Kastkovo? Kaykovo? Keykovo? Karavello? Whatever.

Dear Readers!

Since last I wrote to you, not much of interest has happened, generally speaking. In fact, I've been particularly bored at work. But today, I had a rare adventure, wherein I rode 2.5 hours each way in a car with four Russians to the glubinka (boondocks) to help out with another summer camp.

I have been struggling with some mild insomnia recently, so the last thing I wanted to do was get up early this morning, but that I did so that I could get to the Public Affairs Office on time. This was a similar affair to my last camp excursion: bring trivia, a few camp game ideas, and baseball. Furthermore, we made lemonade and sandwiches while the kids watched The Incredibles (in English...despite the utter lack of English knowledge among these children).

Frankly, the camp experience was similar to last time. I went with Vera, Lena, and Leonid from the PA section, and we took Nikita, one of the baseball players from the North Stars (and one of the ones who came to the last camp excursion) with us to help teach baseball. It was fun, the kids liked the food, they had fun with limbo and red rover, and they insisted on watching Nikita and I air out the baseball (this led to the first time anyone has watched me throw a baseball with any sort of interest since I was about 14, if that, and I found it pretty funny to hear them ooh and ahh at basic throws). But whatever, there were a bunch of kids, the whole thing was terribly disorganized, largely because of our counselor help didn't live up to that appellation.

Much more interesting, actually, was the car ride there and back. Days where I speak nothing but Russian I usually find exhausting--I don't know if that is an indication that speaking Russian wears me out (probably), or if those days tend to be days where I am working a lot and sort of running the show (also a possibility). Regardless, the conversations we had in the car were delightful without exclusion. This will probably seem obvious or silly, but I honestly think those who have not spent extensive amounts of time with foreigners in a foreign land take as a given this simple fact: people are people everywhere. No, I'm not just figuring out that the Russians are human, nor did I ever have suspicions to the contrary (okay, maybe once or twice). But these were surprisingly open conversations about our interests, our experiences, and our hopes for our own lives, with a generous portion of humor thrown in (mostly from the crummudgeonly Leonid, who drove, occasionally with a mouthful of Lays potato chips).

I think foreigners, especially those who speak a different language, hold a certain mystique to most everyone. They come from a distant place and speak about God knows what in a mysterious code, therefore, our minds leap to the conclusion that they must be fundamentally different beings. I fall into this trap of my subconscience from time to time, too. But driving through the Russian countryside, past the vast empty fields and lush green forests, talking about Vera's decision about law school and Lena's kids and Nikita's hometown, you just can't help but feel at home. I got back to my apartment sometime after 9 pm tonight, but it was pretty worth it. When you can feel not just welcome, but like a part of a new group of people in a different land, you feel like its a pretty special event. But if you think about it, it's the most natural thing in the world.

Also, if anyone sees the Cincinnati Reds play sometime soon, be sure to throw something at Willy Taveras for me. I'd say wait until his back is turned, but I'm fairly confident he won't catch it one way or the other.

C