Rostov Velikii

Well folks, I popped out of town again this weekend, courtesy of Zhenya and her Zhiguli driving dad. This time, we went to a town about an hour north of Pereslavl', called Rostov-Velikii (or Great-Rostov, which is different from the Rostov in the south, on the Don River).

Rostov is even older than Moscow or Pereslavl', and it was founded in 862. Unfortunately, nothing from that time period survives, but the Kremlin, which dates from the 1660s is an absolutely beautiful architectural ensemble. There is something about the wood and grey in the towers and domes, combined with the not-quite-restored look of the place that reminds one of the passage of time. Restoration work is a necessary part of historical preservation, but sometimes it makes objects look too new and too perfect.

Zhenya's mom fed me to the point of bursting again, and this morning Zhenya and I walked around Pereslavl', stopping off at the Iron Museum (as in the things you use to iron clothes). There was this guy there who told the whole history of iron technology, and he also threw in some annecdotes about the other uses of irons. These include garlic mashing and meat tenderizer, mouse trap, fly-trap and cockroach trap (these uses can be found in the iron model that has a chamber where you add hot coals). If the iron isn't big enough to trap all of your cockroaches, he recomended building a little noose-set onto the iron so that other cockroaches, in their despair could commit suicide (see attached picture). The guy was just hilarious.

In other news, I lost my sunglasses and I have a sinus infection. 16 days and counting....



Monastery in Rostov - note the cows grazing outside.


Rostov Kremlin


Main Cathedral in Rostov


Death to Cockroaches

No kidding

Okay, so I was attempting some self-mandated radio silence, but this little bit o' information came to my attention and I decided to surface briefly.

Remember my run-in with the scientologist English teacher? Yeah, well, he's dead.

He was murdered on Monday. He was found beaten to death in his apartment. It turns out he's also Russia's biggest spammer and has plagued peoples' inboxes relentlessly - so much so that the Minister of IT and Communications flooded the office with automated phone calls threatening him to stop.

The details of his murder are as follows - Vardan Kushnir (the dead guy) goes to the Hungry Duck (weird bar that has long outlived its fame in the 1990s), picks up 3 women and brings them back to his apartment. Police suspect these women then let in their accomplices who had the aim of robbing this guy. Well, something went wrong and he was beaten to death. The police do not think that the murder has anything to do with the spam.

There are also some people out there who thought the reports of his death were a publicity stunt until it was confirmed by the police.

no title

Insomnia blows.

Here's a picture from the Estonian bog and the Estonian forest, a story which I never got around to telling. Tallinn was beautiful. The Lahemaa National Park even more so.

why St. Petersburg is better than Moscow

Okay, so I could come up with a hundred reasons for this right about now, but the reason of the day is: because St. Petersburg is a port city.

Why does this matter? I'll tell you!

Went to the post office today to send a huge pile of books homeward. In St. Petersburg I sent them "by boat" which although slower than air mail, nonetheless got them there in about 2 months. So after wrapping up my 10 kilograms of books (that's about 20 pounds, incidentally) the lady asks me: so air mail right?
Me: actually by boat please
Lady: Boat? Do you want them to get there?
Me: I know its slower
Lady: They won't get there
Me: I don't understand
Lady: You can either send them by air or by land, and we're not connected to America by land - they won't arrive (ne dokhodiat)
Me: But I want to send them by boat
Lady: what boat? There is no boat.
Me: But in Petersburg I sent them by boat
Old Man waiting in line: There's a port there, that's why you can send them by boat
Me: Oh. That's right

So I sent them by air mail and paid $50 to do it. I'm thinking of just paying for the extra bag again on the way back, because after a few $50 trips to the post office I could pay the $150 for the extra bag!

[note to self - be sure to study geography before going to post office to determine available shipping options - I just assumed that when the land ended they got put on a boat!]

cough cough hack hack

According to today's Moscow Times:
"Moscow's metro is bad for your health but apparently not quite as bad as being in a downtown street, according to a recent government report.

Gases such as nitrogen dioxide, carbon dioxide and other oxides as well as dust, noise and plain old grime exceed permissible levels in dozens of metro stations, according to the report by an agency of the Health and Social Development Ministry."

Yeah, we knew that all along.

take me to the water

I got out of Moscow this weekend. And this was a very very good idea, since some of you know how close I was to losing it this week!

My Russian friend Zhenya invited me to go home with her to Pereslavl'-Zalesskii, a town of about 45,000 some 70 miles or so NE of Moscow. Her parents still live there and she spend the later part of her childhood there before coming to school in Moscow.

We actually drove up there with her dad because Pereslavl' isn't on a train line, and so is not as easily accesible as some places.

Despite the fact that it is the same size as Charlottesville proper, Pereslavl' is almost like a big village - there are two main roads and one stoplight. The town is bordered on the west by Lake Pleshchevo, and has 5 monasteries. Yes, one stoplight, five monateries. Zhenya's parents were wonderfully sweet and hospitable. I was fed until I burst and I got the whirlwind tour of the area over 2 days.

Pereslavl' is 852 years old, five years younger than Moscow, and the famous prince, Aleksandr Nevskii was born there and baptized in this church, the Spaso-Preobrazhenskii sobor:



There are just churches everywhere, some of which have been rebuilt from scratch and have gleaming new domes, and others are quite old but falling into disrepair.

On Saturday we drove around the lake, looking for a place to have a picnic. Unfortunately all the beaches were packed with Muscovites, fleeing the city. Curses! At one point in time we ended up on this road, hoping to get to a secluded spot, and the road was just dreadful, and we were in a 14 year old Zhiguli! A tank would have difficulties clearing some of the holes we drove over! We never quite made it to the shore though, but we did stop at this pagan/holy spring, called the Varvara spring. People come and get fresh water and also to bathe in it. There's a bath house with a deep hole where the water comes up. People take turns going in and bathing. Rumor has it that people who are baptised there never get sick. Zhenya and I went in, and the water was SOOOOOOOO cold that I only went up to my thighs (hence the crazy picture) but my knees felt great.



But the next day we went to a different spring and I decided to go all the way. Wow. Cold. But amazing too. My body felt really invigorated afterwards. (And hence the lack of picture for the second time as I was stark naked).

We did eventually find a hill overlooking the lake and the crowds of people, and had a picnic that included a gallon of fresh-picked wild blueberries. They are so tasty. Not nearly as big as the ones you find in stores at home, but so much more flavorful and colorful (we had them for breakfast the next morning with sugar and sour cream).

On Sunday, after a huge breakfast, that in addition to the blueberries and sour cream included sausages, cheese and peas (? but who am I to complain?), and cream of wheat style kasha made with milk and butter, tvorog with raisins and sour cream and toast. Can we say full?

Then we went to the Nikitskii monastery (featured in one of the pictures below), and to the Nikitskii spring, where my second bathing occured. Then we went back into town and parked by the river and walked down to where it meets the lake (where we went wading). The town itself, is of course very old, and all the houses in the center are old wooden houses, with typical Russian style decoration. It was really hot this weekend, so everyone was either in the river or in the lake or headed there. The roads are dusty and beat up, and so are the houses. Its a totally different world from Moscow, slower and very rough around the edges.

But the countryside was amazing - wild flowers are in bloom everywhere, the air is fresh, the sun was out. This was really good for my soul. Clearly I need stuff like this around in order to stay sane.

Here are some more random pics: [and by the way, if you click on any of the photos, it takes you to the larger, more detailed image]












And P.S. - driving on the Russian highway is a terrifying and death-defying experience. Holy crap.

Oh, this is interesting

Am I jeopardizing a future academic career by simply having this blog?

Bloggers need not apply

the roof, the roof, the roof is on fire....

This is second hand reporting because when these events transpired, I was already at home, not quite crawled into bed....

Every Friday night the foriegn graduate students meet at this restaraunt called bilingua where we eat and drink and decompress after the week. We have a great waitress, named Vika, and we try to tip her very well. Its nice, the food is good (steak with blue cheese sauce!), and its a good routine. I left at about 9:30 or 10:00 last night. This is what happened a little later....

[I have edited my friend's description only slightly, so as not to put out some of my more sensitive readers]

Dears,

Bilingua burns! No kidding. If you don't believe me, take a gander at the accompanying picture (Photo credit: J. Arch Getty). I don't know if I can completely capture all the events, because as Arch commented, "The funny thing about all this is that they never told us that there was a fire and that we should leave." Confusion indeed reigned. We didn't really know the place was on fire until we got outside. Witnesses are welcome to send their own accounts.

At roughly 11:30 last night, Maya noticed smoke outside. At the same time, Vika went to open one of the windows behind our table. Of course at first we didn't pay both the smoke or her opening the window much mind. Next we heard fire extinguishers going off in the kitchen. Maya was surprised that they had fire extinguishers. I think most of us figured it was a grease fire. About two minutes later, the room where we sit filled with smoke. We grabbed out shit, scooped up the money, and got the fuck out.

The exit was quite calm. Most of the people in the place were dancing. At the staircase Vika was waiting with the bill. I grabbed it and told her I would settle it outside. At that point, I didn't know how bad the fire was and figured we'd be back next week. I didn't want to screw over Bilingua, and I certainly didn't want to screw over Vika. The bill was 6500 rubles, (it was a smaller than usual crowd this week. A sign?), and I wanted to make sure that at least Vika got her tip.

Maya and I counted all the money and figured out the tip. Collected a bit more from some people to cover the tip. The fire trucks arrived. Some people began clapping. I don't understand this clapping phenomenon. I've also seen this on planes where the passengers clap when the plane lands. Isn't safely landing a plane or, for firefighters, arriving to put out a fire their FUCKING JOB!? Clapping is like you're surprised the plane didn't crash or that the firefighters came at all. Maybe I'm the crazy one for taking such things for granted.

At this point, the fire was what you see in the picture.

Everybody that was in Bilingua, including all of us--Maya, Matthias, Arch, Darin, Eric, Venera, Gayle, Jean-Francois, and me (if I forgot anyone my apologies) stood and watched the fire. Darin noted the appropriateness of "the roof, roof, the roof is on fire. We don't need no water. Let the motherfucker burn. Burn motherfucker, burn" but attributed the song to the Bloodhound Gang. Their version was inspired by the Dynamic Three's 80s dance hit. But in this postmodern world origins seem to only matter when intellectual property rights are concerned. I'm sure the Dynamic Three was adequately compensated. Wherever they are. But I digress . . .

It doesn't take much to capture the attention of drunk people. We all stood there--Look at the pretty lights. Ooooh fire. Pretty fire.--watching the fire. I'm surprised I didn't hear anyone make a Beavis impression. I began wondering the crowd looking for Vika to give her the money. At this point I didn't care if she pocketed the 7500 rubles. She was now officially unemployed. At least for the foreseeable future. Jean-Francois joined me and as we wondered toward the back of the building, we noticed that the fire had spread. The roof of the stage area was ablaze.

We doubled back and noticed Vika standing down the street. I handed her the money. As you can imagine, she was worried about her job, but then sweetly said "Uvidimsia." I hope so but I wouldn't count on it.

Oh yeah, Arch never did get the veal he ordered. The theory is that the fire was all his fault.

As dedushka Lenin said, "Chto delat'"?

Maya and I will try to find another place. If anyone has any suggestions please let us know. There are no promises, but we'll do our best.

As of now, the Foreign Historians Congress is hereby dissolved.

I guess as the rockers say, its better to crash and burn than just crash. And burn we did.

My close (and brief) encounter with scientology

I've been meaning to post this, but I kept forgetting....

background:
I'm feeling a little financial pinch over here. I have more than enough money in the bank to get home and get settled, except I have a small nest egg I don't want to have to touch so I can use it as a down payment for a car. I'm getting closer to that nest egg than I'd like. Moscow is expensive, let me say.

So when I saw an ad in the Friday Moscowtimes advertising "Americans needed to teach English, $1000-$2000" I called them up. They said come in to talk to us, and yesterday morning I did. They did not, however talk to me. Instead they made me take one of those occupational personality tests. When I saw in small print on the bottom that this was a personality test designed by none other than L. Ron Hubbard himself, I should have just walked away. But I didn't. (This place is called the American Language Center, by the way). I turned it in, and the Russian woman said they would look it over and call me. They asked me NOTHING about who I was, what I know, what experience I have. NOTHING. And I didn't get to talk to the director as promised.

I left with a strange little feeling and went off to the archive.

Later, they called, and the woman on the phone said that they want to hire me to teach a class in the mornings, M-W-F, starting tomorrow. Tomorrow? I said, can I come in and talk about this? Sure, come on by.

After work I go back. They introduce me to this other American lady who is a teacher, and who procedes to tell me her entire life story. Then one of the administators says (in Russian) "take this class, it goes from 7 to 9". "7?" I ask, "Yes, 7" Its a beginning level class because I speak Russian and can explain things in Russian. [They still know NOTHING about me] What's the pay? "250" "What, dollars, rubles, a week, a month?" Its $250 for the class, 12 lessons, or 24 hours of instruction time. Then the American woman pipes up and says that you either take $12.50 an hour plus a bonus if students sign up for the next level, or a flat $15 an hour without bonus. Something isn't right about that in my head, but I'm too tired and hungry to do the math. Then I have to read their classroom procedures and sign that if I violate their method, I will be fined. Whatever, I sign, I get the textbook. Class is at 7 tomorrow. I'm still concerned about the money, and this guy Vardan, who turns out to be the director, but hasn't introduced himself, says that its at least $300. I say, but she said "$250", and he looks at me and says "You're a professional teacher, right?" Well, no but you didn't ask this before. Then he says something about a guaranteed $250 and if I have good results, probably more. Whatever. I go home. Since the lessons are all planned out, its not a lot of work for me to do. Did I mention I saw the "Handbook of Scientology" sitting on the shelf. Aagh!

I go home and I do the math - something was fishy. $12.50/hour for 24 hours is $300. $15/hour is $360. $250 turns out to be some $10.41/hour. I resolve that in the morning, when I see Vardan, I will tell him that I will not work for less than $15 and hour and he can put that in writing or I walk.

This morning, my ass wakes up at 5:30 to get there by 7. I get there early and the door is still locked and there is no sign of anyone. I drink my coffee, am greeted by an adorable puppy (not vagrant, it has a tag) and then it tries ot bite me and hump my leg. I ask the owner of the puppy what the deal is. She says "there are never classes at 7am"

Which means that the woman wanted me to teach a 7PM class, even though they offered me a morning class and she's the ONLY PERSON IN RUSSIA who says 7 to mean 7pm instead of 19, which I leared a long time ago. 7 means morning, not evening. First of all, I can't teach in the evening, and second of all, these people are totally sketchy and I'll be calling Vardan soon to tell him where he can stick it, in Russian.

I think I've been subconciously looking for a reason to yell at some Russian, in his native language, and I think I just found it.

Преподавательницей английского языка, я не стану!

I never got to talk to Vardan...but I did get to yell at the lady about her inability to communicate time effectively. I have since been screening my cell phone calls.

road trip!

I mean train trip!

The weather is supposed to be great this weekend so I'm sticking with a little plan I have to go to Vladimir oblast this weekend. Its just NE of the Moscow region and there are some churches I am in search of....Will report back when I return.

This is a solo adventure on my part. Should be fun! Wish me luck.

Update - or not! My alarm went off at 6am this morning and my body said "hell no." It was also overcast and I know little about this town. I decided some extra research and sleep was in order before I do this.

The land of the mildly repressed and the home of the drunk expatriots

Happy Independence Day all!

And I'm beating you to it by a few hours. You all get a day off while my self gets to go to the archive. Whoo hoo!

I almost forgot it was the 4th of July, except for 3 things:
1. Mikey's birthday was on Saturday and being on the 2nd of July it always comes 2 days before the 4th. Happy birthday dear brother of mine.
2. My mother reminded me of it on the phone on Saturday
3. On my way home from dinner at a friends (where we neglected to mark the occasion) I was riding the escalator up at Barrikadnaia and behind me was a group of drunk Americans singing a very poor rendition of the "Star Spangled Banner".

And as I walked home past the American Embassy, it was dark and closed and I recalled the several conversations John and I had about the fact that no where, NO where at the embassy can one see an American flag. It does have a sign by the door "Embassy of the United States of America" but unlike every other embassy in Mosocw, there is no flag. There used to be a flag, but for security reasons[?] perhaps, they've stopped flying it. Now I'm not the most patriotic of people, but that's not cool. But then again as those American frat boys were singing at the top of their lungs, I certainly a) didn't join them and b) slightly cringed, because I try to blend in here as much as possible. Not out of safety concerns per se, but just in an effort to do as the Romans do, just a little.

It always makes me uncomfortable speaking English on the metro, I don't like to talk on my cell phone in English in public. Many people, when I meet them tell me that I don't "look like an American." I finally asked a friend what that means, and it apparently means that I can speak Russian well enough to communicate effectively, and the very fact that Russian comes out of my mouth automatically changes the way that people perceive me here. But then again, if they ask, I always tell them that I am from America.

Which leads me to other thoughts as my friends and I spend some time this evening talking politics, as per the retirement of Justice O'Conner and the sad state of the Democratic Party over yonder. Maybe Bush is taking lessons from Putin. Maybe the Democrats should.

I see growing similarities between Russia and America in the way that politics is handled. Sometimes Russia's political life even seems more active than ours, although on the frightening side of the spectrum. But the space of acceptable political debate (I will refrain from using the term "discourse") has become so narrow and so defined that any effort to talk about things outside of the framework set by those in power (be they Republicans, Democrats, or scary right-wing "God-loving" people who seem to hate everyone else - and yes, I just typed that out-loud)) that it seems - from my side of the ocean - that its become so difficult to talk about the issues any more, or to even designate something as "an issue". Either I'm being partisan or the other guy is and that's bad.

Well I think we should be partisan dammit. Since when is making think about the choices they make a bad thing? I could go on and on, but then I think that I'll start sounding less coherent than I already do, because its past 1:00 am here. I hope I didn't offend anybody, but then again, I also hope I did.

Its the 4th of July - the day Americans decided to disagree with the Brits on a whole lot of things. Go out there and have a political discussion with someone. Hell, argue about it. But don't take it personally, and don't think the other person is crazy, just because you disagree. And if you do take it personally, go dump some tea in the river and start a revolution, "because a little revolution now and then is a good thing" - i.e. do something about it if it matters that much to you.

That's all. Goodnight.