From · Russia · with · Love

Now here's a paradox, how am I so in love with a country that absolutely hates all that I stand for? I'm loud, American(Good God!) and to top that off, not white...worse I've been told I look potentially Uzbeki and we all know what Russians think of their southern cousins, well, mildly they are "hot tempered" "lazy" "theives" while less circumspent would qualify them as "blacks" who "rape our women." And the people I am directly quoting are either professors or well educated students at my university. Interesting no?

I do however feel as if my time here is too little, too fleeting - I'll come out feeling vaguely empty, drained of preconceptions and predjudices but not completely full of experiences to carry back to the US. Only now, as I have started to make friends, like real friends, with Russian students, do I have to leave. I only have one weekend left in Moscow. One Weekend. And no, this is not scaring me for the superficial reason of clubs and "hot" spots that I have yet to hit, but because I can only really spend quality time with my russian friends on weekends because they are legitimate students, ie none of the "study dates" so common in my Stanford existence, and they do not live at the university(some not even close) and therefore are going home daily to parents and familial life. In this way, I am so incredibly excited to be going to Istanbul(Turkey for Thanksgiving...haha) and Paris(yay! Parents!) but my time here seems more precious as I watch it fly by.

As the cliched Mark Twain saying goes "I never let schooling get in the way of my education," but I feel that, with class till 4 or 6 every day (and having to leave my house before 9 because I still don't and won't ever have a key so as to be able to come and go as I please), I spend far too much time at this university, which because of its location on the outskirts of Moscow, does not afford any escape during free periods....

This is a whiny, spoiled and slightly obnoxiously random post, but I do feel like something is missing already. I have this absolutely horrendous tendency to regret that which I have not done....and there is so much that I have not done here!

"Klebnikov's killing highlighted the threat faced by journalists in Russia, which ranks as the most deadly country for journalists after Iraq and Algeria, according to the New York-based Committee to Protect Journalists."

~Courtesy of the NYT...how unsurprising

ps. Dems won the House AND SENATE AND MASSACHUSETTS GOVERNER...yay for breaking 16 yr Republican curses(in MA)

pps. I talked about how happy I was about it in my English class today(where all I have to do is speak with Russian students about randomness) and they asked me what would happen now, always fearing the apocalypse these Russians are. I of course made the less than prudent statement, "Well I guess you guys don't really ever have this experience seeing as you never really have a choice..." oops I keep forgetting that the Russian public doesn't really know(no matter how smart they are), or more importantly care, if everyone of their elections is a choice between two parties controlled by the Kremlin.

Why do they desire stability so? Maybe because the Yeltsin years were characterized by such corrupt instability and low standard of living, that they are willing to live with anyone who promises them their daily potatoes and cutlets, the dacha on the weekends and a banya every once in a while....oh and vodka, lots of vodka. [Can you believe that Gorbachev actually thought that stopping the production of hard alcohol, thereby "reducing" drinking, would make the soviet workers work harder? What actually happened was more home made vodka, stronger marfias, less work and more deaths...typical. No one ever learns from others' mistakes...prohibition anyone?]

ps the previous lj entry was not actually real russian in the first line. I had just forgotten to turn on the English script setting on my host fam's computer... don't try to decode it...although like they always say 1000 monkeys could write Shakespeare, so maybe some Dostoevsky or Puskin will come out of my random pounding...

Now that would be a brilliant commercial idea. Make a book of "poems" made by randomly typing english words onto a cyrillic keyboard and calling it the new Russian slang...people here are always ready to pay through the nose for the "newest" and most "fashionable" or "в моде" штука(thing) on the market...I mean how else would you explain the Sushi House on every corner and the fact that clubs stay open and "hot" for approximately 4 months before closing and reopening as something else? (interestingly enough R&B(ie American Rap) is very "in" right now and therefore those are the clubs which are the most expensive and hardest to get into...and yet America has no culture to speak of, right?)

Element- the expat newspaper in Moscow propogating the american stereotype...ummm thanks?
"In Moscow these days, hating Americans is the new leopard print. The poor kids are experiencing a love deficit as big as their budget’s. But love we must, not just because they can hurt you if you’re not nice to them, but because they have so much to offer: jazz, quality beef product, “South Park,“ rad nuclear technology that only they get to play with. Yes, they’re loud and opinionated, with big hair to match big egos. We all need someone to hate and they seem to be the obvious choice. But if you take the time, you’ll realize there is worse."

nvpereira (8:21:38): зы рщц скфян шы ше ерфе офкувэы ьфккшув
theneekinator (8:22:02): hahaha you talk and all I see is squiggle squiggle squiggle
theneekinator (8:22:46): امذا هل تفعل هذا؟

story of my life...you try living in Moscow. Apparently according to my little host sister(the wicked cool 13 yr old) there is a Moscow slang language that is a complete 180 from Russian. And you though Russian was complex. In this slang language, some words are based on how you hear them(and transcribe the sounds). Example сейчас which means now, can be (and is) said by almost everyone as чаш, or if you're slightly better spoken счас. Now what makes this unendingly confusing is that чаще means sooner and час means an hour...so really what you think you're hearing is almost never what the other person is actually saying.

interesting, no?

After kind of watching the Mask of Zorro in Russian, while doing Russian homework and chatting with Jess, I feel the need to talk(with myself I guess) about cross-cultural relations and how Moscow turns everything on it's head. I've been wondering about this recently as I see brides at McDonalds, hear only English on the radio and watch badly dubbed American movies(bad American movies at that – think the Pacifier!) and tv shows(who knew that "Extreme Makeover" – US edition of course – would ever become popular in other countries?). I mean how do a people so completely opposed and antagonistic towards Americans gobble up everything we put out? From Herbal Essences to Tampax, going to the apteka feels like walking into Walgreens, except of course the prices being about twenty times higher!
This random collection of thoughts was actually spurred by something tangible…I swear! I just have been noticing dramatic inconsistencies in the way Russians, even my Russian friends, think about the US.

Take last week for example. I was supposed to meet my friend Dina for coffee during my wicked long break between classes on Tuesday, and when I met her in front of the building(the main hang out for the smoker crowd, oh wait I mean the entire university) one of her friends Dima(yes I know, after a month in Russia you realize that all nicknames are simple variations on a theme which makes it very easy not to forget someone’s name – Girl? Probably Masha or Anya, Boy? You’re looking at a Sasha(Sasha is actually a fabulous name to play with because you can slur any letter of the alphabet in front of –Asha and you’ll probably be right), Dima or Alyosha) decided to come with us. I suggested going to a café close by, since I only really wanted a coffee and a chill place to chat, but Dima and Dina really wanted to go to the McDonalds down the street from the university. Now, I theoretically have nothing against McDonalds, having eaten many a roadtrip meal there and being slightly addicted to their dollar vanilla ice cream sundaes when waiting for flights back from California, but when in Russia…it just seems so wrong, so stereotypically American(the idea of eating at McDs because it’s cheap, American (not foreign) and “comfortable” is so anathema to my entire conception of life in a foreign country). But as they say, when in Russia, do as the Russians do…and apparently the Russians DO…as in are obsessed with McDs. Did you know that when the first McDonalds opened on Tverskaya(the first in Russia), the lines were half a mile long? That vaguely sickens me, when you think of waiting for 4 hours for the pleasure to eat a burger made out of what, a 1000 cows? So very Soviet, if there’s a line, it must be good and we must stand and wait for hours on end….oh even better, did you know that McDs tried to make the “McDonald’s smile” a fixture in their Russian branches and found business actually dropping off because people were confused, angry and put off by the “maniacally” happy(read forced) smiles of McDs employees. Oh Russia, the only place a smile would be considered an insult, who knew that a stare of death would be more conducive to selling “Happy Meals”? Well ok now that I have gotten horrendously off topic(yet again), what I meant to highlight was the fact that McDonalds is so typically and stereotypically American(up there with Americans are fat, stupid and Republican… I mean) and that we were going there(against my better judgement)…

As a preface, I think Dima’s a pretty cool guy, very honest(well what Russians aren’t brutally so), funny, sarcastic and intelligent, basically a guy that I would like to be friends with, that is until his Anti-America rant. So we were hanging out outside on the patio of the McDonalds, as he and Dina were enjoying their classy repast when he invited another friend of theirs – Vincent – to come and chat with us. Now I do not like Vincent. He’s abrasive, rude and pretty crude, oh and did I mention completely full of himself? He lived in Canada for 6 years I guess and therefore thinks himself the expert on the English language and likes to make crude excrement jokes – reminiscent of another Canadian superstar…Tom Green.

So we were all just chatting about a variety of things, when, for some reason, Vincent said “America has no culture.” Now, I am, by no means, a jingoist who takes offense at the slightest hint of anti-American sentiment and I consider myself to be a constructively critical patriot, very aware of our faults and strengths.

That said, “America has no culture” is a gauntlet, even for me. How can an intelligent human being so blatantly generalize over an entire country without ever having even visited? Apparently we’re “too young”(I mean only the oldest democracy right?), too “patriotic”(excuse me… I believe Russia is in possession of some of the most jingoistic nationalist rhetoric that I have ever heard – but as Vincent explained “you all think that America is the greatest place to live ever” – so is that abnormal? Should we hate our country…if we did, shouldn’t we just move?) and just completely lacking in some kind of underlying thread, because you know a country built on immigrants obviously must just be a bastardized amalgamation of the worst of everything they have to offer(I wonder why Russia is so xenophobic, I mean if you let happy people in, then the ENTIRE system collapses) …
Oh and did I mention that when I mentioned Russia’s nationalistic xenophobia – let’s see the race killing that happens bi-weekly in either Moscow or St. Pete – they compared it to Columbine…saying that we’ve had three Columbine-like incidents just this month in the US…right

Basically I stopped talking, let them rant (logic was impossible at this point) and escaped as soon as I realized that my class was about to start…I love discussing and arguing, but when faced with two incoherently angry Russian boys, despite the fact that they were bashing a country that I love, I decided that it was best for me to keep silent.

You’d be proud. I don’t usually shy away from confrontation and usually fan the flames of every fire.

But I do love this place. Really.

Halloween chez our fabulous(ly horrible) computer Cluster
"I'm going to need good candy" ~ Jess
"Or else you'll get a lot of tricks" ~ Matt
"Well, this is Russia" ~ me
...
"Will you do Tricks for Treats?" ~ Matt
"Depends on the Treats!" ~ spoken like a true Russian

Let me just add that the computer room is the most depressing place that I have ever been and it only serves to further reinforce the malaise we feel when we realize that we have almost no interaction with actual Russian people. Thank God for having internet(however slow) at home!

PS. I organized an informal Trick or Treating in our computer room...very cute...very random Russian candies. But such a pathetic evocation of my favorite holiday.

I just realized that I have yet to document a two week-old vital change in my Moscow life…I have a new host family, they are wonderful!, I have internet … and (drum roll please) It’s Snowing(as I eat jam and type on my fabulous in-room computer)!

Okay, starting back at the beginning, my Russian babushka actually did begin to grow on me as we started falling into a comfortable routine, which involved a relaxing weekday schedule and my sleeping over at Jess’s house every weekend so as to be able to go out and have a safe place to return. My daily routine involved getting up at an ungodly hour(6-6:30am), showering, warming the kasha that was on the stove, making tea(with used tea bags because true soviets always reuse tea bags until the tea bag to water ratio is such that you end up with about an inch of drinkable(barely) tea…I decided not to argue after my babushka almost had a heart attack when I went to throw out my tea bag on the first day after using it for “only” two cups of tea!), eating my kasha blearily with lots of homemade Varenia(currant jam) and sugar in the vain attempt to stimulate my exhausted and protesting body with massive doses of piping hot and sugary food(simple sugars are supposed to give you burst of energy right? Maybe I’m developing immunity!) and finally making that third cup of tea while contemplating what to wear.

Now, before you mock me for my actual planning of outfit, remember, this is Russia. Women wear four inch Dalmatian stiletto knee-highs and mini skirts with outrageous fur boleros to go to the gym. The Stanford practice of throwing a sweatshirt over pjs just won’t cut it… I mean there’s already such a hugely negative stereotype of fat, stupid and slovenly Americans, that one doesn’t really need to propagate it, much less be subject to the evil stares on the metro that dressing the part would entail(and let me tell you, the “glare of death” has been perfected by the Russian people as a whole, from the adorable little babushkas to the leggy supermodels, everyone has their own terrifying variation…mine is developing nicely!). I mean, let’s not lie, even at Stanford, I was never the sweatshirt pj type, seeing as I cared how I looked, but walking down the street every morning, I can’t help but to wonder how much time these men and women spend on their outfits, and that’s not saying that they are all fantastically stylish, I’d actually go to the other extreme and say that most verge on ridiculous as you see 15 different styles competing for attention in every outfit – the epitome of Russia, everything from the medieval architecture, to current fashion trends is over the top, if the country just chose one style/ornament/political orientation and stuck to it, the combination might actually work, but the penchant for ostentation makes everything just a bit too much – tasteless. It probably does not help that the university that we are studying at is notorious for being the playground of the rich, for it is difficult to get into, that is unless you have the money for the customary absurdly high “facilitation fee”[the gentler term for bribe as described by one of my professors] that exempts you from actually passing the exam…note that to even take the exam, a certain, under the table sum is required…ah Russia. Thus on a daily basis, I see more Louis Vuitton, Prada and Chanel walking around than in 1)my pi phi house or 2)Saks Fifth Ave. And God forbid you have last seasons purse! Haha.

Then after a full day of classes and the hour long ride on the metro (with one change from the Red line to the Green line), my daily 10 minute walk home, the customary 5 minutes searching through the huge carry-all (that I bought so as to be able to carry all my worldly possessions and then some around Moscow without resorting to the ubiquitous plastic bags that every true Russe has) for my ever elusive keys and finally my four flights of stairs to my apartment(there is an elevator, but let’s not lie, it’s not like I’m getting a ton of exercise here!) I arrive to the smell of frying potatoes, sounds of American songs(because apparently Russian radio doesn’t believe in anything but French and American music!) and sight of my babushka reheating our weekly soup, frying potatoes and preparing some type of unseasoned meat, which I usually eat with immense amounts of an amazing red pepper/onion/leek relish that she makes. Aaah the pleasures of domestic life. As she cooked and I set the table, for one(me) usually, as she had the most strange eating habits(she said that because she’s been living alone, she eats when she wants to and never really has a set schedule) we’d chat in broken Frussian(did I mention that at the age of 92 she’s teaching herself a new language? She’s a total baller, she said it’s because she gets bored with nothing to do…note to self become like her when I grow up!) about varied topics…

I fear that a further update/continuation of this stream of thought will have to come later as I need to be up in 5 hours!

So I promised decently spaced entries and like most things in life I definitely have trouble delivering! It’s not that I don’t want to document my life here - I actually am desperately trying to remember everything because every second in this city is so fabulous – but that I have such a short amount of time here that spending time documenting everything I see and experience would just take that much more time away from seeing and experiencing things! Never fear, my diary has been similarly ravaged as I cannot bring myself to try and put down on paper the myriad of experiences I am and have been having for fear of cheapening them with my inability to express myself in our inordinately inadequate language.

Think of it this way… my Russian friend told me that there are around 50 different ways of saying “Fuck you”(to use the crudest of examples), thus where we get the meaning of everything from “oh, shut up silly” to “you are the most abhorrent individual I have ever laid my eyes upon” with a slight shift in intonation, the Russian have distinct phrases for every possible iteration of the phrase. With such verbal specificity no wonder Russia produces so many great writers, they can say exactly what they mean with one word, whereas we have to muddle about looking for the perfect descriptive phrase. I mean, Jess’s host mom translates English and French movies into Russian and when I asked her about the complementary task of translating Russian movies into English(after meeting an Australian who caters to that tiny niche market), she glanced at me with humorous condescension and said “очень трудно” (very difficult) with the hint that getting such nuance across in the English language was damn near impossible.

Even the use of words is very important in Russian…something that, although supposedly important in the US, takes on a completely different tone here: “я люблю”(I love) and “мне нравится”(I like) have very specific meanings and woe is to anyone who uses them incorrectly because as my host sister says, you can be misunderstood when using nice words that together express and very unkind sentiment(she likes speaking to me in English because her English is far superior to my Russian, probably because she’s been taking it for 8 yrs to my 2 and Russians sure are taskmasters!). Back home I’m used to using the word “love” flippantly – “I love this weather,” “I love your sweater,” “I love cashew nuts,” and signing off most emails “Love You!” – but here the word love means some sort of possession, ownership or taking responsibility for something/someone – your family, a pet, a oft practiced hobby(verging on obsession). And those who violate these principles (my love of cashew nuts and crisp weather being key examples) earn quizzical stares as people rush to correct them - “you don’t “люблю,”you “нравится.”

Really, playing with languages is so interesting, and even as my French slowly disappears(being replaced by a sort of Franco-Russe – or Frussian as I like to call it) I realize that even in France(as my favorite foreign exchange guy friends told me) there are about 50 different verbs for “to have sex”…typical right?

A word to the nightlife….I am getting wicked lazy because I have written so much(I know that I have owed many an update!) so I am going to cross reference the podcast that I’m helping to start for our Moscow program. First let me say, we weren’t pigeon-holed at ALL…seeing as we were assigned the nightlife section. Oh well, it will definitely be the most fun to do and will sound far less boring than the “audio essays” that the rest of our fellow podcastees are putting together. You should definitely try and check it out, though, because I know that it will be interesting, I mean Moscow is such a stunningly different place that absolute ridiculousness is taken as quotidian.

As far as my prejudices coming into Moscow were concerned, I had heard that Moscow is the city that never sleeps, that you party until breakfast and then crash all day only to continue your nocturnal street prowl a few hours later. Seeing as Newton MA doesn’t really have a “night life” per se, and the Palo Alto “pub crawl” will be out of reach for a while, I was definitely psyched to get a taste of big city life…but Moscow is nothing if not a study in extremes. It is a city that lives on raw social Darwinism, which in some ways is very refreshing for its utter honesty – it makes no bones about judging you for not being pretty enough, rich enough and most importantly not Russian enough.

In a city in which wearing four inch stilettos that sharpen to a razor point at the toe and the heel is considered normal for a mile long trek to work, keeping up with the Jones’ is not just impossible, it could kill you! Fashionable girls, those who get the rich husbands and therefore manage to stay “v modye,” look like barbie dolls with platinum hair, size 24 jeans, 36 D bra size, mini skirts and vicious boots…the smoke the “right” or “fashionable” cigarettes, drink “Fashionable” drinks, only buy clothes/accessories/toiletries from the right stores and only eat “Trendy” food(when they eat at all) and know which of the clubs is “in” at the moment, and can get past the “feis control” every time. Can you imagine how tiring that could be? But that is the way of life in Moscow, because if you want to be considered anything, you need to be able to do all these things and more importantly make it look effortlessly, as if you yourself started the trend. As for the idea of “feis control,” Moscow is probably the only city in the world in which this idea is a well articulated rule… I mean to a certain extent clubs in NYC and LA definitely turn away many people because of physical, monetary and style deficiencies, but they are not as blunt about it as Moscow bouncers and partiers.

As we say in our podcast(this will be coming out early next week!)

“When prepping for a big night out in Moscow, you face the eternal question: where to go?
• Now, you may be one of the lucky few who somehow manages to befriend a Moscow native, and one who just happens to be on the short list of club insiders – if so, nice work. . No need to keep listening.
• For the rest, and by rest we mean 99.9% of the expat crowd, you’re going to need some major guidance to successfully navigate the scene. A word to the wise: ditch the guidebook.
o Instead go for an English publication that give you the real deal on Moscow life. We suggest either “element” or “exile.ru”. In addition to featuring some of the hottest bars and clubs in the city, these publications function as a survival guide to Moscow nightlife.

o Here’s what you need to know before you walk out the door…
• First, there’s something here for everyone, be it hip-hop, electronica, or salsa – so do your homework.
• Don’t roll deep – 1 American may already be too many, traveling in packs is not going to help your cause.
• More importantly, steer clear of the “in” clubs – because you won’t get in. What you have to understand is that Moscow is brutally honest – if you’re not a native, supermodel, or a billionaire, good luck getting past the front door. It’s called feis control, it’s rampant, deal with it
• Realistically the Moscow scene quote unquote you hear about before getting here consists of about .001% of the population. And why, you may wonder? Well, it may have to do with the fact that the typical bar tab here could buy you a Hawaiian vacation for 2.

You’re in the door, the place is hopping, and you’re ready to go. Our advice? Enjoy the next few hours, because getting home is a whole new ball game. When you stumble out at 4 in the morning, remember: the Metro closed at 1, and only reopens at 5:30. So, either you wait it out at one of the rare all-night diners, or you put yourself at the mercy of the gypsy cabs.
o Gypsy cabs you say? WTF mate?
Time to define: there are no taxis in Moscow at 4 in the morning. Instead, there are shady characters driving around aimlessly, just waiting to take advantage of the ignorant foreigners. IE, you. Here’s the scenario: you and your friend (do NOT attempt this alone…it will lead to certain death) flag down a random car. The driver speaks to you in rapid-fire Russian. You pretend to understand, in the hopes of driving down the price. Limit all response to your address and a quick relay of how much you are willing to pay. If driver nods, hop in. If head starts shaking, close the door and get outta there. There are literally hundreds of other pseudo cabs waiting and willing to get you where you need to be. If you make it to the front door unharmed and with some money still in your pocket, consider it victory”

ciao for now

And so I was picked up from the airport. The girl who picked me up was a very friendly, slightly ditzy Russian with whom I chatted with as we drove through the positively balmy Moscow afternoon…it was like 75 outside! I was pretty psyched to see that my disheartening predictions of snow in September, overcast skies and sunshine for 3 hours a day, were every much untrue(at least for now!).

We arrive at my apartment and it turns out to be a nice neighborhood, in Soviet terms, with trees and smaller streets off of Leningradsky Prospect. Actually, if the apartment buildings didn’t look so much like warehouses(and smell like damp inside) this would resemble a cozy middle class neighborhood in any big city. I was to live in number 4 of a contiguous block of cement/brick/stone, which was obviously made in the soviet era as it lacked anything that could be identified as aesthetic appeal. Walking into my building was surreal, almost entering a time warp that sent me back to the communist days as I exited the glorious “welcome to Moscow!” weather through a heavy metal door for the cool, dark, dank atmosphere of … I can’t really describe it. It was a combination of different sensations : disregard(as most soviet spaces have been…the inside/outside paradox is very interesting), life(you could feel that many people had lived there from the worn stone stairs to the tired and creaky elevator) and oh it was almost clammy, this last vestige of one of the longest and greatest social experiments. Indeed the interior decoration was strictly proletarian - for aesthete was a bourgeoise sensibility - the taupe tiles, worn brownish stone, sickly yellow walls and tired light bulbs gave the building a jaundiced feel.

Thankfully the apartment was nothing if not airy, bright and though soviet in style(my bed is pretty much a wooden slab with a thin pad), very comfortably “lived in.” Better yet, I am living with a babushka. She is 92. Legitimately 92. Moreover, she is probably about 4’5, and I am not kidding, she is one of the shortest people I have ever met, and next to her, I feel like a giant, all 5 feet 2 inches of me. Now, I was expecting/had been told that I would be living with a grandmother and her 28 yr old granddaughter.

Now some one had not done their homework because there was no granddaughter, indeed, the said grand daughter had been married off that January, therefore it would be just me and my babushka…at a metro stop about an hour and 15 minutes from the university…with no other Stanford kids/foreign exchange students in my vicinity. This was not so pleasing, especially since I had come to Russia to actually speak Russian, and all my grandmother seemed to do was totter around silently. Now this has actually changed in the last three weeks, but I have to say I think I am going to switch houses because how am I supposed to learn Russian when there is no real conversaition to take part in because when I don’t know something, be it a verb, noun or adjective, my babushka gets tired and decides to feed me in order to stop the conversation. I mean we actually have a pretty decent relationship, although she does get really angry at me for not making my bed and tries to practice French with me(because at the ripe age of 92 she has decided to learn French…for what use? I have no idea) instead of helping me improve my Russian.

This sounds like me complaining for nothing, but let me put it in perspective, Jess Schaffer has this fabulous family with a single mother, a daughter who is our age and a younger brother. Not only does the family involve her in every aspect of their lives, but she is constantly practicing her Russian with her host mom(who basically sits down with her for an hour every night chatting in Russian to give her vocab depth and breadth), hanging out with her host sister and meeting her friends ….and did I mention that she has constant internet in her room? I was just invited to come watch ice skating on tv for the first time this Sunday! Moreover, Jess is totally in the center of Moscow in this gorgeous apartment on the 13th floor with a view of the entire city… and Jess Vernon has another amazing family(also with a daughter our age) who lives 10 minutes away from school(they drive her every morning) and took her to the dacha(their country house) to spend last weekend with their friends and their daughters friends. I mean I want a family, not a person, how are you supposed to learn about Moscow when your host is barely mobile? That said, however, Alexandra(my hostess) was a total baler back in the day. She showed me pictures of her mountain climbing with her husband and talked of all the places that they had been in Russia. I’ll put some of the pictures up, they’re pretty freaking awesome. I just wish that there were more people in my family because I want to be involved in Russian life, not just doing the “Stanford in Moscow” experience.

So, like I said, I am horrendous at keeping promises to write...but I promise you that this week has been pretty ridiculous.

I decided to do the trip to Moscow the Russian way, cheapest tickets, long lines, hauling ass across JFK with 100 lbs of bags(getting laughed at by smug commuters who only had small carry-ons) only to stand in another excruciatingly slow long line in order to show up 2 hours early for my Aeroflot(think very soviet airplane - “comfort is for dirty capitalists” type) flight. I decided that some mental purification would be necessary for the flight since I noticed that every other person in the waiting area was most definitely RUSSIAN…and I use capital letters because, when you live in such a heterogeneous country like the US you don’t really realize what “country-specific characteristics” really are. Not just in a physical sense, but an emotional, cultural and more social sense.

Everyone on the plane, from the little toddler to the older Russian babushka, was dressed to the nines(or at least what they considered the nines) and my jeans, uggs, cute tank top and zip-up, which, let me say, I though quite dressed up, given my usual plane outfits of flip flops, velour sweats and a wife beater), and they all had a very Soviet mentality. Now before I sound like a judgmental American, you must realize that everyone got up half an hour before the plane was going to board and formed a messy line, at least 3 or four abreast, filling the airport hallway…I mean the TSA security guard had to come up and force people to move back, but they all stood there in this massive line until the plane boarded – it was a preconditioned response to a signal that I certainly did not hear.

Even when on the plane, in our less than spacious accommodations, there was some sort of unofficial market in airplane seats as people called across aisles and down rows trying to optimize their situation by placing auctioning off their seats and jockeying for seats with their friends…now there was plenty of time for this to take place because, of course, our plane left and hour and a half late! I guess, like island time, Russian time runs a little slower than the rest of the world. When I attempted to listen to the airline radio, I realized that our radios were either broken or so inconsistent that you got static for more than 50% of the programming, making listening to the radio a participatory sport as you tried to fill in the many blanks of the songs. Fortunately enough I had a really cool seat mate with whom I spent a lot of time talking…and as I make a lot out of my less than ideal comfort situation, let me say that this girl was at least 5’ 10” and while I could still pretty much curl up in my seat by tucking my feet into the seat pocket in front of me, her long legs were situated such that her knees actually reached those same pockets…never have I been so glad to be short!

She was on one of those Russian-America exchange programs in which Russian student pay exorbitant “facilitation fees”(as my professor described them today) to Russian companies who then get the students visas, minimum-wage jobs in the US(think McDonalds or Amusement Parks) and set up very Spartan living arrangements for them. And here I was complaining about Mirrielees and Sagan! She actually was in New Hampshire and decided that the hour and a half that she had to commute to work in the morning(by bus at like 5 in the morning) was not worth the pittance that she was making and therefore went down to Florida to live with her brother and work in an Italian restaurant. In between dinner, which, thanks to STA(kosher is SO the way to go!), was delicious, “The Island” in Russian without an English channel or even subtitles, sleep, and breakfast, we chatted a lot about the Russia-America differences and passed a pretty pleasant plane ride. Arriving at SVO was intense. First of all the MASSES of people, and then the badly delineated lines for Russian citizens and foreigners(I finally gave up and got in the diplomats line…along with lots of Russians who didn’t feel like standing in the incredibly long Russian citizen line – there is a strange disregard for all rules and regulations here…it’s not just in movies, believe me). Even the baggage system was inefficient with the moving belt getting clogged and then finally breaking down resulting in all bags being piled together in a confusing jumble....finally I managed to track down all of my belongings and head for the waiting area, where, unsurprisingly enough no one was there for me. I decided to hang out outside the doorway in the vain hopes that my incredibly obvious foreigness would draw my “guide” to me, which was a bit counter productive as I seemed to be a magnet for incredibly pushy and overly aggressive cabbies. Finally one of the girls that I had befriended on the plane came up to me outside and asked if I was from Stanford, saying that some girl had approached her asking her the same question…and finally I found my greeter and was off!

More later, I spent far too much time describing my airport experience…jeez I’m going to have to work on time management!