Ладно

Well, this is it. I have to admit, after the first few days I was ready to come home. I would have gladly boarded the first plane to America. But after I made friends and settled in to the rhythm of life in this beautiful country, I couldn’t imagine leaving. Right now, my feelings are somewhere in the middle. Half of me can’t wait to get back to my beloved Brandi, my life and my friends and family in my country. The other half is reluctant to leave the friends and lifestyle I’ve grown accustomed to.

This month has done something to me, something I simply cannot explain. Not all of it has been positive and not all of it has been negative, it has just simply been. Over the last month I’ve come to love this country and it’s beautiful, wonderful people. There is something special about this place and it’s people. As many people have pointed out, Russian’s aren’t quite Europeans, they’re not quite Asians, they’re Russians. Not only have I come to love Russia and it’s peoples, but in this month I’ve come to love my country and it’s peoples more than I could ever imagine. It’s difficult, if not impossible to articulate the experiences and the changes I’ve gone through in the last month, so I won’t even try. I’ll simply say, thank you. Thank you, to everyone who made this possible for me. Thank you to everyone here and everyone there who has been a part of it. Thank you to everyone who has been a part of my life. Thank you.

Attention Please

Could I have your attention please. I hope everyone has enjoyed reading the blog as much as I have enjoyed writing it. I"m really curious to know who has been reading the blog. So, if you've been reading the blog. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE post a comment on this post and identify yourself.

Also, I posted an entry below, in case you didnt't see it.

Here are some pictures from the Volga.

Moscow

The plan was simple, the five of us (Olya, Anna, Ula, Pavel and Myself) were going to leave by car from Yaroslavl at 6:30 Saturday Morning. After a brief stop at a roadside restaurant we'd be in Moscow by 11:00 A.M. See the sites, gets some lunch, enjoy the company and we'd be back in Yaroslavl in the wee-hours of the following morning. The only thing that went according to plan was our 6:30 A.M. departure, and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

From the top. Earlier in the week Olya, Anna and I (as I so often do) sat down and made a list of the pros and cons of traveling by to Moscow by automobile versus traveling train. I remember specifically asking about the car's condition. Can the car be depended on? Olya replied «I've never seen it, but I think so» Hmm.. I think so, for some reason that statement stuck with me all week. When the car came to pick us up, my fears immediately became warranted. This car had seen better days, probably Gorbachev's. We all piled in to the «Sputnik» (seriously, it's the name of the car) and headed to Moscow. About two hours in to the trip, as planned, we made a stop at a roadside dinner just south of Переславль, after breakfast thingss took an interesting turn. A few kilometers down the road the car began to sputter and eventually died. Here we are two hours from both Moscow and Yaroslavl, the middle of nowhere, I see my Moscow dream's slowly fading in to oblivion, so close but yet so far. After a few minutes of fooling with the car Pavel and Ula call it quits and phone their friend in Yaroslavl and arrange for him to pick them up. Olya, Anna and I have decided not to give up, we will make it to Moscow come hell or high water. Luckily for us the car died right next to a bus stop, there's bound to be a bus going to Moscow eventually right? We'll just flag them down and be on our merry way, easy right?

45 minutes and 7 buses later we're still at the bus stop, no closer to Moscow than before, at this point we're trying to flag down anything that moves. After about an hour at the roadside bus stop, a black Mercedes S.U.V. stops and a bohemoth of a man asks where we're going. To Moscow the girls say, me too he says, want a ride? The girls hesitate, my life flashes before my eyes, he flashes a badge and says something I don't understand, and the next thing I know we're piling into this strangers car. When I get in, hanging on the door next to me is a Russian military uniform with more stars and decorations than I've ever seen, this is either really good, or really bad, the girls don't seem nervous so I pretend not to be.

We get in, he turns the Bon Jovi (Living on a prayer, pretty appropriate don't you think?) up, and we're off, and I do mean WE ARE OFF, this guy is flying down the highway, this car makes the Sputnik look like a go-cart, this guy makes the University's driver Valera look like Miss. Daisy. I look at the speedometer and consistently see 180 Km, I'm not sure exactly what that is but it's well over 100 MPH right? At this rate we'll be in Moscow well before we would have minus the car troubles. About 30 KM's outside of Moscow and the Police make an appearance, I knew it wouldn't be this simple. When I saw the police car I looked at the speedometer and saw 170, we'll this should at the least be very interesting, at least I'll finally get to see the inside of a police station. He pulls over to where they flagged him down, flashes his passport, says «I'm sorry did I do something wrong?» the cop waves him on and that's it. Long story short, it turns out this guy is a corporal in the Russian Millitary Special Forces. He's served tours of duty, in Chechnya, Uzbekistan, and Afghanistan, in other words all the places you don't want to be. He's semi-retired and spends about half of the year training special forces near Kostroma. He got us to Moscow safely at noon, dropped us off at the train station and wished us luck. Wished us luck? Hmm.. that seems a little strange, why is he wishing us luck? And come to think of it, why are Anna and Olya stressed out and speaking really really fast, I can't understand what they're talking about.

Ok, stop me if you've heard this one. The plan seemed simple. We buy tickets for one of tonights Moсква « Ярославль trains. We hit the metro, go to Красная Плошадь, the Moskva, maybe the Bulgakov Museum, back to the train station and home. Great. At the train station I finally figure out what's going on, Olya has forgotten her passport. For those of you who don't know this, in Russia every citizen is required to have his or her internal passport on them at all times, in order to use the trains you not only have to present your passport to buy the ticket, but to board the train as well. Great. So now what? Well Olya and Anna think that if we can't get someone in Yaroslavl to scan her passport, send it as an email attatchment, that we can print it off and at least buy the ticket. Boarding is another issue altogether, they both agree a bribe will be more than likely be in order. Long story short, Olya's mother took her passport to Olya's work, where they then scanned it, emailed and we found an internet café, printed it off and bought the tickets. We leave at 9 and should be back in Yaroslavl by 1:30 A.M.

It is now 3 oclock in the afternoon, our train leaves in 6 hours, we head for the Metro and then to Red Square. I've read a lot of travel blogs, journals and guides about Russia and the general consenus seems to be that most people come away being anything but impressed and overwhelmed after visitng Red Square. Maybe they're just jaded and cynical, and perhaps I'm just too young and naive but the experience for me was completely overhwelming ( I considered using the world awesome here). I don't know what else to say, other than I spent the afternoon wondering around Red Square in a perpetual state of awe.

After a few hours there we walked along the banks of the Moskva, but didn't manage to find Gorky Park (thank you, I'll be here all week, try the veale). A few more hours wandering around the city and the metro stations (which are among the most gorgeous things I've seen in Russia, by the way) and it was time to head back to Yaro. Olya begged and pleaded with the carriage attendant who finally let her on the train with just the copy, but not without a stern lecture of about why she should always carry her passport.

From Spurgeon, Indiana to Moscow. I'll try and check in tommorow before I leave, supposedly there is some sort of party in my honor at the Unicorn center tommorow night.

Golly.

As I’ve mentioned several times, several of my friends have taken me under their wing and declared it their goal to Russify and maximize my final days in Yaroslavl. The last two nights they’ve escorted me through two annual Russian rites of summer, the movie theatre and the scary amusement park on the island in the Kotosrol.

Let’s start with the amusement park. The girls at Unicorn introduced me to one of their students, a man by the name of Valeri. When he found out his English Teachers were showing his new American friend Adam around he insisted he take us to the amusement park.

First, let me set the stage. The amusement park is on a very small island in the Kotorosl River, connected to the mainland by a pedestrian bridge. The term “amusement park” is a little misleading, more like a perpetual county fair. Remember those Scooby-Do episodes where a ghost was terrorizing amusement park patrons? Remember how “the gang” would somehow always end up there after dark wandering through the creepy rides and attractions with a flashlight? Yeah, it was sort of like that, except instead of ghosts in the shadows you had mulleted Russians teenagers in Speedos. When we got to the amusement park Valeri insisted that I check out this “new Spanish attraction,” that he had seen in Spain and helped bring to the park. Well it turns out that this “new Spanish attraction” isn’t so new, and isn’t so Spanish and I didn’t have the heart to tell him. For those of you from god’s country, it’s the scrambler. For the rest of you, look at the picture of Valera and I riding it, I’d be willing to bet that your county fair or local amusement park also sported this “new Spanish attraction.”

---As I’m writing this it is 11:00 at night my host mother knocked on my door and something strange just happened, “Адам, ты хочешь пиво?» «Eше раз?» «Ты хочешь пиво?» «Да» I'll translate. «Adam do you want beer? «Once again please (I know what I heard but I don't believe it what I heard) Do you want beer? Uh.. O.K., sure» She then handed me a glass of beer. Hmm..strange, O.K. back to scary island.--

After the «new Spanish attraction» Valeri told us about his time in the millitary. He spent two years in the special forces (those guys who scared me to death during city day. Small world huh?) and was stationed in Baku, now the capital of Azerbaijan. I of course saw this as my opportunity to eat Caucasian food with someone who knows their stuff, and before I knew it we were headed to a Georgian Restaurant called «Café Ruzhe». Valeri ordered for everyone and I ended up with some sort of beef/pork mixture wrapped in grape leaves stew, it was excellent. A grand time was had by all.


The next night they wanted to take me to the movies, I didn't really have any desire to go, so naturally we went to the movies. There are currently two movies playing in Yaroslavl «Шрэк Третий» can you guess what that is? and something I couldn't quite figure out, it was called something about pirates, the number three and Johnny Depp. A few observations: It really is the little things you notice. All of the tickets are sold as assigned seats. A higher price (200 rubles) for the premium seats a lower price(160) for the fringe seating. Russian cinema owners know what they're doing. You can buy tickets in advance, but only in person. So if you want to see film A at X o'clock, you'd better be there by V o'clock. While you're waiting for your film to start, please enjoy one of our 3 bars, our restaurant, our sushi bar, or our ice-cream parlor. The whole time I was under the impression that we had purchased tickets for the pirate thing, thus explaining my surprise to see the big green ogre on my screen. Incidently,Q: What's the Russian word for Ogre A: Ogre/Огре. All in all it was a pretty uneventful eperience, everything was overdubbed I could only understand about 50% of the dialogue and the previews were the best part.

Tommorow night a trip down the Volga to Tolga. (< the volga)

Saturday, Moscow.

Sunday, The World. No Pinky, probably just packing.

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.