Uncle!!

Enough already.

Uncle, stop it please, seriously, uncle. At some point last week I complained about the heat. Now, I’d give anything to have last week’s weather. Yesterday the temperature set a record high at 92 degrees Fahrenheit and today is supposed to be even higher. In a country known for it’s long winters and short mild summers, just how many buildings do you think are built with air conditioning? You can imagine what things are like. As I said last week, during the packing process I made the conscience decision to suffer through the rare 77-80 degree for the sake of being comfortable the other 90% of the time. Life is rough, and when your host mother won’t let you wash your own clothes, life is even worse. I only have 5 shirts with me, she won’t let me wash them, and I hate asking her to do it. Life is funky.

Elsewhere:

--I’m finding it really difficult to find the time and the inspiration to write, I’ll fluff with pictures.

--Yesterday, I rode a bicycle around town with some friends (yes, 92 degrees). It was pretty scary, Russians don’t exactly have the same mentality about cyclists that most Bloomingtonians do.

--Yesterday while taking a break from cycling we were sitting along the Volga when all of the sudden a mussel landed in my lap. Maybe they heard some English, maybe the didn’t like the way I looked, maybe it was a one in a million chuck from the river bank, or maybe that was one strong muscle (get it?). Either way it wasn’t very nice.

--I’m going to Moscow on Saturday. Did I mention that?

Go Blue!

Saturday turned out to be a lovely day. I spent the whole day and night enjoying the city day festivities and managed to come out unscathed. (Unless you count the sunburn and dehydration)










I spent Sunday wondering around the ancient city of RostovVeliky with Natasha, A native Rostovian. I can’t even attempt to describe the feelings that overcame me so I’ll just show you some of the pictures.










This evening (Monday) my Russian Guides Olga and Anna (whom have made it their job to maximize and russify my last 10 days in Russia) decided that I needed to eat at a Traktor (A Traditional Russian Tourist Trap) We went to the Traktor, I asked them to order something good and Russian and as usual I got some sort of fried meat with potatoes. Far more interesting than the food was the clientele. A few minutes after we sat down, 3 men and a woman entered the restaurant and sat behind us. After a while I noticed they were speaking English, not Brittish English but American English. (I have a better chance communicating in Russian with a Britt) My guides wanted to hear them speak and forced me to ask them were they were from, so I did. Turns out they’re from Detroit and they work for some automobile paint manufacturer who is setting up shop in the region. I told them I was from Bloomington, in unison they replied; “Go Blue.” Small world.After the Traktor while walking along the Volga receiving my Phonetics lesson, we stopped at one of the many cafes to buy some beer (trust me it helps with the evil ля ле еc... Standing in front of us was a drunk young Russian male (nothing strange there), maybe it was my accent or maybe he heard some English but he turned to us and said, “Where are you from? America? You don’t look like a foreigner but you are. Aren’t you?” Great, here we go again. “I don’t understand I said.” He replied with extremely fast and slurred speech, the only thing I could pick out was “Russia”. He offered me his hand. I shook it and then he left. My guide’s started laughing, I asked for a translation; “He says he looked at you and that you didn’t look at him like a Russian does or like a foreigner does. He says when Russian men look at other Russian men they size each other up. When he sees foreigners they look nervous and uncomfortable. He said that you didn’t size him up but you didn’t look scared, you looked relaxed. He says I welcome you to my country, to Russia. But now I need to sit down.”

That’s when it hit me. That’s when I realized just what this time has done to me. I would venture to say that no one has ever considered me a relaxed or confident person. In fact I would say I’m known for my fragile nerves and lack of confidence, they’re my most overwhelming personality traits. Last August, when I started experiencing daily severe back pain because of the Chiari, my mind took a bad turn. The looming surgery overtook my psyche. After the surgery I didn’t feel much better, I still had daily pain and just seemed to exist in a perpetual rut that I couldn’t climb out of. After about a week in Russia things began to change, I began to feel differently. Sure, I’m still in pain everyday physically but something is different. Until now I couldn’t explain it, but I think the drunk Russian stranger just did.

Wind of Change

Perhaps I should start with last night. My friend Ear, or Uxho as he prefers has spent the last 8 months working as an English Language Teacher at the Unicorn English Language Center in Yaroslavl. As you may have read he is leaving on Sunday and heading back to Finland after 10 months in Yaroslavl. Last night the Unicorn Singing Club arranged a little going away party for Ear. We spent the night drinking champagne and singing English songs. The clubs repertoire ranged from Queen and Scorpion to Roy Orbison and Elvis. Scorpion’s “Wind of Change” really brought down the house and even brought out a few tears. Apparently the song and Scorpion enjoyed a re-birth around the fall of the Soviet Union, and a whole generation of Russians has a special place in the heart for the German Rockers.
(“I followed the Moskva. Down to Gorky Park, Listening to the wind of change.”) After “Love Me Tender” the conversation turned to “Aura Lee” which subsequently led to a discussion of American Folk Songs and before I knew it, I brought the house down with my signature number’s “Lop-eyed Gal” and “Old Mountain Dew.”

After the night wound down a few of the others decided that they needed to “play guide for the new American Friend tomorrow during city day.” So I met up with Ear, Olga and Anna to take in the festivities. We had a grandiose time. A naked child hit me with an inflatable hammer, I got a sunburn and Russian Special Forces stared me down while patting their billy-club against their hands. Most importantly I’ve been invited to go to Moscow next Saturday. Spending a month in Russia without visiting Moscow is something that would be difficult to live with, so I’m glad that’s been taken care of.

I’ve been in Russia for 17 days and I’m beginning to realize that there are people and things that I will greatly miss. I’ve assimilated, I’ve made friends and I’ve begun to see how I could have a life here. For the first time I’m looking at these next 11 days as days I have left until I have to leave and not as days until I can come home. Don’t get me wrong, I miss family, friends and Lubec (the 15 year old dog who barks at me if I breath just isn’t the same) and will be happy to be home, but I’ve carved out a life for myself here, and I will miss it.

Tomorrow I’m supposedly going to Rostov Veliky (wikipedia it) with Natasha and Svetlana so I’ll let everyone know how that goes. I’m also going with Ear to the train station to see him off and to buy tickets for Moscow next weekend.

Духан/I have no idea. (Дух = Spirit (s) but that's all I know)

Духан/I have no idea. (Дух = Spirit (s) but that's all I know)

Тhere is this little restaruant near the university called Духан it says «Central Aisian Cuisine» The guide they give to the Middlebury kids reccomends it as does Ear and every Russian I ask about it. Every day I walk by I'm tempted to stop in and try it but I'm usually so full from breakfast I'm afraid I'd make myself sick. Well today the stars allaigned. Irina had an early meeting this morning so Михайл and I were left to fend for ourselves. I had a banana and a croissant, I didn't have to eat a pound of salami and bread. What a revelation. So about 3 O'clock after I was done with classes I headed over for a taste of Central Aisia and the Caucasus. As usual, I didn't know exactly what I was ordering, being a Central Aisian restaurant I recognized less words than ususal. Aside from the words for, meat, potatos, onions and bread the only other words I reccognized were proper nouns, Tashkent, Tibilisi, Azerbeijan, Uzbekistan (all the stans for that matter). In over my head I asked the waitress, what do you recommend? She points at the menu, I see the words meat and Armenia and we begin. A few minutes later she brings a rout-iron skillet(did I spell that right? Someone please tell me, usually I let my spellng mistakes go but this is driving me crazy) Inside the skillet I find some kind of meat (I'm guessing, or rather hoping it was chicken) with peppers, onions, tomatoes and some interesting spices. A sort of, Caucasian Fajita if you will, it was good only cost me 125 rubles (just shy of $5) and it was a welcome shift away from the Russian diet of fat and carbs.

Happy Birthday Yaro, Tommorow in Яарославль is День Города/City Day. Yaroslavl and its residents will be celebrating their cities 1,000th birthday with a slew of concerts and events across the metropolitan area. Right out side my apartment their holding the annual Volga regatta and down the street will be the «Concert to Celebrate Russia's Ethnic Minority». I don't know exactly what that means, but I'm hoping it's a concert of Tajik, Kyrgyz, Tuvan, Uzbek and so on music. Could be fun, so I'm deffinetly going to check that out among other things. Three of my teachers have given me explecit warnings to be extremely careful, not to speak English in public and especially not to be out after dark. They say it's just an excuse for people from the region to come to the city, get drunk and fight. However, one teacher has given me an assignment write a 1 page report an any city day event. Talk about mixed signals. As usual, I don't know how my internet access will be over the weekend, and Sunday I might be going to Rostov Veliky. (the ancient town about an hour south of the city) But tonight, I'm going to singing club I'll let you know how that goes.

Update:
--Last night at singing club we ended the night(or should I say morning) with the Scorpions' "Winds of Change" That is all I will say for now, full update later. The picture is of the final verse of the Scorpions song.

--As I mentioned earlier today is City Day in Yaro, This morning at 7 A.M. my octagenarian host parents woke me up to drink champagne. I'm meeting some Russians at the Lenin Statue on Red Square at 10:00. We'll see how this go.

Husker Du and Tyler too

Sorry I wasn’t able to post anything yesterday. I’ve been incredibly busy with class and the extreme amount of homework.

It seems every time I meet a Russian and they find out I’m an American their first impulse is to burst out in song. Insert Music being the International Language cliche here:

Tuesday, the drunk at the kvas stand immediately broke into multiple versus of “Yesterday.” Coincidently, I saw him again today near the kvas stand. He seemed sober, thankfully I saw him and he didn’t see me. Last night we had a little get together for Ear that involved myself, Ear, his friend Vladimir and a bottle of Finnish Vodka. (Yes I’m aware of the fact that I am in Russia) Where are you from? I’m from America. Suddenly Vladimir broke out in to song “Flowers on the wall, they don’t bother me at all, smoking cigarettes and watching Captain Kangaroo.” (The Everly Brothers I believe) Давай Давай, Давай and we're off. After we sang all we could remember it was on to Roy Orbison's «Crying» I tried to explain the popular theory that Roy Orbison is actualy an extra-terrestial but that didn't work so well. No human being can produce those sounds. After «Crying» it was on to «Only the Lonely» I tried explaining the Traveling Wilbury's but I guess Jeff Lynn and Tom Petty don't have quite the same international name recognition as Bob Dylan and Roy Orbison. From Roy Orbison we made the logical jump to Pavement (Shady Lane) and Wilco (Kamera), your guess is as good as mine, I unfortunately couldn't help with the Husker Du. After the songs, Vladimir insisted I meet his Friends, of we went and apparently I agreed to go the soccer match next wednesday with some local hooligans. Interesting

Elsewhere:
--My limited knowledge of European fashion is gathered mainly from soccer highlights, but I thought the euro fashion-mullet was a thing of the past. I mean, Beckham ditched his at least two years ago right? Was it before or after the samurai? Regardless, the Russian's apparently didn't get the memo. On a daily basis I see some of the best mullets on the planet, it makes me kind of homesick.

--I've been invited to join the singing club at the Unicorn Language Center Friday night. All I know is to show up at 7 and be prepared to sing. Also Interesting.

I finally got those pictures of me in Kostroma. I’ve posted them so you don’t forget how pretty I am, as if you could. The one by the tree is sort of embarrassing, I tried to decline but it was impossible.

Yesterday

As I mentioned, it is hot. When the warm weather arrives in Russia, so does the Квас/Kvass (A delicous sort of fermented soda). The Квас/Kvass vendors come out of the woodwork like the seven-year locusts. On nearly every street corner someone has set up a stand, including the corner between the Ovcharov’s Apartment and the University, or my corner, as I like to call it. For the last five days I’ve walked past that Kvass wagon at least 10 times a day. As hot as it’s been the thought of enjoying a refreshing, cool glass of Kvass has consumed me. Every time I walk by I try to gather as much information as possible, in anticipation of the perfect chance. How much is it? In what quantities can you order it? What do most people usually order? Today after class I rounded the corner and the stand was deserted, only the vendor. Perfect, this is my chance. As I approach the stand someone came out from behind a bus and walked up to the tank, ok fine just a minor hitch in the plan, I stand behind him. As I’m standing in line I hear someone else come up behind me. He’s speaking very loudly and in a language I don’t understand. It’s certainly not English and I can’t pick out any Russian words, maybe it’s Bulgarian or Ukranian. Whatever it is it keeps getting louder and louder when suddenly I realize, uh, he’s talking to me. Great, this is should be interesting.

I deliver my standard line. “I’m sorry, I don’t speak very much Russian, again please, slowly.” “AH Иностранец/Foreigner» Great, uh foreigner yes. A little louder please, I don't think they heard you in Rostov. The next thing I know he's pushing me away from the Kvass lady muttering something.(the only thing I can make out is подарок/gift) 30 seconds later and in my hand is one free cup of Kvass. In my company is one drunk Russian. Uh oh, this could be dangerous.

«Медленно пожалуйста/slower please»
«I'm sorry» he says, «I've had a little to drink, I drank a liter of wine after work»
I immediately think about the size of that liter bottle of water in my bag, that's a lot of wine.
«Do you speak english?» he says.
«Yes,» I say.
And before I know what's happening he starts singing «Yesterday» by the Beatles. A few lines in and he's urging me on.
«Давай, Давай» For the sake of my personal safety, I comply. After a few versus, we stop.
«Where are you from? England?»
«No», I reply.
«Switzerland?» what? Switzerland?
«No, America»
«AH! America»
«Mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble, mumble mumble, Condoleeza Rice, mumble, mumble Putin» Uh oh, now what?
«I'm sorry, I have to go, I'm a student. I have class in 10 minutes. It was nice to meet you, thank's for the kvass.»
As I walk away he says, «The university is over there. Why are you going that way?»
«I need to get a pencil from home»
«A Pencil? I have a pencil, here take it»
Great, now what do I do?
«I need to get my notebook, I left it at at home too. Thank's again, for the Kvass»
Uh oh, he's following me. At this point I weigh my options. The only thing I know about this guy is: one, he's drunk, two, he knows I'm a foreigner and potentially even more danguerous an American, and three he likes the beatles and Kvass. If I head for home and he keeps following me, on one hand he knows where I live but on the other hand, people know me there. People who work for my host mother are always outside. I've been introduced, we exchange passing pleasantries on a daily basis, there is a small chance they'd interevene on my behalf, it's better than nothing. I make my way towards the apartment. I see Ivan, the building handy man. He's outside smoking, he lifts his hand to wave. «Дравствуйте» he says. Good, he saw me. Most importantly he saw my drunk tail. I approach the door, pull out my watch and my key to the stairs. This is it, this is the moment.
«I'm sorry, I say I reall need to go» pointing at my watch. My heart starts racing this is it. Is he going to follow me in the building? Can I unlock the stairs and slam the door in his face? Am I going to be another statistic in the state department travel warnings?
«Of course» he says as he reaches out to hug me.
Hug? Yes, it was the first hug I've gotten since I left Indianapolis and I don't even know his name.

You can say that again.

You can say that again.

Today it reached 80 degrees in Yaroslavl. Maybe it’s just because I’m in Russia, a country stereotypically associated with cold, snowy weather or maybe it’s just because I’m weak, but 80 degrees is hot, heat wave hot. (yes, a tropical heat wave. Thermometers climbing, the temperatures rising. Or something like that.) When I packed my bags, in an attempt to travel as lightly as possible I rolled the dice and decided not to take any short sleeve shirts. I looked at the average temperatures and thought, “highs in the upper 60’s and low 70’s, I can handle that in long sleeves. Days in the 70’s will be the minority anyway, right? Better to be prepared for the average days” Well, today makes the 6th day out of the last 7 with 75 degrees plus highs and sun shine. That means 86% of last week didn’t meet my expectations, or if you will, I’m batting .140, well below the Mendoza line. The only thing I packed with short sleeves is a black t-shirt. If I don’t open my mouth I can blend in and pass for a Russian. Dark jeans or slacks, tucked in button up shirt, black leather shoes and a small black man purse, I feel like I can pull it off. Nearly every day someone stops me on the street and asks me for directions. If I wear that t-shirt I might as well paint иностранец/foreigner on my forehead. I'll deal with the occasional, «why are you wearing long sleeves» glance.

Interestingly, or maybe not so the history of the russian word иностранец/foreigner steems from the old word for a German. In the 17th and 18th century there was a large German settlement outside Moscow (now only a suburban metro stop). Over time the word meant to describe a German became the word to describe all foreigners. Ok, sorry. I find this stuff fascinating.

Elsewhere,

Saturday when I went to Kostroma with Natasha and Svetlana we had some coffee. (as you already know). While we were drinking the coffee I mentioned that, other than animate objects the one thing I really miss is coffee, and not that instant stuff. What do you think I had for breakfast this morning? Yes, you got it, coffee. I can't believe Natasha and Svetlana would betray me like that. Not only did they tell Irina about my coffee coments, when I went to grammar class today, my teacher asked me if I like Kostroma. What? How did you know? Maybe the world does revolve around me.
Anyway, back to the breakfast on top of my daily fruit along with sausage or patte on bread, tea and some type of pastry, I now get coffee as well. I'm not complaining, it's just that it's getting ridiculous. Irina's hospitality so extreme that I'm ashamed to say I've taken to lying and saying that I've already eaten.

-Notice this mornings breakfast. Pastry, Kolbasa on bread, apple, tea and coffe. I just can't do it anymore.

Sunday, May 20th

Today I spent the day wandering around the city searching for a Словарь Синонимов Руссского Языка/ Russian Dictionary of Synonyms. When I finally found one on (at Дом Книги/House of Books, incase you were wondering) it reminded me of my first day in Yaroslavl. On my first day in Yaroslavl, the very first thing I did was exchange money. I'll never forget the great feeling I got after accomplishing such a simple task. Not only did I experience an overwhelming sense of relief, but it was a much needed boost to my confidence. I can do this, I can accomplish every task necessary to function in Russia. After exchanging the money, any time I accomplished something for the first time, it felt great. I’ll never forget the first time I bought something in a soviet style store. Maneuvering the six necessary steps can be a daunting task, but the first time you do it, you’re on top of the world, anything is possible.

Today was a reminder of just how far I’ve come in the last 10 days. The first few days were rough. I got lost everyday. I often didn’t know exactly what I was buying, how much it costs or even why I was buying it, but today was different. I left the apartment without even so much as glancing at a map. I knew what I needed and where I could find it. When I got to the store, instead of looking around trying to see what others were doing, I knew who to ask and most importantly what to ask. I guess the point is, I’ve been in Yaroslavl for 10 days and I’ve now reached the point where every day ceases to be an anxiety-laden affair and is simply, normal.

This wouldn’t be possible without the help everyone has given me along the way, and I want to take this opportunity to thank them. (Sorry) First of all, I want to thank Brandi for understanding and for pushing me to do this. Life without me must be difficult, I know how great I am, I don’t know how you do it. I want to thank my parents for their financial and moral support and for understanding why I’m doing what I’m doing. I especially want to thank Dr. Herr for the countless hours he spent making sure this was physically (and probably mentally) possible. I want to thank everyone at the Slavic Languages and Literature department. George and Masha, thank you for inspiring me and making sure that even thought I can’t communicate without embarrassing my, I can at least communicate. I want to thank Jeff for the great advice and all of the help you’ve given me along the way. And to Nathan, Aileen, Loue, Jake, Bart, Aunt Susie, Chris, Daniel, The Herr’s and all of my other friends and family for your support thank you.

Инциденты/Incidents

--Today as I was crossing the street someone grabbed me by the arm. I turned to look and it was a babushka. «The light is red» she said. What do I do? Do I A, ignore her and keep walking, or B, open my mouth (which immediately identifies me as a foreigner)? I chose b, and the next thing I know, I'm escorting a babushka arm in arm cross the cross walk.

--Travel Blog Cliché Alert. It really is the little things you notice. Forget the completely different culture and lifestyle, why are all of the toilet handles (or buttons I should say) on the top of the tank? You either pull or push, I just can't get used to that.

--Last night the Ovcharov's had a guest for dinner. We ate pirozhki and drank Bulgarian Wine. After a few toasts she went into a twenty minute monologue about why she loves Franklin D. Roosevelt. (I think)

--The Pictures are of Yaroslavl State University.

Кострома/Kostroma

Well the day turned out better than I imagined. I woke up feeling nauseaus and generally ill (I blame the Russian diet). The last thing I wanted to do was get in a compact Russian car with two of my host mother's employees and travel 80 kilometers on the wonderful Russian roads to an unfamiliar city. In hindsight, I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

A little bit about Kostroma. Kostroma is an ancient town that lies on the confluence of the Volga and Kostroma rivers about 80 km's north east east of Yaroslavl. (Kostroma river, get it?) The town was originally founded in 1152 A.D. by Yury Dolgoruky, the same guy who founded Moscow (Thanks Lonely Planet). Kostroma is known for for it's textiles and the 14th century Monastery of St. Ipaty, which is considered the birthplace of the Romanov dynasty. At one point, Kostroma was the third largest city in Russia. And just in case you haven't had enough, Kostroma is home to the Russian folk hero Ivan Susanin. Legend has it that during a period of Polish invasion during the winter of 1612, Ivan led a deatchment of polish troops into an unpassable swamp. After they found out, they of course killed him but subsequently died themselves, i.e. unpassible. He's the guy in the picture of the statue, not Lenin.

At 10 in the morning I was picked up by the accountants of the evil head of the house committee, Natasha and Svetlana. About half way there, I started to feel much better, this day may not be a disaster after all. We arrived in Kostroma about 11:30, we went to St. Ipaty, took lots of photos, the girls got yelled at by the бабушки/babushkas for not wearing head scarves, a great time was had by all but probably most of all by the babushkas.

A bit about the babushka's, being a grandmother or the age of, in Russia technically qualifies someone for the title of babushka. But to be a Babushka is something entirely different, it's not exactly something you can explain. You know one when you see one. Как тебе не стыдно? How can you not be ashamed? Yes, you're right. I don't know what I did, but it was most certainly horrible. I'm sorry, now please take your platic bags and cane out of my face.

After the monestary we visited the museum of wooden architecture (see the pictures below). Then we went into the city spent several hours walking around the market, along the volga (yes, once again I can not escape the Volga) I also drank coffee, real coffe, not instant, it was great. After that we met up with Natasha's boyfriend Pavel for sushi. Yes, sushi in Russia. I don't think he cared for me too much, maybe it's him, maybe it's me, maybe it's Bush, who knows. Later we went to a really strange museum of fire history. It consisted mostly of items burned in house fires, televisions, phones, couches, you get the idea. One wing consisted entirely of drawings school children hade made throughout the years about house fires. Don't play with matches, my dad dies in a house fire etc.. Interesting.

We came back to Yaroslavl and now I'm writing. I don't have much to say so here are some photographs. Monday, I am going to get some pictures of me that the girls took in Kostroma. I'll post them so you don't forget how beautiful I am, as if it is possible.

Kostroma

Internet access is extremely limited on the weekends. What's worse than being sick in Russia? Being sick and going to Kostroma with strangers.

I"ll update tommorow.

The Evil Chairman of The House Committee

In soviet times every apartment building had a house committee. Each committee had a chairman whose job was to make sure each and every one of his comrades had a place to live and that his apartment building’s ability to help all of the Soviet Union’s citizens to the best of it’s ability was maximized. Consequently, this situation created a fear and stigma attached to the position. Whether it’s Bulgakov’s infamous apartment number 50 or the man lurking in the dark locked rooms in several of Kharm’s Incidents, Soviet literature is full of unsavory heads of house committees.

Ever since I arrived in Yaroslavl, I’ve constantly asked myself, “who is the chairman of the Ovcharov’s house committee. Is it that old woman who seems to be scolding me every time I walk down the stairs? Is it that chain-smoking guy who stares at me from the shadows beyond the garbage bin every time I come and go? What about the middle-aged guy who is perpetually working on his car in the courtyard? (A Volga, model Спутник/Sputnik by the way, thank Valera for that one) As it turns out it is none other than our beloved Irina Mikhailovna, my host mother.

This morning I told Irina that I was planning on going to Rostov Veliky ( A small picturesque 2,000 year town about an hour south of here) on Saturday. I asked her advice on train V bus, times etc… After I got back from class Irina said, (in Russian) “Adam, sit down we need to talk.” Oh no, what have I done? I didn’t mean to accidentally turn the hot water on for 5 seconds two days ago. (There is not hot water in Yaroslavl Mon/Tue/Wed) I swear I locked the door. Do I snore? Irina procceded to tell me that not only is she in charge of the apartment building (they’ve strayed away from Soviet terminology), but that she told one of her employees about my plan and she suggested that I go with her and her boyfriend Pavel to a different town this weekend, a town called Kostroma.

Apparently Irina’s employee Natasha is a graduate student in Economics and has studied English throughout her time in University. She wants to practice her English and get me away from the clutches of the octogenarians. So Saturday Irina, Pavel and I are headed to Kostroma, too do what, I have no idea but it should be interesting.

Elsewhere:

-This evening, I found a quiet spot to sit on the banks of the Volga. I watched three men pull lots of small fish from its waters just like people have done for thousands of years.

-Russian grammar is extremely difficult.

Я не чувстовать запах/I don't smell anything.

\/from the balcony\/



When it rains it stinks, literally.

Ah, smell that? The smell of my first Russian Rain. I don’t exactly know why, but when it rains it smells like sewage. After class I was walking around Улица Кирова/Ulitsa St. (The main commercial and shopping area) trying to find something cheap and SAFE to eat. I decided on Kafe Bosfor/ Кафе Босфор, a small restaruant where mom cooks and her son waits tables. I ate some Borsh (couldn't hold a candle to Irina's incase you were curious), with black bead and some cucumbers. After I finished I walked out on to the street and was immediately met with the wonderful smells of…. feces.(Sorry, I didn't sugar coat it. There was no mistaking the smell)

Apparently, in the short time I was in Kafe Bosfor it had rained a pretty fair amount, because when I came out the city was a swamp. Those of you who live in Bloomington are aware of the drainage issues our beloved city has. Yaroslavl after a short down pour makes Bloomington after spring storm feel like the Gobi in August. I guess it is easy to understand why a city nearing it's 1000th birthday would have drainage issues. Oh what's that? Yes, really 1000th years old in June. Oh, you didn't know? I guess you didn't see the 17 fliers on every street and the advertisements on every bus. They're excited. (Wouldn't you be? 1,000 years is a 1,000 years)

I now know why everyone I spoke to who has spent time in Russia told me not to take any article of clothing I would regret losing and to not take anything white. That layer of dirt on EVERYTHING caused by the infamous spring thaws. What do you think happens to that, I've never seen anything like it. You simply could not walk the streets and stay dry.

\/ The view from the balcony\/

Meanwhile, At ЯГУ:

I had poetry again today, and I'm already regretting not distaining Pushkin. You give an inch, they open your throat open and fill it with Pushkin, then some Pushkin and more Pushkin. I also had conversation and phonetics today. Conversation was a humbling experience. I found out that most people just don't call me out on my mistakes. Natalia Anatovna will have none of that, none.

Инциденты/Incidents:

~While in line attempting to buy bananas at the kiosk a man tried to sell me a woman's watch. I pretended to not understand, he just kept saying Часы! Женский! Часы! Женский! Watch! Womens! Watch! Womens! I declined, sorry ladies.

~The other night Ear took me to one of the only self service stores in town. Along the way we encountered several Милиция/Police gathered around a bus. We saw a girl, one girl being interviewed by the police and two bikes, one mangled. I hope all is well, it didn't look good.

-The Ovcharov's Living Room

Пушкин. Pushkin

Ok, I get, I finally get it. When you study Russian Pushkin gets shoved down your throat at every opportunity, and untill today I never really understood why. Sure it's lovely, archaeic and what not, but I just couldn't get my finger around the Russian's obsession with this 18th and 19th century poet with mutton chops. But now, Мой Пушки, как я вас люблю! (My Pushkin, how I love you.)

Без бас мне скучно, я зеваю;
При вас мне грустно, я терплю;
И, мочи нет, сказать желаю,
Мой ангел, как я вас люблю!

Roughly translated

Without you I'm borded, I yawn.
When you make me sad, I endure
A when it can't be, I wish you luck.
My angel, how I love you.

Of course there really isn't any point in translating, the beauty and subtlety of the stanza lies in the structure of the language. In fact is it even poetry if I translate it? Poetry is made for the Russian Language and vice-versa, this is what attracted me to Russian (that and the pretty letters, I like the words with 7 consonants in a row too).

Other than my Pushkin epiphany, today was a pretty uneventful day. I went to poetry class, as you can probably guess. I also had grammar with Svetlana Urinivina, nothing new there, still a barrel of fun. I guess the biggest news is the fact that I'm settled in to the point that there is no news, just an average day in Yaroslavl. I think a gypsy woman asked me for money. I politely said, I don't have any, but the teenage girl on the next park bench started screaming at her. They don't teach you the words she used.

I have to find some way to keep Irina Mikhailovna from feeding me so much without insulting her or making her worry. This morning after I woke up she called me in to breakfast. There before me was, a bannana, an apple, 4 pieces of baguette with salami, and 3 pieces of some sort of sweet date bread. If I don't eat it she becomes offended. Here she is offerming me everything she has, I'm obligated to eat it right? Maybe I will try feigning sickness again.

PS. The 2nd picture is for Jonathon. This is where you'd play soccer if you were Russian.

Мой друг ухо. My friend ear

Today I had a blind date with a Finnish man. Let me explain, my host mother's friend on the 2nd floor also hosts students. Her student happens to be a fin named ukho, in Russian it is spelled ухо, just like the word for ear. He claims even though it is spelled the same way it is pronounced differently, what sense that makes is beyond me, and I couldn't hear any difference. Regardless of the name, our «mothers» decided we must meet and arranged a dinner at their apartment. Ear somehow skirted the akward situation and arranged for us to meet and walk around the city minus the dinner.

I met ear, we walked around the city, drank a beer, he showed me the only store in town where you can actually pick up items and bring them to the counter, all went well. Ear is very tall and has long blonde hair, let's just say he stands out a bit. Maybe it was our accents, our maybe it was the enourmous fin, but some Russian kids approached us in the park and asked us where we were from. When I said I was from Indiana the only words I could make out were basketball, basketball, Pacers, basketball. The world is a very small place. Ear is nice, I'm a foreigner studying Russian in Russia, he's a foreigner studying Russian in Russia, Russian is our only way to communicate, it works, we're friends.

Elsewhere,
I had my first grammar class this morning, nothing much to say, I learned a lot, it was nice, end of story. It was nice to finally have something to do during the day other than wander the streets hoping not to be fed. Tommorow I have poetry class. I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I can only assume Pushkin will be involved.

Incidents/Инциденты
I met a Russian college student. His name is Sergei, he studies chemistry. We met on Red Square when he asked me for the time. We exchanged phone numbers, I hope he doesn't want to hurt me.

The Ovcharov's have 3 pets. 1 evil cat named Sima, who refuses to leave my side but sracthes and hisses if I try to touch him, and 2 dogs. One of the dogs is 14 years old and deaf. He barks at everything and anything that moves, mainly me and the shadows. Today when I went in to the apartment, he was sleeping with his back to the door as he often does. I opened the door and he didn't move or bark, he went with the door. I thought he was dead and I would have to break the news. Nope, turns out he's just old and didn't want to move. The pictures are of the cat Tsima, and Irina with Chucha, the young dog.


They set me up with wi-fi on the laptop at school. All is well and free.

Документы

Sunday, May 13th.

Today, I once again awoke to the wonderful smells of Irina’s kitchen. Apparently it is tradition in the Ovcharov household to eat блени (a sort of russian pancake) every Sunday morning. As is nealy everything Irina cooks, they were delicous but no doubt fattening. I decided I needed to walk of the bleni. I headed for the central market. I learned from yesterdays mistakes, I made it there with out using my map or asking for directions, I'm starting to get the feel of this city.

After looking around the market, I headed back home hoping to avoid another heavy meal. I haven't been home for 10 minutes when Irina called me in to the kitchen to eat. The whole time I was at the market Irina was at home preparing пельмени/pelmeni, essentially they're meat filled dumplings usually served in broth. They were absolutely delicous, but for some reason my bowl was full to the brim, while Irina only had 4 on her plate. I asked her, «why I'm eating so many more than you». She replied, I'm an old women, you're a young man, EAT. So what is one to do, but force every dumpling down their throat with a smile after every bite.

After lunch, I translated another article for school and studied for a few hours. After I’d had enough I decided to walk down to the Volga, grab a beer and pick up some flowers for my host mother (after all it is Mother’s day in the states). I got a beer at a kiosk as well as a lesson on the proper stress (the e is accented, how was I supposed to know). As I was making my way down to the Volga I see a policemen leaning against a tree. Suddenly he pointed at me and 3 or 4 others and said “идти сюда» (Come here), I immediately began thinking about all the things I wish I could have done before I died. Great what have I done, is it the beer? I've seen 12 year olds buying beer and drinking it on the street, it can't be that. Is it me, do I have American written on my forehead? People ask me for directions every day, it can't be that can it? Is he trying to prevent me from buying flowers? «Ваш Пасспорт»/You're passport. Oh, of course Police=Passport how could I forget? Apparently levieng fines (bribes) for not carrying a passport is a policemen's major source of income, he was using the crime of jay walking (give me a break) to demand our documents. I pulled out my passport showed it to him, he didn't even open it, he just said «идти» go. What? I've got my visa and my visa registration, don't you want to inspect that? What about my entry form? Nope, I was of no use to him. Unfotunately the 3 Russians he stopped weren't so lucky. None of them had their passports with them. 30 minutes later, after finishing my beer and buying my flowers they were all still there arguing.

Мне нравиться борщ

Saturday May the 12th.

My first Saturday in Russia and I don’t know what to do. I need to buy a notebook for school so aimlessly wandering around the streets hoping to stumble on a book or paper store sounds like a great idea. During my breakfast of some sort of oatmeal, (I think) and bananas, my host mother asked me if I wanted to eat borscht this afternoon. Of course, I said. She told me to be back by 1 and we would eat borscht. Borscht, finally the moment has arrived but until then, aimless wondering.

I knew that my best chance for a notebook would be on one of two streets, улица Кирова или улица Свободы. I glanced at a map in the phone book and off I went. Needless to say I didn’t find the streets I needed, I was lost. When being lost is solved by following the bank of the Volga River home, life could be much worse. Along the way I stumbled upon several ancient churches and even the Kremlin. At a kiosk inside the Kremlin I swallowed my pride and bought a map. I found my mistake, of course, a right at Красная Пл. (Red Square) what was I thinking. I knew I shouldn't have taken that left turn at Советская. A quick look at the watch, 12:30, there's no time for notebooks now.


Double time down the the Volga, I can't be late. I made it back home at 12:50 and the apartment smelled delicous and the bortsch was fantastic.

Speaking of smells, last night at about 10:30 as I sat in my room trying to translate the newspaper, I heard a series of explosions. I looked outside and saw fireworks. I opened my door to ask my host father about the fireworks when I saw some fireworks of my own, the kitchen, on fire. Apparently Mikhail left the stove and had Irina not walked in as the fire started who knows what would have happened.








Инциденты/Incidents

~~I had a lovely encounter with a pay toilet today(really, no sarcasm). 6 Rubles for the cleanest bathroom and some of the friendliest smiles I've encountered all week.

~~I made the mistake of asking my host father to clarify the directions on the phone card I bought. 90 minutes and 3 angry phone calls to telephone companies later, we gave up.

~~My host mother forced me to watch Минут Слабы (Minute of Fame), a sort of Russian American Idol. The three guys that play crystal were good, the guy that snaped his fingers, not so much.

Days 1 and 2.

Now that I’m settled in and have time to breathe, an update.

My ill-conceived plain to sleep on the 11-hour flight from Atlanta to Moscow was thwarted from the very beginning. While still on the runway, I became acquainted with Irina Mikhailovna. Irina Mikhailovna was on her way to visit her son in Тверь after finishing up the semester teaching Russian at the University of Texas in Arlington. A few words later and my 11 hour Russian lesson had begun. Speaking with Irina was certainly reassuring and perhaps the relief my nerves needed, but during hour 9 after repeating ла ля лъя for the 300th time I was waining. The closer we got to Moscow the more anxious I became, after I saw the Baltic Sea, I wanted off that plane.

The only thing I knew about what was to occur at the airport was that someone would be there to pick me up. What do you mean someone? Who? When? Where? How? I feared the worst, I imagined my self in small office being interrogated by the police, or roaming the streets of Moscow embarassing myself and the language. What occurred was the simplest experience I have ever had at an airport. I Walked out of the plane, stood in line for 5 minutes, gave a very unhappy woman my passport, and 15 seconds later I was gone. That's it, no interregations, forms, regulations, simple. I picked up my luggage, turned to go and I saw a man with sign ЯГУ (Y.S.U.) Mеня зовут Aдам. Адам? Валера. Давай.

Perhaps it was delirium or the fact that I nodded my head at everything he said but we seemed to hit it off. I learned more about cars in that 3 hour trip than an my whole life.

Some highlights:

All Volga's are made in Nizhny Novgorod. Niva's have always been bad cars, but when chevrolet started making them they became even worse. Japanese cars are shit (I drive a Nissan) when they break down, throw them away, but a Mercedes keep it, it's valuable, someone will always pay to fix up a Mercedes. The ride itself was frightening to say the least, apparently the concept of a «passing lane» looses something in translation. In Russian it is, if there is any room any where and at any time, pass immediately. 3 terrifying hours driving through town after town and we arrived in Ярославль at about 3 in the afternoon.

Valera took me to the home of Irina and Mikhail where I was immediately rushed in to my room, given extreme amounts of food which was impossible to decline (how do you say, you eat chicken delta and see if you feel like eating,). At this point I had been awake for what seemed like 24 hours, my host parents might have well as been speaking Turkmen, and I was feeling ill. All things considered, I decided to try and beat jet lag in one day, I wasn't going to bed untill at least 10. My host father, Mikhail offered (I think) to take me for a walk around the city. We walked around the ancient part of this beautiful city for a couple of hours, he talked, I nodded. When we got back, I remember asking myself what I've gotten into. Where am I, who are these people, what are they saying and why won't they stop feeding me?

When I woke up (11 hours later) yesterday seemed like a world away (get it?). I woke up motivated, but most importantly rested. First things first, I needed money, and water. Water. In Yaroslavl you have to boilt the tap water before drinking it. Mineral (carbonated) water is plentiful but uncarbonated apparently isn't. Ok, I need money to buy water. I read about a few suggested banks in the city guide given to Middlebury college students, they're nearby, great, I'm off. I make it to my bank, open the door and oh, no, police, what does he want. Quick, think, what do I do? Stop, look and listen. I stand there for a second and pretend to be digging for something in my pockets. A woman enters walks up to him and hands him her (internal passport). Oh, passport of course, Police + Foreigner= Passport. Great, money in hand I'm on the streets searching every kiosk I see for water. 3 hours later and I've decided mineral water it is, when finally I find a kiosk where I see what I believe to be uncarbonated water. I go in, everyone is standing in line, so I stand in line «две вода пожалуйста.» «десят рублей»she replies. I give her the money, she gives me a receipt, I give the receipt to someone else, they tear it up, come out and unluck the refrigrated case and bam, water (in 6 easy steps).

I've got money, I've got water and maybe it was just the hydration doing the talking but my confidence is at an all time high. I make it to the University, meet my teachers, set up a course of study and all is well. They introduced me to a couple Russian students and a German student, one of which was singing in a concert tonight. They invited me, we went and I had a great time.

Long story short, I have Russian friends, haven't spoken or heard engligsh since we landed and things are great. Maybe I'm crazy, maybe it's the lack of sleep deprivation but I'm starting to understand things, and most importantly people understand me (I Think).

Day 1, 2 and maybe 3.

Well, for those of you who were worried I made it. I got in to Moscow about 3 am E.S.T where I was met by the Universities driver Valera. We got into Yaroslavl at about 3 P.M (just how fast is 145 KM anyway?)local time and he dropped me off with my host family.

Things are great( now that I've slept) Internet access is difficult to find and slow. I will try to write some more at home and submit later.

7 days and counting....

I can’t believe I’m writing this. Just one week to go, just one week until I step on a plane bound for Russia. Ten months ago I first got the idea in my head that I should go to Russia. Ten months ago I started planning and scheming. Ten months ago, May 9th seemed like a distant dream. Now countless hours planning and organizing and one neurosurgery later I find myself counting down the days not the weeks.

Planning this trip has been a long and tedious process. The process sounds simple enough. How difficult could it really be? You pick a place to go, get your airline ticket, get your visa, and you pack and go. What you don’t realize is all the little things involved.

Take if you will, the Russian Visa process. I wish I knew what I know now when I was younger, or even 2 months ago for that matter. Countless people advised me, just pay the $40 dollar fee and have someone arrange your visa for you. 40 dollars? what? I'm young, I've got plenty of time, I CAN be patient. I mean, come on, 40 dollars is 40 dollars right?

According to the Consulate of The Russian Embassy to obtain a visa you need: Passport..check Completed Visa Application..check Letter of Invitation..check. Ok, I’ve got everything I need now what? Mail a copy of your passport, completed visa application, cover letter, processing fee and self addressed stamp envelope. Great, simple enough. At this point, I’m dreaming of ways I’ll spend that 40 dollars. Long story short, miscommunication on both ends combined with naivety on this end and I know find myself paying for not only express three day visa processing, but two ends of overnight fedex deliveries, the sum of which I can assure you far surpasses 40 dollars.

As they say, вех живи, вех учись (roughly, live and learn.)

PS. It takes approximately two hours to explain to your insurance company why you need more than a months worth of your prescriptions.