Жди меня, и я вернусь

Well, I am afraid that we have come to the end of our blogging experience. I got to take a Tupolev between Moscow and St. Petersburg. Once was enough for me considering their less-than-stellar service record, although I did get bumped to business class. Free hard candy!

I wasted time for the last couple of days in St. Pete, to be honest. I was completely worn out, I had picked up a cold at some point in Kyiv, the weather was cold and rainy, and I had nothing I needed or wanted to do. I tried to go to an internet cafe the day before I left, but was unsuccessful in finding one that was still open and not being raided by the authorities (speaking of which, Cafe Maxx on Nevsky may not be open next time you visit. Just a heads up.), which is why you are reading all of this after the fact. I went to dinner on my last night with Pete and a couple of his friends who were visiting from Denmark, and we had a nice, if unremarkable time. I also had one last beer in the beer garden Christine and I frequented this summer, said my good-byes to Tavrichesky Park, and got packed up.

Thursday was a day full of travel, but it all went remarkably smoothly, thankfully enough. I did get stopped by the customs service on my way out of Logan International, and the guy kind of acted like a dick, unfolding all my neatly folded dress clothes and throwing them into a pile, et cetera. However, he also insisted that I open up every doll in one of the matryoshkas (the nesting dolls), which led to the hilarity of me opening the first five or so until he got bored and just let me move on through. Thanks to Elizabeth and Jessica, I had a quick trip back to Jayson and Greg's house to spend the night. The next day (yesterday) I moved in to my dorm, and now we are here. So that pretty much wraps up my summer.

I figure no short-term journal can be complete without a bit of retrospection, but I'll keep it brief. Working in St. Petersburg was in many ways a very good experience. Even when not always as interesting or exciting as some seem to have thought it must have been ("but you are working in RUSSIA!" is a phrase I heard on several occasions), I certainly learned a lot. My Russian improved, I got valuable job experience and strong recommendations from the top two officers at the consulate, and I got to waste time in one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Not too shabby.

People occasionally ask me why I got into doing Russian stuff. Now that I actually think about it, people, either face-to-face or via applications, ask me this question constantly. Usually, I've answered with sort of an askance look and exasperated shrug, or some overly-academic essay to the tune of "well, I've always been interested in foreign cultures, and I vaguely remember the collapse of the Soviet Union and the thought of a giant country with great literature and a fascinating political situation appeals to me, blahblahblah..." But I've finally started to get a grasp on what it is. And unfortunately, try as I have for a while, there are no words that really suffice to explain it. I could construct a really trite and belabored metaphor, but I'll spare us all that indignity. No, such an interest in Russia, and I'm sure many of my compatriots feel the same way, doesn't bear thorough description.

Ultimately, Russia is a cruel and exacting mistress. And for some reason, despite the flaws; the dirt and grime; the wild mood swings that range from cold, dark stares to sweaty, profuse displays of affection; the tests of strength, patience, and willpower; I love her.

C

Hostel Environs

Well folks, this is a bit anti-climactic, because I am already back in the USA, yet I have at least one more blog post for you. Owing to my battery dying in Ukraine, then the temporary housing I had in St. Petersburg upon my arrival and the recent closure of practically every internet cafe in the city, I have been without the worldwide web for a while. I won't tell you all about my trek through Kiev, as it would be boring. Soon I'll post the photos to facebook and you can take your own tour of my vacation. Suffice it to say that it was absolutely lovely, the people were friendlier than in Russia, the food was cheaper, and I had a blast. Living arrangements were, however, hit and miss.

The first night I got there, I basically went straight to bed. It was late and I was totally wrecked, but people throughout the hostel were talking, so it kept me up a bit. I assumed that the other people in my room were Russians. This was absolutely incorrect, as I found out the next day that there was a Brit, and American, and a Ukrainian. The American I met first. I had come back from some touring to the sound of major repairs being done in my room. Upon opening the door, I realized it was actually this dude snoring. It was pretty incredible; the man was a freak of nature. He woke up shortly thereafter, told me he was a TEFL guy (and spoke no Russian or Ukrainian) from Chicago, and that he was back dealing with a "legal problem" he'd incurred during his last visit. He was constantly vague, but from the look and the way he acted, I'm going with he coerced one of his underage students into sleeping with him. He seemed sleazy (I'm generally suspicious of 40-year-olds who stay in hostels, but that was but a small part of what made him sleazy), and he lectured me about the problems in Ukrainian politics. I don't know when everyone became such a fucking expert in Ukrainian politics, but I got an earful from just about everyone I encountered, whether they were Ukrainians or not. Whatever.

The next guy, who shall forever be known as the Belching Brit, stumbled into the room that night. I would generally leave for my touristy stuff early, think 7:30 am, then be totally wiped out and back in the room for good by 8-9 pm. Anyhow, I was lying there and this guy comes in seeming drunk, but soon I find out he had been drinking, but what really was making him sick was his ill-fated decision to drink Ukrainian tap water. Pro-tip: no matter what anyone says, DO NOT DRINK THE WATER IN RUSSIA OR UKRAINE. I thought this was a well-known piece of wisdom, but apparently not well-known enough. The issue this poor young man suffered from for the rest of the night was an impressive display of indigestion. He let loose belches every 30 seconds or so that nearly blew the glass out of the window. The man was like a walking foghorn. I felt bad for him as he seemed like a genuinely nice guy, but his explosive burps kept me up half the night, so my sympathy was a bit short.

The last guy was a Ukrainian from Kirovograd (SE of Kiev). He was nice enough, looking for engineering work in economically-foundering Ukraine. Nothing particularly interesting to report from him. Nice guy. I ended up doing translation between him and the other guys in the room.

They all left after my first whole day in the country, and were quickly replaced by a charming young woman named Lada, a furniture salesperson from Yalta (Crimea, Black Sea coast. Famous for the Big Three meeting there during WWII.). She was there on business, and we hit it off immediately. We talked about St. Petersburg, Ukrainian politics (without the tone of a lecture), our careers/activities, anything. Also, she didn't threaten the structural integrity of the room with her noises in the night, which was another big plus. As often happens when you make a connection with a Russian (she was ethnically Russian, as is most of the Crimean peninsula), I was invited along with Caitlin to visit her sometime in Yalta. Considering how beautiful Crimea is supposed to be, I may have to take her up on that offer.

I left Ukraine early on Tuesday, August 18, and I have to say that while St. Petersburg will always be my first love in Eastern Europe, Kiev had an awful lot going for it. It's really a beautiful city, much more laid back than it's Russian counterparts. Also, as the Ukrainians are quick to point out, it's the greenest capital in Europe, in reference to all its parks and reserves, so it's a great place to go sit under a tree. I highly recommend a visit, although it's even less accessible to those who speak no Russian than Moscow or St. Petersburg, although the people will probably be more patient with you.

Coming soon, the thrilling conclusion to my summer in St. Petersburg, and a look back on what all be.

C

Na maidani, kolo tserkvi

Well, for those worried, I am alive, well, and in Ukraine. I don't have a lot of time to post (computer dying already, no European converter), so I am just copy-pasting an email I wrote Caitlin. Sorry if you hoped for more. I will update again either on Monday or after I get back to Piter on Tuesday.

I had an early flight, so I got up at around 6, although I slept very poorly all night because of the excitement. Trying to save some money, I decided to take the metro/minibus. Bad decision. First, I got to the correct metro station, then got on the right bus (I even asked "does this go to the Airport?), but headed in the wrong direction. I realized this pretty quickly then yelled at the driver about not telling me when I asked, and he gave me the shittiest "well, I AM going to the airport, eventually", so I paid, hopped off, and tried to hail a taxi, but to no avail. So. I got back on the metro, went back to the original stop, and hailed a taxi there. The guy who stopped refused to quote a price before I got in, and since time was starting to run short, I had to hope for the best. We talked about Obama (and how he doesn't trust him as he seems a bit "two-faced", which must be the most thinly-veiled racist statement about someone of mixed heritage I've ever heard), then we arrived at Pulkovo-2, which is the international section. He demanded 1000 rubles for a 200 ruble ride. I told him I didn't have that, which was true, and he started calling me a liar and a cheat. I asked him who was cheating whom, offered him 300, and that was that. So I go into the airport, but suddenly realize that since I am stopping over in Moscow, I need to be at Pulkovo-1, which your tickets don't remind you of, and which, in a great example of Soviet logic, is several miles away. I hit an ATM, then run out and stop the first taxi coming by. He quotes a price that is only a little more than I probably should have paid, and just wanting to get there, I agreed immediately. Fortunately, he drove like a maniac and I got there with plenty of time to spare. Phew.

I then arrived in Moscow, which has a similarly-stupid setup for domestic versus international flights. So I asked a couple of police officers what to do, and they were actually quite helpful, although one kept asking me if I was registered (even though he was holding my registration card and passport). I told him yes, in St. Pete, and he asked why not in Moscow. Not in the mood, I asked him as snottily as possible how on earth I could have landed 20 minutes ago and gotten registered in Moscow that quickly. The other officer laughed, then took my passport and handed it back. Ugh. At least they told me that Aeroflot runs a free bus between the two airports. So I waited and got on the bus, then got to wait for a long time for the next plane. They didn't print on my ticket or announce which gate my flight was leaving from, so I wandered around looking for the right one until about 30 minutes before boarding, when they finally posted it. The flight was uneventful, and I was so tired, I of the no-sleeping-on-planes, managed to sleep through most of it. We landed, and passport control was nightmarishly backed up. After about an hour, I made it through, and was bombarded by taxi drivers. I told them all I didn't need it, and hopped the bus that I was told to take. In one of the few strokes of luck I had all day, the driver didn't charge me. I took it to the end of its line, but that wasn't where I was supposed to be, and I couldn't figure out what was going on. So, I started walking. Fortunately, it was a lovely day, and I figured that since I was at least in the city, I would soon find a metro. Wrong. But I walked, kept my head up, and I came around a bend and saw the famous skyline, with the golden cupolas and the giant protectress statue, so I knew I was going in the right direction. I thought about hailing a taxi (I walked several miles with my bags), but it was rush hour on Friday, so I was, in fact, moving at about the same pace as traffic. I crossed the Dniepr, and found a metro, which I then took to my stop. Fortunately, the hostel was only about a five-minute walk from the station, and I found it with minimal difficulty. Home sweet home. Too bad the joint lied in two ways: 1) no wireless internet and 2) no security safes in the room. I figured out a way to rig my bag so that it was attached to my bed near my head and to tie up the zipper so that taking anything out would be difficult. My roommates, two Russian tourists, seem like decent enough guys, too, so I'm not too worried. They did, however, stay up late in the common room talking to the staff, and after such a long day, I just wanted to sleep. Luckily, I still had the earplugs in my backpack from the sleep mask I gave you, and was able to fall asleep immediately after that.

Also, this is hilariously tragic and tragically true and truly appropriate for this post: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/15/world/europe/15kiev.html?hp

Do pobachennya,

C

The End of a (Very Brief) Era

First of all, not that they read this blog, but I would like to say congratulations to my friends Mary and Stu, who just got married this week. I wish I could have been there to share their day, and from the looks of the first few photos making their way to facebook, the event went smoothly and wonderfully. Best of luck, guys!

Well, tomorrow is my last day as an employee of the US Government (at least for a while). Much of the day will likely be consumed with "housekeeping" details--cancelling my server login, turning in my keys, getting an exit briefing, et cetera. I have trained my replacements to perform the menial yet vital functions I do, and after I give my last cable the go-ahead for transmission, I will be utterly expendable at the consulate. Frankly, it's exciting. I made it, despite the State Department's near-weekly attempts to destroy me. I will give a more thorough wrap-up of my experience after I leave (a week from tomorrow, which also seems shockingly close). For now, let's throw out some amusing tidbits from the last couple of weeks:

-My fan melted. Yes, melted. I can't decide if this is ironically awesome or awesomely ironic.

-I found out this week that I am actually authorized to receive shipments here. Good to know.

-I am moving into the consulate building tomorrow so they can prepare the apartment for the next permanent FSO moving in. Amusing to move into the building the night after my last day working in it.

-I just figured out how to use the air conditioner in my room last night. Again, I move out tomorrow. (In my defense, you have to use a remote control that I just happened upon in an unused drawer. Still, ridiculous.)

-I just got an email from my RA (a position that I still hold is ridiculous to have in grad housing), and he doesn't know the correct name of the building we live in. This does not bode well for the year.

-I just realized that I've been walking too far for my grocery shopping. Oh well. This is what happens when you dismiss everything to the north as "the river".

As I have mentioned previously, on Friday, I will fly to Ukraine, and I am sort of nervous, but mostly stoked. My Ukrainian is meager at best, but I am hoping to give it a bit of a whirl. Everyone there speaks Russian, so it won't be a problem if I flop, and since Ukrainian is a rarely-studied language outside the country, I would imagine Ukrainians are much more receptive to attempts to stumble through a few phrases than Russians generally are. The trip itself doesn't seem like a big deal, although I can't say as I am looking forward to the five-hour layover in Sheremetovo Airport (Moscow). For those keeping score at home: estimated flight time--2 hours 55 minutes, layover time--4 hours 50 minutes. Awesome. I guess I'll bring one of the many books I haven't read this summer.

In 48 hours I will be in Kyiv! Hopefully I will get you a post on Sunday evening or so. And photos, too. Catch you on the flip-side.

C

Stealing Good Ideas

A friend of mine from my grad program, Elizabeth, had a very good idea to post a playlist for her summer. She generally did a better job blogging than I have done, and even posted a rationale for all of her musical choices. I, on the other hand, simply have been listening to a lot of music this summer and thought it might be interesting to take some of the stuff that I've been listening to most (some old favorites, some newer to my tastes) and make a playlist that I thought was representational not only of my listening habits, but also my perception of my summer thus far. So, if you feel like giving a listen to my playlist, go for it. It's not chock-full of nuggets that you've never heard, but what can I say? I'm predictable.

C

Citizens! In the Event of a Nazi Siege, This Side of the Lake is the More Dangerous!

And another week goes by without me adding anything. I guess this has become something of a weekly posting. If you don’t like that, well, uh, sorry? Much as I enjoy St. Petersburg, the novelty wore off, oh, about five years ago, so I’m not constantly running off to another museum or theatre or something. But I shall now faithfully recount the events of my week.

Actually, another part of why I haven’t posted until now is that nothing of interest came up until the end of the week. The most exciting thing that happened for the first few days of work was that I took a sick day on Wednesday. I didn’t feel terrible, but had been feeling a bit ill the previous few days, so I decided to just shut it down. This definitely proved to be the right decision, as I was back at work the next day and ready to go (not that there was anywhere TO go). Friday was a bit more interesting, in that I went to lunch at a Korean restaurant with the PAO. He’s an interesting guy, and it was nice to eat someplace new. The food was even pretty decent (though predictably not spicy)! That evening I had the second of my two interview sessions for the cable I’m writing. Nothing earth-shattering was said, really, but the guys had several entertaining anecdotes, and even occasionally managed to get back on topic. At the end of the night, I realized just how expensive this little café is when I picked up the check. It’s so expensive…how expensive is it?!...it’s so expensive, I had to call the political affairs officer who lives in my building, and thus just down the street from the café, to come bail me out on the bill. Fortunately, the coin dropped on the beverages gets reimbursed by the consulate. Your tax dollars at work!

The next day, I went to Lake Ladoga with several consulate employees and their families. This was another excursion that I planned out. Ladoga is the largest lake in (geographical) Europe, and it was across this body of water that the Soviets supplied Leningrad during the siege in WWII. Hence, the highway that takes one from St. Petersburg to Ladoga is named “The Road of Life”, and is strewn with monuments, memorials, and extremely Soviet mile-markers. We went as guests of the curator of the Road of Life museum, a real muzhik by the name of Alexander Broneslavovich. He insisted on giving us a tour of the museum, which then led to some of the greatest excitement I’ve had all summer, when I was dragooned into being the INTERPRETER.

Interpreting is infamously hard, and with the amount of language study I’ve done over the years (Russian and otherwise), I’d say I have about as healthy a respect for simultaneous interpreters as anyone who has never had to do it seriously. But I still undersold them. I consider my Russian to be pretty good, especially considering my limited opportunities for speaking over the last several years. Simultaneous interpretation is hard. Really. Hard. You miss one word in a paragraph, and suddenly the wheels come off. Your mind rushes to find that word, and in the meantime, it has missed the next ten, your interlocutor has stopped speaking, and everyone is waiting for your translation. There’s a reason these people get paid crazy amounts of money. There’s also a reason they work in 30-minute shifts. Your brain is toast after doing that. But back to the story.

The museum was informative, I think. I was mostly distracted, but considering the amount of historical study I did of the siege in undergrad, I don’t think I missed too much. Among the most memorable items on display was, of course, an example of a daily bread ration from the starvation winter of 1941-42. However, the museum also featured several trucks (Ford AAs), weapons, bits of airplane, and other war-related detritus dredged from the lake. Those will probably stand out in my mind even more than the bread. Imagine, if you will, driving a vintage 1934 Ford truck, loaded to the brim with flour, medicine, ammunition, whatever. In the dark. On a frozen lake. With no lights. With little or no markings to know if you are going the right way. Without having eaten enough to keep your body from atrophying. While being shot at by German artillery. Sounds pretty bad? Now turn around. There and back took about 8 hours, and you’re still on the hook for another go. Failure means the whole city—around 2 million by that point—dies. Doesn’t sound like a very fun occupation to me, and seeing a truck they’d pulled out of the lake was grim beyond most things I’ve ever seen.

After the cheery tour, we all relaxed by the lake, cooked shashlik (kebabs), and enjoyed the sunshine. We were lucky with the weather, and being out in the country proved a much needed respite from the constant noise and dust of the construction on my block. Of all the things I’ve done here this summer, that’s probably the thing I enjoyed most.

Sunday proved mostly uneventful. I purchased a few souvenirs, took a few pictures, and ate lunch at a dingy stolovaya (cafeteria). Then I made an excursion to the grocery store and enjoyed lounging around for the rest if the evening. It’s hard to believe that I only have three more days of work, and that I go to Ukraine, only the second foreign country I’ll have ever visited, on Friday. I’ll try and get you another update before I fly to Kiev, but if not, have a good week, and you’ll next hear from me from the banks of the Dnieper.

Also, since I know you are all ravenous consumers of photographs, here's a facebook link to the album from this weekend. Again, if you want to see them but don't have facebook, let me know and I'll get you a link.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2106263&id=1102272

C

What Have You Done To Be So Lucky?

That's right, you are getting a double-dose of my blog this weekend, because I like you so much. Actually, it's more because I have interesting things to tell you, and I didn't get to post all week. But if you felt special after the first line, you can continue to pretend that is the reason.

Last night (Saturday), I witnessed the FIRST-EVER American Football game ever played in St. Petersburg. Historic, eh? The match was played in an infamous area of the city to the north called Primorskoye, amidst some of the newest and most opulent buildings in the city. I would like to say, before I get to how weird this game was, that the uniforms and equipment that the teams (the Nevsky Lions and the St. Petersburg Gryphons) were impeccable. I was impressed and really came to expect a quality product based on their appearance.

Don't judge a book by it's cover.

The game was played on a soccer field (big surprise), but that's not even scraping the surface of how bizarre this game was. First, there were yard markers diligently spread at ten-yard intervals--that is, until you got to the forties. I would estimate that there was about 8-10 yards between the two forties. Obviously, the yard markers were just for show. There were no uprights, as such, so for field goals, the attempt was to kick the ball over the soccer goals. This was fine, except there was no netting set up behind the goals, which meant that on the south side of the field the ball would sail into the parking lot, and on the north side, into a thick overgrowth of woods. Of course, all this assumes a successful attempt, which really was rarely a problem. In fact, the Lions (fittingly named, as we shall soon see) never even attempted an extra point. They went for two each time, and never succeeded, while the Gryphons had two kicks blocked more or less by sheer virtue of the fact that they were kicked at about chest-level with the defensive line. Alas, the nuances of the game may take a while.

Nuances like understanding basic offensive strategy. The Lions on more than one occasion completed screen passes to the running back, but gave him no blocking protection. In case you don't understand what happens in this scenario, allow me to treat you to the following link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a9jgP1brUn8. Not surprisingly, these plays led two two lost fumbles, and one broken leg (seriously). Another detail lost on both teams was the idea of "punting". There wasn't a single punt all game. And the Lions, in fact, at one point attempted what can only be described as a wingback sweep on something like 4-and-30. Not surprisingly, the Lions failed to convert. This trend of not understanding appropriate passing-vs-running situations was another trend throughout the match.

Nuances like zone coverage. Like how to fake a handoff. Like having wideouts stay back to block. Like how to throw a football (the Lions' QB had particular trouble with this one). But the number-one failure (pictured right) was the awarding of a touchdown to the Gryphons on a play that should have been ruled a touchback. WTF?! My head exploded on that one. And you thought the refs were screwing YOUR team.

All told, however, it was a good time. I was announced as a representative of the American government (which was strange), I sat next to some overly-perfumed and excessively-made-up low-level politician from the area, as well as a whole bunch of Chechen children, who were much more interested in making loud squeaking noises with a blade of grass, here on a special cultural exchange.

Today I went out souvenir shopping a little, but I have to admit, much to the surprise of some who know me, I hate to buy souvenirs because I can't stand haggling. I feel cheap and annoyed, but that's how we do things around here. I was not wildly successful today, but next weekend will be better. Why? Because next weekend will not feature VDV Day. The VDV are the Russian paratroopers, with whom I had a brush a few years ago that led to the story entitled "The Time I Was Nearly Thrown From a Moving Train By Drunk Russian Paratroopers". Suffice it to say, I wanted to avoid them as much as possible, and I'm sure they got raucous later this evening, but I hid inside all day. That is, after I got stuck behind their damn parade--TWICE--on the way home. It's really amazing to see so many people so drunk at noon, but that pretty much sums up the affair as I saw it.

And tomorrow, back to work. Nothing terribly interesting on the immediate horizon, but of course, I will try to keep you updated. Also, football photos will be posted soon.

C