, but I want to create a picture of something that might be better, so that they might understand that their contrasts do not always have to be so severe. I want to study these people, to understand this place, to possibly make a difference.

Moscow in the fall.

Well, here I am, back in the USSR, and well, it is cold. I have talked to several Moscovites about this matter and they assure me that this is really quite pleasant weather for this time of year. As it is snowing in St. Petersburg, I will role with that and hope that it does not snow in the next several days as they are telling me it will. Now, on to more important matters.

My arrival in Russia has solidified several things. I feel tremendously confident in my decision to come here, which up until this point I knew that I was making the right decision for myself, but I was rather, well, scared shitless. My Russian language is picking right back up (at an almost alarming rate), and I am feeling almost shockingly at ease. As you may well know, I had a tremendously difficult time readjusting to life back in the States after spending last summer here. Once I did finally settle back in, I continued to feel as though I had left something behind. I also suffered tremendously from a travel bug that did not seem to be alleviated by even the most fantastic trips. Big news… I think that I found that little piece of myself that I had lost. It may sound bizarre, but I think that that piece of me is Russia. I will likely leave it behind me each time that I depart. This builds a solid explanation for my obsession with all things Russian. Crazy?

Enough of that. I have much to say. Drawing all of these items together coherently will be impossible, so I am going to streamline:

• I flew direct from D.C. to Moscow. The flight was not full… I got two whole seats to myself! I think I slept approximately 7 of the 10 hours. It could not have been more fantastic. Really.
• Living (hostel) within walking distance of Red Square makes Moscow significantly less sucky in comparison to living 40 minutes metro ride away.
• Russia has a natural over abundance of birch and pine trees. In the summer time, from the train, this is rather amusing because everything rather looks the same. In the fall, it is fantastic in an amusing sort of way. From the plane, one looks down and sees either fields (very common in Russia) or trees (also very common). With the changing of fall colors, the birch go to a sort of yellow-orange, while the pines are still piney. Imagine the checker board that can be seen from the sky. It was brilliant.
• When one has a total of approximately 150lbs. in three bags of luggage, taking public transportation should not be attempted. I was thinking that I would be just fine. The backpack goes on my back. One bag has wheels, and the third can attach to the wheely guy. All set, right? Wrong. A 100lb. wheely guy is not user friendly. And while the Moscow metro is fantastic, I forgot about the flights of stairs coming out of the metro stations. Shoot me. I will never do that again. Although, I should note that it was still not as bad as the luggage debacle that took place last summer with the transit from Peter to Moscow.
• I love Baltika! I had not had Baltika 7 since I left Russia last August, and let me tell you, as I sit here drinking it, it is quite lovely. I think that the amusement and satisfaction that I find in popping the utensils free pop-top is one of my favorite things.
• Crab potato chips are just as good as I remembered them. No, I am not kidding. Potato chips are just better here and CRAB flavored?! They are amazing. (Don’t knock it til you try it.)
• Several things of note: fewer people seem to drink on the street these days – this may do quite a lot to curb my Saturday and Sunday morning drinking (kidding… sort of); I forgot how expensive produce is here – really, it is absurd; further, I forgot how not tasty produce is here; also, the CitiBank that was formerly located next to the MacDonald’s at Red Square has moved, and MacDonald’s now has a walk-up window for to-go orders – this really separates the dates from the non-dates, and yes, MacDonald’s remains a date hotspot.
• Lastly, I love Red Square at night. I cannot put into words exactly what it is that I like so much, but I want to sit pretzel style in the middle and just be.

All of that said, I would like my mother to know that upon her request, rather than taking a nap, I showered and ate some food. Even better, Mom, I had an apple too. See how I am taking care of myself. No need to worry.

So, here I am, in Moscow in the fall, and it is brilliant. At this point, being back in the USSR could not be any better.