So,
What's new here? I had Thanksgiving with the Mormons yesterday, which was great. As it got closer to the holiday, I was missing my family more and more, so I was pretty happy to have some firends to eat and talk with. They are quite an interesting bunch. The younger ones are in "companion" pairs, and they are bound to each other for 2 years, or until they get a transfer slip in the mail. They literally can only be apart in the bathroom! But yeah, a week from Saturday they'll get their new orders in the mail, so some of them might be getting shipped off to a new city in Siberia. We even played a game of risk, although I can never take board games quite so seriously anymore. It was also good in that they live in the North of the city, so I finally had a good opportunity to see a new neighborhood.
I've been teaching Thanksgiving for the past week, and for the students it's kind of boring, but I tell them the whole story just the same. I even make them go around the table and talk about what they're thankful for. Most of them are thankful for the families, their friends, their universities, and so on, but some real wise acres today were being thankful for the table, the floor, the chairs, and other pieces of furniture. Some of them are even thankful for me! I've been giving the best Thanksgiving speeches of my life, which leads me to believe that I have a lot to be thankful for. More than ever, I know what it means to have a loving family and loving friends, and that's pretty great.
All my foreign friends are having birthdays and celebrating them in all sorts of adorable ways. Everyone's getting pretty close by now, so that's nice too. I might even have a chance to rap in the club with a guy from Ghana sometime soon! I'll have to practice.
Grad school applications are still weighing me down, but I've made quite a bit of progress. In fact, I only have 3 personalized sections of my personal statement to go! Then: ENDLESS EDITING. I'm feeling more relaxed about the whole thing, but will be very happy to be done, to just wait and enjoy life.
I'm also just about ready for our break from work. Teaching is fun, and there are a lot of rewarding moments, but the daily grind is getting to me. I am planning a sort of forum on different dialects/accents of English, to which I'm inviting the Canadian Kate and the British guy Michael. I think it should be interesting for the students as well as the native speakers. Anyway, I'm getting pretty excited about the prospect of travelling with some other ETA's around Russia and Europe. I'll probably be leaving Tomsk for Novosibirsk on the 2nd of January or so. There I'll meet Matt and we'll head to Ekaterinburg for Abbie. Next stop: PETERSBURG! Then we're planning about 2 weeks in Europe: Germany, maybe Amsterdam or Paris, Prague. It'll be just what I need, I think. After Europe we'll be back in Moscow for a Fulbright orientation thing. If anyone will be in any of these cities or countries, or nearby, let me know so we can meet up!
Lots of love,
Jason
Friday, November 28, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Mormons, Mormons, Mormons!
So, I have a funny story that I'll tell you briefly. A girl from one of the English-speaking clubs asked to interview me for a psychology project, and I said okay, a little nervous that she would think that I stand out as a good candidate for psychiatric research. We met and she took me to some strange building, to the top floor, and unlocked some room that had some flyers about learning English up everywhere. There were a bunch of really unusually religious paintings everywhere, of Jesus and what looked like his clone. At first I thought maybe it could have been Boris and Gleb, this two Russians brothers/princes/saints who were murdered for the thrown, but then figured it wasn't them. I asked why there were two Jesuses, and she explained that one was God the father. I thought it pretty unusual that God was depicted at all, let alone as a perfect double of Jesus, but assumed it was some wacky Russian thing. I did think it was strange that there was one picture of Jesus with what looked like a Native American.
Anyway, so she conducted this endless interivew in Russian. She said it would last one hour but it ended up taking three and a half, with a tea break in the middle (she served some strange, red, flowery tea, explaining that she couldn't drink black or green tea anymore). Anyway, so she asked me a bunch of questions about my life, my childhood, about my feelings, about whether I was every beaten, about how I interact with various people, about what I look for in girls, etc. It was interesting to have a chance to get into some self-reflection, especially in Russian, but I was pretty tired by the end.
But.... towards the end of the interivew, some guy with a beard showed up, and was evidently pretty upset at this girl for using the space. He spoke in English, very naturally, I thought, and with a great American accent. I was impressed at the language skills taught at this place. So they argued, and he eventually agreed to let us continue the interview (I was sitting behind some divider so I only caught a short glimpse of the man), but only on the condition that these two other young guys who had just arrived could wait in the room to make sure there was no trouble. So the older guy left and I heard them refer to him as "Elder Dixon", which I thought was strange. They also kept saying "It wasn't the right way for her to go about doing this, kicking Elder Dixon out, and this guy's not even a member!" Their English was great and the membership business was awfully suspicious.
So we finished the interview, and I finally decided to ask about these strange, English-speaking people. She explained that they're part of a religious organization that rents the space and gives free English lessons. I asked which one, and it turned out that they are Mormons, and Americans to boot!
So that's why there were all these strange pictures of Jesus, God, and some Native Americans. So that's why this poor Russian girl had to reject her heritage and quit drinking normal tea! It all made so much sense!
Here I thought I was the only American in Tomsk, and there are actually six of them, Mormons! I decided to go have chat with them. They thought I was a Russian and asked me where I learned English so well. I told them "in Ohio". They didn't get it at first, but then I explained that I too was an American. They were nice enough, although when we introduced ourselves they wouldn't tell me their first names, only "Elder so-and-so". I thought this a bit odd, but whatever, I'll call them elders if that's what they like. But yeah, they're organizing a Thanksgiving dinner complete with a real turkey and I'm invited. It turns out that one of them lives nearby. I thought of inviting them over for tea or a drink, but they don't drink tea or alcohol, and as they explained, they're not allowed to be out past 9:30. Oh well, at least they won't get mugged.
They were pretty okay guys and even gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon in Russian (there are some great pictures), but I couldn't help but wonder what could drive a Russian to the Mormon faith. After all, I would think that Russians wouldn't be too big on an addition to the bible in which all sorts of miraculous things happen in America. Still, so I have heard, the Mormons attract a lot of Russians with their English lessons and appeal to them in some way that's bringing them members. Evidentally there's even a church here in Tomsk. Also, I hear there's an enormous babtist church that's formed a pretty big congregation. This is all pretty strange to me, but Russia is a surprising place.
But anyway, don't count on this bezbozhnik falling in with these Elders. I would like to hang out with them sometime, though, if they're okay with that. Something tells me they might not be. When I gave them my number they just gave me their businesss card they use to lure Russians to their church. Oh well, I can only hope!
In other news, I NEED TO APPLY TO GRAD SCHOOL!
Love,
Jason
Anyway, so she conducted this endless interivew in Russian. She said it would last one hour but it ended up taking three and a half, with a tea break in the middle (she served some strange, red, flowery tea, explaining that she couldn't drink black or green tea anymore). Anyway, so she asked me a bunch of questions about my life, my childhood, about my feelings, about whether I was every beaten, about how I interact with various people, about what I look for in girls, etc. It was interesting to have a chance to get into some self-reflection, especially in Russian, but I was pretty tired by the end.
But.... towards the end of the interivew, some guy with a beard showed up, and was evidently pretty upset at this girl for using the space. He spoke in English, very naturally, I thought, and with a great American accent. I was impressed at the language skills taught at this place. So they argued, and he eventually agreed to let us continue the interview (I was sitting behind some divider so I only caught a short glimpse of the man), but only on the condition that these two other young guys who had just arrived could wait in the room to make sure there was no trouble. So the older guy left and I heard them refer to him as "Elder Dixon", which I thought was strange. They also kept saying "It wasn't the right way for her to go about doing this, kicking Elder Dixon out, and this guy's not even a member!" Their English was great and the membership business was awfully suspicious.
So we finished the interview, and I finally decided to ask about these strange, English-speaking people. She explained that they're part of a religious organization that rents the space and gives free English lessons. I asked which one, and it turned out that they are Mormons, and Americans to boot!
So that's why there were all these strange pictures of Jesus, God, and some Native Americans. So that's why this poor Russian girl had to reject her heritage and quit drinking normal tea! It all made so much sense!
Here I thought I was the only American in Tomsk, and there are actually six of them, Mormons! I decided to go have chat with them. They thought I was a Russian and asked me where I learned English so well. I told them "in Ohio". They didn't get it at first, but then I explained that I too was an American. They were nice enough, although when we introduced ourselves they wouldn't tell me their first names, only "Elder so-and-so". I thought this a bit odd, but whatever, I'll call them elders if that's what they like. But yeah, they're organizing a Thanksgiving dinner complete with a real turkey and I'm invited. It turns out that one of them lives nearby. I thought of inviting them over for tea or a drink, but they don't drink tea or alcohol, and as they explained, they're not allowed to be out past 9:30. Oh well, at least they won't get mugged.
They were pretty okay guys and even gave me a copy of the Book of Mormon in Russian (there are some great pictures), but I couldn't help but wonder what could drive a Russian to the Mormon faith. After all, I would think that Russians wouldn't be too big on an addition to the bible in which all sorts of miraculous things happen in America. Still, so I have heard, the Mormons attract a lot of Russians with their English lessons and appeal to them in some way that's bringing them members. Evidentally there's even a church here in Tomsk. Also, I hear there's an enormous babtist church that's formed a pretty big congregation. This is all pretty strange to me, but Russia is a surprising place.
But anyway, don't count on this bezbozhnik falling in with these Elders. I would like to hang out with them sometime, though, if they're okay with that. Something tells me they might not be. When I gave them my number they just gave me their businesss card they use to lure Russians to their church. Oh well, I can only hope!
In other news, I NEED TO APPLY TO GRAD SCHOOL!
Love,
Jason
Friday, November 7, 2008
Halloween/Elections
Hello all you Americans,
It's Friday here and I thought I'd update you on some of the latest developments here in Tomsk. Let's see, last Friday, after a few phoney Halloween celebrations with my English clubs (in which many of the students were too bashful to dress up), Dima and I threw a real Halloween party at our apartment. It was a lot of fun, and most of my foreign and Russian friends did manage to come up with costumes. Unfortunately, they also managed to break a lot of our glassware and prevent me from sleeping until 6 in the morning. I was worried about disturbing our neighbors, since we had so many noisy guests, and not surprisingly, on Sunday one lady came to complain about us disturbing her sleep and insisted on my cleaning the entire stairway with a broom and rag. I can understand the horror of being an old Russian woman and having strange, masked Europeans parading around in your stairwell, so I agreed to do so.
The pure chaos that is national holidays in Russia further disturbed my attempts to live a somewhat normal life. This Tuesday we had "The Day of People's Unity and Coming-Together", or something like that. This meant that even on Monday, everything important was closed, even though nobody even really knows what this holiday is (it's supposed to replace an old Soviet holiday on November 7th celebrating the revolution). So I couldn't use the internet, and half the town left for Kazakstan, Altai, Kemerevo, or wherever everyone here is from. It was nice to get a little extra sleep though.
Then came election day. The results were announced when I was in my morning class, so I only heard the news afterwards on the internet. Not really a surprise, even to us living so far away from America. What was most remarkable about election day for me, however, was that a television company called my boss and asked to interview me about the election, about Obama, and about myself as an American living in Tomsk. At first they insisted on conducting this interview in my apartment, and I, of course, said, "No, that won't quite be convenient for me". They agreed to take me to a cafe or a bar. At first I didn't know why it was important that they interview me in a place with a TV, but I soon figured it out. It was pretty funny, how artificial everything is. They had me pretend to walk into the bar (which was almost empty, and they didn't even treat me to dinner), they had me pretend to talk about the elections with the anchorwoman (we were really talking about Petersburg), and they had me pretend to be watching Obama on television (really at this point they were showing Medvedev's speech with Putin looking on).
When I watched the interview on TV, I learned that they had assembled all of this into some hilarious narrative about me, a poor American teacher, not having a TV and desperately making for the bar to learn the results of my country's elections. It sounded really funny on TV in Russian. Anyway, they interviewed me about what kind of president I thought Obama would be and how I felt his election would affect American-Russian relations. It was kind of an interesting conversation, except I had to wince as I watched myself make mistakes in Russian in front of the entire city. All in all, regardless of the fact that they didn't feed me, it was an adventure.
So now it's the weekend, and I am exhausted. I'm about to head home and take a nap, before I go to see Madagascar 2. I think on Saturday we're going to the second house-warming in a row at our friends place. A Swiss and a French friend of mine moved into an apartment and had a novosel'e last weekend. Since then, I hooked them up with a third roommate, a Canadian who recently arrived in Tomsk. Oh! Also a British guy moved to the city last week and is living with this professor of oil-drilling technology. He has never studied Russian before and so is going to get his first earful of it here in Siberia. Both of them are working as English teachers, and so now I have a whole host of English-speaking peers. It's refreshing to speak English every now and again!
Miss you all,
Jason
Thursday, October 30, 2008
A sobering encounter
Hello you loyal readers. I had a bit of a bad experience here in this Siberian wonderland. I decided against posting a full account of the event online, but if you're really curious, I can forward you a full account. The long and short of it is I was almost mugged by "gopniki", common cap-wearing, street thugs who stick people up for there cell phones and cash, usually in the more distant neighborhoods. Basically, they demanded my cell phone and cash, I chatted them up a bit, and then, on a split-second jolt of adrenaline, I sprinted after cab. It didn't stop for me, because the driver didn't want a run in with the thugs, and so we ran. We ran and ran. I've never run so quickly. I was on a pretty isolated street, and so I was pretty hard up, but finally I turned down a different street and found a corner store, where the security guard took me in, only to turn me back out onto the street when he suddenly got scared, maybe that the thugs would come give him a hard time for sheltering me. So I ran some more, althought it's possible that the thugs had already run off, fearing that we had called the police. Eventually I landed myself a cab and made it back to my apartment, literally sick with fear and exhaustion. I consoled myself with watermelon, and wheezed all night long from the exertion. So, yes, a pretty bad experience, but it happens everywhere. These criminals seemed particularly inept and unprofessional. Morever, in America, they probably would have had guns. My Russian friends scolded me for walking alone at night, and now I know better. One of my friends was even stuck up for a bunch of balloons she was carrying. She was tough and refused to hand them over, made it away unscathed and without losing a single balloon.
In other news, my financial problems seem to be over. Also, I went to see the Tomsk Tom' play the St. Petersburg Zenit (best team in Russia, featuring international allstar Arshavin), and much to our surprise, it ended in a tie! Hooray!
We've been celebrating Halloween this week, and it's been a lot of fun. I've been realizing just how great this holiday is. I asked the students at the English club to dress up, but most of them were too nervous. Only a couple came in costume. I also had the hardest time tracking down a pumpkin. Finally, after a 3-hour search, I found one, but it is sort of green. When we tried to carve it at the club, it turned out that this pumpkin was in fact a strong, Russian pumpkin, well prepared to weather the Siberian winter. It took fifteen minutes just to get it open, and I still have yet to sufficiently scrape it out. So I will finish the jack-o-lantern at the other English club on Friday. Luckily another girl brought a pumpkin that she had already hollowed out, so she carved it and the students were amazed by it's beauty (once we stuck the candle in). I showed pictures from Halloween at college, and they were pretty impressed by our costumes, especially by Arden's Edward Scissorhands costume.
Also, in the last few days I have become a celebrity. There was a feature about me and the Enghlish club on the Tomsk news site. A photographer was at the club yesterday taking pictures of my stabbing a pumpkin in a surgeon's costume. Evidently these pictures will be a part of an article about me and the club in the newspaper. Then, this morning I received a text saying they were talking about me on the radio. Finally, an hour ago I learned that they want to interview me for Russian television. I am terrified. This interview will, of course, be in Russian, so I will be broadcasted to the entire city, speaking in broken Russian about the English club and maybe Halloween. Great. Just as long as they don't ask me about Georgia, WWII, or Russian girls (the third most common question you get as an American male in Russia is "So what do you think about our girls, eh? Pretty? Prettier than American girls? Eh? Eh?").
So yes, that's what's happening here. A Canadian girl just moved to Tomsk to teach, and I'm excited to meet another representative of the North-American continent. We (myself and the Russians) are all anxiously awaiting the elections, as I'm sure you all are. We'll see what happens!
Tschuss,
Jason
In other news, my financial problems seem to be over. Also, I went to see the Tomsk Tom' play the St. Petersburg Zenit (best team in Russia, featuring international allstar Arshavin), and much to our surprise, it ended in a tie! Hooray!
We've been celebrating Halloween this week, and it's been a lot of fun. I've been realizing just how great this holiday is. I asked the students at the English club to dress up, but most of them were too nervous. Only a couple came in costume. I also had the hardest time tracking down a pumpkin. Finally, after a 3-hour search, I found one, but it is sort of green. When we tried to carve it at the club, it turned out that this pumpkin was in fact a strong, Russian pumpkin, well prepared to weather the Siberian winter. It took fifteen minutes just to get it open, and I still have yet to sufficiently scrape it out. So I will finish the jack-o-lantern at the other English club on Friday. Luckily another girl brought a pumpkin that she had already hollowed out, so she carved it and the students were amazed by it's beauty (once we stuck the candle in). I showed pictures from Halloween at college, and they were pretty impressed by our costumes, especially by Arden's Edward Scissorhands costume.
Also, in the last few days I have become a celebrity. There was a feature about me and the Enghlish club on the Tomsk news site. A photographer was at the club yesterday taking pictures of my stabbing a pumpkin in a surgeon's costume. Evidently these pictures will be a part of an article about me and the club in the newspaper. Then, this morning I received a text saying they were talking about me on the radio. Finally, an hour ago I learned that they want to interview me for Russian television. I am terrified. This interview will, of course, be in Russian, so I will be broadcasted to the entire city, speaking in broken Russian about the English club and maybe Halloween. Great. Just as long as they don't ask me about Georgia, WWII, or Russian girls (the third most common question you get as an American male in Russia is "So what do you think about our girls, eh? Pretty? Prettier than American girls? Eh? Eh?").
So yes, that's what's happening here. A Canadian girl just moved to Tomsk to teach, and I'm excited to meet another representative of the North-American continent. We (myself and the Russians) are all anxiously awaiting the elections, as I'm sure you all are. We'll see what happens!
Tschuss,
Jason
Monday, October 20, 2008
Plagued by financial woes/Dmitrii Denisovich Strikes Back!
Well, well, well...
The last few days have been some of the most emotionally trying and fatiguing days of my life. Having resolved the issues with Chase blocking my credit card, I thought I could breathe easy and, well, feed myself, pay my landlady. I was terribly wrong. For the past few weeks my credit card has still been acting up, or more specifically, just plain not working. I called chase about once a day to find out what the problem was, and they insisted that they hadn’t blocked the card, and that they had no records of denials at the ATM’s. Basically, I had no choice but to try different ATM’s every day, hoping that they would let me take money. Every once in a while it would work, for some inexplicable reason. Each time I foolishly assumed that my troubles were over, only to find that the next visit to the ATM would end in a humiliating, flashing “YOUR BANK HAS INSTRUCTED US TO DENY YOUR TRANSACTION,” or sometimes, one of about ten Russian variants. It’s hard to describe the despair that I felt. I would spend all day at the office trying to resolve the problem, and because of a lack of time and money, I wouldn’t eat. This only amplified my desperation. I, overreacting and with an empty stomach, imagined myself begging for kopecks on the street, maybe even tinkering out a little “Katyusha” on the guitar (did I mention my landlady gave me a guitar?) for some cash. I wanted out… out, out, out. But really, in Siberia, with no money, there is no out. Luckily, I borrowed some money from my lovely, Belgian roommate and have survived to tell the tale, although right now, I still have only four dollars worth of Rubles at my disposal.
I am optimistic, however, that I will not starve, not perish on one of these increasingly snowy Siberian nights (yes, it already snows every day now, and will be about -14 degrees Celsius tonight. Today, after a few failed trips to some Bankomats (ATM’s) and an endless day of babbling about mass media in the classroom, I called Chase and, much to my delight, was connected to a brilliantly competent representative, who, within seconds, recognized the problem (something a week’s worth of calls did not resolve). Apparently, even though I have a total credit limit of $1,000, my cash-advance limit is only $200. I have been pretty zealous about paying my card off, but it turns out that I can only make a payment every 5 days. Since there are very few opportunities to actually pay with a credit card, I make virtually all of my purchases (and pay my rent, of course) with cash. This all adds up to me waiting out apparently undefined periods of time for chance moments when my card would work. It turns out, however, that this is no voodoo magic. I had to wait for my cash-advance maximum to be paid off, which it turns out, takes longer than possible. This lady is fairly sure that my payment will go through at about midnight my time. Light at the end of the tunnel. Finally I can pay back my roommate and maybe, just maybe, begin to live a normal life once more. With a little foresight, I’ll be able to take out money regularly, in advance, so as not to live on a starvation diet in a constant state of depression. Plus, I found out that I could have been using my credit card all along at the one enormous supermarket in Tomsk that I know accepts credit cards. No more hunger!
This is all speculation, and who knows, maybe it’s naïve to think that this will all be over soon, but I certainly hope so. Despite all of this awful business and my mounting fear that I will not successfully apply to grad school, I’ve managed to have some good times in the past couple of weeks. I had a very successful film screening at the ungodly hour of 11:30 this Sunday morning (my Russian friends were sure nobody would show). I’ve decided that it’s a shame that most Russians only see the Hollywood garbage that we faithfully export every week. The American Center has an excellent selection of movies, in English with English subtitles, and so I thought showing a quality movie might be interesting. I selected Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind, one of my favorite American films of the last ten years. The students came, en masse, and really seemed to like it. As opposed to some of our other discussions, which are usually either one-sided (me talking) or completely off-topic, we had a really great, thorough discussion of the film. The students genuinely wanted to express their reactions to the movie, and even had some serious debates on various issues that I raised. When I suggested that we have these screenings/discussions more often, they were uniformly enthusiastic. Next we’re going to watch Memento (I decided it’d be fun to continue with another film portraying memory loss).
As the title of this post suggests, Dmitrii Denisovich is back in a big way. Last week I sat on my bed to put my shoes on, and it collapsed underneath me. I told my landlady later that day, and she promised to send our good friend, Mr. Fixit. For some reason, he didn’t come for five days, but sure enough, at 7:00 this Saturday night, he called and promised to be on the scene within 10 minutes. Half an hour later he appeared, tool bag in hand. He promised to be done by 8:30 so that I could meet my friends as I had planned. Four hours later we were drinking tea and debating the merits of hot and cold tea (he obviously championing the former). During these four hours he explained all sorts of various tools, screws, bolts, clamps, glues, and I cannot even begin to remember what else. In our operation we explored the verb “bit’” or to beat in each an every one of its conceivable, prefixed forms. We “otbili”, “pribili”, “perebili”, and maybe even “ubili” so many “gvozdiki” that he nearly ran out (sorry, this joke is for Russian-speakers only). Anyway, I am making excellent progress in my studies of Soviet-era plumbing, electrics, and carpentry. Dmitrii Denisovich is a wonderful, kind-hearted, and above all house, astoundingly respectable man, and quite a chatterbox to boot. Also, he still insists that we demand a new TV-cable from our landlady. Maybe I will, just to have the pleasure of his company in the near future.
Well, I’m going to go home and have a nap. I am so very tired. I love you all, that is, especially all of you who are still taking the time to read all this nonsense. I promise to get you some pictures of beautiful, snowy Tomsk as soon as I see fit. Also, I hope my boots get here soon. So cold.
Sincerely,
Jason
The last few days have been some of the most emotionally trying and fatiguing days of my life. Having resolved the issues with Chase blocking my credit card, I thought I could breathe easy and, well, feed myself, pay my landlady. I was terribly wrong. For the past few weeks my credit card has still been acting up, or more specifically, just plain not working. I called chase about once a day to find out what the problem was, and they insisted that they hadn’t blocked the card, and that they had no records of denials at the ATM’s. Basically, I had no choice but to try different ATM’s every day, hoping that they would let me take money. Every once in a while it would work, for some inexplicable reason. Each time I foolishly assumed that my troubles were over, only to find that the next visit to the ATM would end in a humiliating, flashing “YOUR BANK HAS INSTRUCTED US TO DENY YOUR TRANSACTION,” or sometimes, one of about ten Russian variants. It’s hard to describe the despair that I felt. I would spend all day at the office trying to resolve the problem, and because of a lack of time and money, I wouldn’t eat. This only amplified my desperation. I, overreacting and with an empty stomach, imagined myself begging for kopecks on the street, maybe even tinkering out a little “Katyusha” on the guitar (did I mention my landlady gave me a guitar?) for some cash. I wanted out… out, out, out. But really, in Siberia, with no money, there is no out. Luckily, I borrowed some money from my lovely, Belgian roommate and have survived to tell the tale, although right now, I still have only four dollars worth of Rubles at my disposal.
I am optimistic, however, that I will not starve, not perish on one of these increasingly snowy Siberian nights (yes, it already snows every day now, and will be about -14 degrees Celsius tonight. Today, after a few failed trips to some Bankomats (ATM’s) and an endless day of babbling about mass media in the classroom, I called Chase and, much to my delight, was connected to a brilliantly competent representative, who, within seconds, recognized the problem (something a week’s worth of calls did not resolve). Apparently, even though I have a total credit limit of $1,000, my cash-advance limit is only $200. I have been pretty zealous about paying my card off, but it turns out that I can only make a payment every 5 days. Since there are very few opportunities to actually pay with a credit card, I make virtually all of my purchases (and pay my rent, of course) with cash. This all adds up to me waiting out apparently undefined periods of time for chance moments when my card would work. It turns out, however, that this is no voodoo magic. I had to wait for my cash-advance maximum to be paid off, which it turns out, takes longer than possible. This lady is fairly sure that my payment will go through at about midnight my time. Light at the end of the tunnel. Finally I can pay back my roommate and maybe, just maybe, begin to live a normal life once more. With a little foresight, I’ll be able to take out money regularly, in advance, so as not to live on a starvation diet in a constant state of depression. Plus, I found out that I could have been using my credit card all along at the one enormous supermarket in Tomsk that I know accepts credit cards. No more hunger!
This is all speculation, and who knows, maybe it’s naïve to think that this will all be over soon, but I certainly hope so. Despite all of this awful business and my mounting fear that I will not successfully apply to grad school, I’ve managed to have some good times in the past couple of weeks. I had a very successful film screening at the ungodly hour of 11:30 this Sunday morning (my Russian friends were sure nobody would show). I’ve decided that it’s a shame that most Russians only see the Hollywood garbage that we faithfully export every week. The American Center has an excellent selection of movies, in English with English subtitles, and so I thought showing a quality movie might be interesting. I selected Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless mind, one of my favorite American films of the last ten years. The students came, en masse, and really seemed to like it. As opposed to some of our other discussions, which are usually either one-sided (me talking) or completely off-topic, we had a really great, thorough discussion of the film. The students genuinely wanted to express their reactions to the movie, and even had some serious debates on various issues that I raised. When I suggested that we have these screenings/discussions more often, they were uniformly enthusiastic. Next we’re going to watch Memento (I decided it’d be fun to continue with another film portraying memory loss).
As the title of this post suggests, Dmitrii Denisovich is back in a big way. Last week I sat on my bed to put my shoes on, and it collapsed underneath me. I told my landlady later that day, and she promised to send our good friend, Mr. Fixit. For some reason, he didn’t come for five days, but sure enough, at 7:00 this Saturday night, he called and promised to be on the scene within 10 minutes. Half an hour later he appeared, tool bag in hand. He promised to be done by 8:30 so that I could meet my friends as I had planned. Four hours later we were drinking tea and debating the merits of hot and cold tea (he obviously championing the former). During these four hours he explained all sorts of various tools, screws, bolts, clamps, glues, and I cannot even begin to remember what else. In our operation we explored the verb “bit’” or to beat in each an every one of its conceivable, prefixed forms. We “otbili”, “pribili”, “perebili”, and maybe even “ubili” so many “gvozdiki” that he nearly ran out (sorry, this joke is for Russian-speakers only). Anyway, I am making excellent progress in my studies of Soviet-era plumbing, electrics, and carpentry. Dmitrii Denisovich is a wonderful, kind-hearted, and above all house, astoundingly respectable man, and quite a chatterbox to boot. Also, he still insists that we demand a new TV-cable from our landlady. Maybe I will, just to have the pleasure of his company in the near future.
Well, I’m going to go home and have a nap. I am so very tired. I love you all, that is, especially all of you who are still taking the time to read all this nonsense. I promise to get you some pictures of beautiful, snowy Tomsk as soon as I see fit. Also, I hope my boots get here soon. So cold.
Sincerely,
Jason
Monday, October 13, 2008
Don't worry, I'm alive and well-fed
For those of you who read my post from last Friday, I wanted to let you know that I am alive, fed, and spending cash like it's my job. She offered to lend me money (I declined, but it's nice to know she was willing to help) and then she and Sveta helped me get to an office phone where I made an international call and sorted everything out with the bank. What a relief. Don't use Chase if you need to go to Russia. They will block your account. Anyway, it was great to have the support of Sveta and Evgeniya Nikolaevna. At one point I was nearly in tears and on the brink of trying to buy a ticket home (not really, but I was upset).
Anyway, my friend Matt, the Fulbrighter living in Novosibirsk, visited this weekend. It was really great, first of all to speak some normal American English, and more importantly, to be able to have a conversation with someone and understand each other so simply and naturally. In another language, it can be so hard to explain yourself, not just because of a lack of words, but because of different cultural experiences. When I was talking to Matt, relating about our teaching experiences, I felt as though I could read his mind, just because I knew so much about the sort of experience he must have been having over there as an American from a similar background. We agreed that Linkin Park is the favorite band of 90% of Russians and that it is not even worth explaining to Russians the concept of being too snobby to listen to mainstream music, let alone too snobby to admit to listening to standard alternative or independent music. These subtleties of the young American mentality cannot be translated into Russian.
Anyway, it was really great to have Matt here, and if it wasn't for a whiney, hung-over Ukrainian girl who complained constantly, the weekend would have been perfect. The weather was incredible. As Matt said, every Russian seemed to sense that Saturday was the last day of somewhat tolerable weather. He was right. Yesterday it was wet, windy, and voobshche merzkaya. Today was the first snow. I knew it was supposed to snow in the next few days, but when I looked out my window this morning I was terrified. For some reason my brain didn't process what my eyes were showing it properly. Something seemed very wrong. Matt and I were saying that we've heard so much about how harsh the winter is going to be, but that we really don't have any concept of what it's going to be like to live in it. It just seems like it will be so inescapably endless. Oh well, we'll see!
Love ya',
Jason
Anyway, my friend Matt, the Fulbrighter living in Novosibirsk, visited this weekend. It was really great, first of all to speak some normal American English, and more importantly, to be able to have a conversation with someone and understand each other so simply and naturally. In another language, it can be so hard to explain yourself, not just because of a lack of words, but because of different cultural experiences. When I was talking to Matt, relating about our teaching experiences, I felt as though I could read his mind, just because I knew so much about the sort of experience he must have been having over there as an American from a similar background. We agreed that Linkin Park is the favorite band of 90% of Russians and that it is not even worth explaining to Russians the concept of being too snobby to listen to mainstream music, let alone too snobby to admit to listening to standard alternative or independent music. These subtleties of the young American mentality cannot be translated into Russian.
Anyway, it was really great to have Matt here, and if it wasn't for a whiney, hung-over Ukrainian girl who complained constantly, the weekend would have been perfect. The weather was incredible. As Matt said, every Russian seemed to sense that Saturday was the last day of somewhat tolerable weather. He was right. Yesterday it was wet, windy, and voobshche merzkaya. Today was the first snow. I knew it was supposed to snow in the next few days, but when I looked out my window this morning I was terrified. For some reason my brain didn't process what my eyes were showing it properly. Something seemed very wrong. Matt and I were saying that we've heard so much about how harsh the winter is going to be, but that we really don't have any concept of what it's going to be like to live in it. It just seems like it will be so inescapably endless. Oh well, we'll see!
Love ya',
Jason
Friday, October 10, 2008
The time of troubles...
Dear readers,
Okay, so if any of you are interested in a little update, here it is: I am having more and more problems with Russians and being reliable. People just plain don't show up to appointments and meetings without saying anything, or at best, let you know an hour in advance. It happens all the time.
This issue (about which I was upset yesterday) has been moved to the back-burner. Much to my chagrin, I found out that both my credit card and my bank card have been blocked. Even if you tell your bank that you are going to Russia and not to be suspicious of Russian charges, they don't believe you and block your account just to be safe. Thanks.
I have no money, well, I have less than a dollar in rubles. I finally figured out how to call Chase, and in a 4-minute phone call in which I successfully told a woman my debit-card number, I ran out of money on my phone card. I used up an ammount that would ordinarily have lasted a month. That's it. I'm broke. I have no access to money. I have no access to my phone with which I could theoretically regain access to money. I am very hungry.
I am not kidding.
Love,
Jason
Okay, so if any of you are interested in a little update, here it is: I am having more and more problems with Russians and being reliable. People just plain don't show up to appointments and meetings without saying anything, or at best, let you know an hour in advance. It happens all the time.
This issue (about which I was upset yesterday) has been moved to the back-burner. Much to my chagrin, I found out that both my credit card and my bank card have been blocked. Even if you tell your bank that you are going to Russia and not to be suspicious of Russian charges, they don't believe you and block your account just to be safe. Thanks.
I have no money, well, I have less than a dollar in rubles. I finally figured out how to call Chase, and in a 4-minute phone call in which I successfully told a woman my debit-card number, I ran out of money on my phone card. I used up an ammount that would ordinarily have lasted a month. That's it. I'm broke. I have no access to money. I have no access to my phone with which I could theoretically regain access to money. I am very hungry.
I am not kidding.
Love,
Jason
Tuesday, October 7, 2008
Scenario for the intro to a movie about my life in Russia
The action takes place in present-day Russia, in an ancient apartment in the downtown area of the capital of a far-flung Siberian region. The camera pans from a shot of a recently remodeled mayor's office, 180 degrees to a tall, young man, sleeping in a comically small bed, an entire foot too short for him. He looks a clown on a tricycle. His blankets have been thrown off the bed over the night, and one foot dangles off the side of the bed.
His alarm sounds. An obnoxious robotic voice alerts our sleeping hero in English, that "It is now 8:55, the temperature is 82 degrees." That is why the blankets are on the floor. Our hero blindly struggles with the alarm clock and finally manages to subdue it. Minutes later, a cell-phone sounds. It is a second alarm, a chirpy little jingle specially selected to start each day off with a bit of inane joy. The effect is not achieved. Our hero lumbers across the room in a stupor to silence the second alarm and finds his way back to bed.
A minute goes by before the phone rings again, this time a different song. Our protagonist sits up straight it bed. This is a phone call and not an alarm. Our hero is visibly puzzled. He hastily stumbles out of bed and over to his phone. The number is not a familiar one. He clears his throat, takes a deep breath, and then answers in hesitant Russian "Allo?" The Russian dialogue is accompanied by occassional English subtitles.
“Allo!” says a woman, and continues in an annoyed, official tone, “I am ……… calling from…… and we would ……. you……. you……?” Our hero frowns. Clearly the woman is speaking to quickly for him to follow. He asks politely, “Could you please repeat that?” “I am…….. calling from the office……… you….. you…………..we do not…… number. May I speak with Aleksandr?” “Ah,” thinks our hero, “a wrong number. Thank God!” “I’m sorry,” he says, “There’s no Aleksandr here. You must have the wrong number.”
He frowns as she insists, “I do not have the wrong number. You are….. need to….. I must………..tell me………………………………………………..Aleksandr….. phone……”. “I’m sorry, I really don’t understand,” our hero stammers. “In what sense?” the woman asks, incredulously. “I don’t understand what you’re saying, I think you have the wrong number.” “I do not have the wrong number….. Aleksandr….you… call…………number.” “Look,” exclaims our hero, clearly losing patience, “if you expect the person you are trying to call to understand what you’re saying, that is, in Russian at the speed at which you are speaking, then you clearly have the wrong number. It’s logic.” The woman hangs up the receiver.
As our hero slowly makes his way to the bathroom to shave, he thinks to himself about all the other lines of reasoning he could have used with the woman. He should have said, he thinks, “Imagine, your phone rings, you are awakened, and it is 7 o’clock in the morning in the capital of some remote country. It’s me on the line. I bark at you in English at an unbelievable speed and insist that you, no matter what you say, are Aleksandr and have some business to discuss with me on the phone. You protest, try to prove to me that you are in fact a foreigner, a Russian woman who clearly has no business to carry out on the phone in English at 7 AM, but I don’t believe you. I have the right number, you are Aleksandr, and it’s very strange that you’re not following our conversation or admitting to being named Aleksandr.” But our hero didn’t say that. Maybe next time he will.
FIN!
That’s my life folks. Anyway, things are still going well, although I’ve been incredibly, suffocatingly busy. The weekend was nice. Twice I went to this forest near the TPU stadium, and it is so beautiful! There are thousands of birch trees, all of which are a radiant shade of yellow and in contrast to the ever-graying landscape. We went with a big group of foreigners and Russians and played some old, Russian children’s games, while munching on Russian doughnuts and sipping juice. It was quite a lot of fun. We now have gas, and Dima and I have already made one ragingly successful meal together: pan-fried beef, potatoes, peppers, garlic, and onion. It’s so great to eat real food after all that Ramen, bread, and salami. I’ve done a few more English club meetings and am meeting a stifling number of new acquaintances. I can’t even keep track of all the Zhenya’s, Lena’s, Sasha’s, Masha’s, and Pasha’s. I can’t complain, though. I’m living an exciting life and learning a whole lot. Special thanks to my grandpa for writing a four-page response to my post about Russian’s and historical details! It helps to have a little support from back home!
Okay, that’s all for now.
Love ya’,
Jason
P.S. Enjoy some more pictures. I've included another shot from my window at sunset, some pictures from the forest, and a frightening picture of what appears to be one of the old, traditional wooden houses, destroyed by a fire (presumably arson). On the fence is written a grave threat, "I will be taking revenge!" If I understand correctly, this house is one of many that have been burned down by arsonists in the name of development, progress, and profit. I saw such a fire on Saturday night. Pretty sad.
Friday, October 3, 2008
Pictures from the war memorial, the soccer game, and my apartment
Here's the link to the full, Facebook album, for those of you who don't have it:
http://www.new.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2030420&l=89e7e&id=14402037
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Новоселье
Новоселье (novosel’e) is the Russian word for a housewarming. You move into a new place, get settled in a bit, and then invite friends and family to come celebrate (and maybe even bring some gifts for the house). Dima (Belgian roommate) and I organized a новоселье last Friday, to mark our settling down into our new place. There really is much to celebrate about the move, (I’ve already detailed the perks), and so a whole legion of foreign friends, along with a few Russians, came to congratulate us on the move. Nonetheless, we have a few problems here that have not yet been resolved. The all-capable Dmitrii Denisovich has been under the weather and so has not (unfortunately) come a’ calling. The heat has been turned on, but it turns out that two of our 5 radiators (including the one in my room), do not work. On one, the pipe is even severed. We still don’t have a doorbell (not a big deal), but the biggest problem is that two weeks after moving in, we still do not have gas for the stove. That is, we are living off bread, sticks of meat, cheese, tea, and the Russian equivalent of ramen noodles. For this last of our five main food groups we are endlessly scolded by every Russian we know.
I assure you, however, that Dima and I would be more than willing to eat real food had we the means. It’s not the landlady’s fault. She’s even sent her mother, Rufina Pavlovna (a rare name) to wait for the gas men a handful of times, but to no avail. They won’t come. Rufina Pavlvona does, however, putter about the house cleaning up after me and Dima while we’re at school (much to my embarrassment). This is the same lady who fixed our electricity. Anyway, Dima and I feel like we’re wasting away. I’m sure I’m losing weight. Soon I may resort to eating raw hunks of beef.
Anyway, this moving in of ours is similar, in many ways, to my overall experience here. It has been overwhelming positive with a few helpings of negative. I already growing weary of the Russian style of arranging meetings. In general, plans here are subject to change at any moment. “Yes, your schedule does say Tuesdays at 10:30 in classroom 302 of the main building, and no it might not be there, but we can assure you that it will probably be somewhere in one of the 2 following buildings, almost every time”. In fact, I would say that about 15 percent of the English classes I teach (and I’m only counting the ones with designated locations) actually take place in the indicated classroom. Usually, the best option is to show up to the right building and wander through the hallways until a professor yanks you into the proper classroom. The worst case of this sort of unreliability or just plain laziness is the visa-registration office. Because I moved, I have to change my address on my registration (and pay 400 rubles again). I also have to renew my visa (for some reason they insist on giving you a 3-month visa to start and then require that you renew it for a year almost immediately). Anyway, I found the right office and asked her what I need to do. She found a time for me to return, about 10 days later, and provided that I brought my money, passport, registration, landlady, and some special paperwork regarding the apartment, I could change my registration. So I arranged all of this brought my roommate to boot. We all woke up early, including my landlady who took off work, and we made it to the office for our meeting. Within 5 minutes it was decided that either I didn’t have a contract and would need to leave Russia immediately or I could return with my contract, my money, my passport, my registration, my landlady and the paperwork on Friday. Maybe then she will talk to me. I have my contract now, and may even get to stay later than November. We’ll see. This sort of unpredictability is a normal part of life in Russia. Plans are rarely definite. I’ve found it’s helpful to ask ahead of time “наши планы в силе?” (“are our plans in strength?”). Sometimes or even often it turns out that they are not. Such is life here.
Something else that has been bugging me is what has turned out to be the most burning questions in the minds of most of my students and acquaintances. I’ll say that my experiences with Russians so far have been great. They treat me wonderfully with incredible hospitality and generosity. But I’m really getting the impression that somewhere in Russia there are scores of people who think very poorly of Americans. My Russian friends are always amazed to find out that other Russians have been treating me well. They all want to assure me that they don’t necessarily believe what everyone (especially on television, apparently) says about Americans. “That’s funny,” I think, “I don’t know what they say about us on Russian television”. It turns out that on Russian television, they talk about how stupid Americans are, how little we know about geography, history, and how ridiculous American laws are. Lucky, so say my Russian friends, not everybody believes this. Some have friends who have travelled to America and ascertained that, in fact, not all Americans are stupid. One Russian I met said there’s even a show called “Тупые Американцы,” or “Stupid Americans”. This is something I really don’t understand. I really cannot imagine this sort of program, even on our sleazy television networks. In part, I think we’re too PC for this sort of programming. More importantly, I think we’re less aware about cultural stereotypes than Russians (and oh do they love them). If an American were asked to give a cultural stereotype about Russia, maybe he would say “wearing fur hats” or “playing chess” (“drinking vodka” in the worst case). Anyway, we are far less aware of Russian culture than they think they are of ours. Perhaps this is a fault of ours, not caring to know what people do in other cultures, but at least we don’t sit around watching television shows like “Drunk Russians”. Most of the impressions they have of America are from Hollywood movies, which may account for some of what they consider is stupid American behavior. Still, if I judged Russia based on the Russian movie “Gitler Kaput” that I saw last weekend, I would have a pretty bad impression of Russia.
Anyway, I’m pretty tired of being grateful that not all Russians consider me stupid for being an American. There is one question, however, that I’m asked at least three times a week. I always know when it’s coming, because it’s usually after we’ve already discussed “stupid Americans” and because it’s always at the same part of the conversation. The person will get a clever grin on his face, and at this point I know it’s going to happen: “Now we hear about what you learn in history class. Tell me if it is true what they say, that you are taught that America won World War II. The whole world knows that We, Russia won World War II. Do you think you won World War II?” I’ve already been answering this question for a year, and so I’ve gotten used to answering automatically, “Well, you know, we were allies. There were many fronts in the war, and together, with the help of the rest of the allies, we defeated the Germans. You won on your front and we won on ours”. This rarely satisfies them, and I’ve already grown tired of taking the time to explain the whole thing. Now I’ve resorted to a much cleverer answer that someone (I forget who) suggested when we were at the orientation in Kiev. It is simple and I think true. “It is my opinion that in war, nobody wins. Everyone loses”. Really, if you think about it, Russia, more than anyone else, felt the impact of this war. I don’t remember the exact statistics, but unimaginable numbers of Russians died, both at the front and at home (Petersburg Blockade for instance). The war was a tragedy for everyone involved, no matter how you look at it. How they have decided that WWII was a victory for them alone is beyond me. What I remember hearing in school is that the Russians fought the Germans on their front and we on ours. I have heard it speculated that had we not entered the war on our front, Germany would have had an easy time handling the Russians. This, of course, is speculation. If my memory serves me correctly, the Soviets even had a pact with Hitler that Hitler broke when he invaded Russia. I don’t know if Russia would have remained neutral or fought on the side of the Nazis if Hitler hadn’t attacked, but regardless, I don’t think it’s right to consider Russia the solitary victor of WWII. As you can imagine, this question was an unusual one to answer the first time it was asked, and now that I’ve heard it about 20 times, I’m quite tired of being tested to see if I’m stupid enough to doubt that Russia alone won World War II.
Anyway, so now I know that it must become my mission to prove the competence of the American intellect to as many Russians as possible. I’m starting to think I should start watching a little television to find out what else every citizen in Russia is being told about me. Like I said, however, I have yet to meet a Russian who has treated me badly just because I’m an American. I have had an overwhelmingly positive experience here, but I thought it might be appropriate to show everyone what is apparently common knowledge about Americans. Most interesting, however, is the extent to which this interest in the behavior of people in another country is one-sided. Every Russian is filled with ideas about what life in America is like (some of them, as I am explaining, are wildly unfounded), but I think it is fair to say that very few Americans have ever stopped to ask themselves what Russian people are really like, how they live. When Russians ask me what Americans say about them and whether these stereotypes have turned out to be true, it’s always a little uncomfortable. How can you tell them that your people, far from having a lot of negative things to say, don’t really have anything at all to say about them. Which is worse, I don’t really know.
Well that little thought has exhausted itself. Apart from the whole food situation, things are slowly moving into place. I’ve started the rest of my classes this week, the ones at my main department. At first I had a bad feeling about them. I was told that I would merely be reading texts for people to translate. I felt like this was certainly not me and my education being using to the fullest potential. It turns out that so far, these courses have been very interesting. The students are at the 4th level of a department that specializes in languages alone, and so their English is at an incredible level. I have been amazed by how eloquently these students have been discussing politics (the theme for these two weeks). More incredible was the simultaneous translation itself. These students listen to a paragraph of complicated political material at a somewhat normal speed, reflect for a split second, and then proceed to repeat what I say in well-formed, Russian sentences. Their memory and attention to detail amazes me. As in every classroom in Russia, there’s one student who’s at a level twice as advanced as all the rest. This student might not even be paying attention, and yet when another student fumbles with the translation, she chimes in with a verbatim, idiomatic translation, as if she was reading it off the back of her eyelids (I knew she wasn’t, because I brought the article). I was humbled.
Anyway, I think that’s enough for now. Hopefully the excess of this entry makes up for my not having written in quite a while. Be in touch all of you. I really do love hearing from you.
Jason
I assure you, however, that Dima and I would be more than willing to eat real food had we the means. It’s not the landlady’s fault. She’s even sent her mother, Rufina Pavlovna (a rare name) to wait for the gas men a handful of times, but to no avail. They won’t come. Rufina Pavlvona does, however, putter about the house cleaning up after me and Dima while we’re at school (much to my embarrassment). This is the same lady who fixed our electricity. Anyway, Dima and I feel like we’re wasting away. I’m sure I’m losing weight. Soon I may resort to eating raw hunks of beef.
Anyway, this moving in of ours is similar, in many ways, to my overall experience here. It has been overwhelming positive with a few helpings of negative. I already growing weary of the Russian style of arranging meetings. In general, plans here are subject to change at any moment. “Yes, your schedule does say Tuesdays at 10:30 in classroom 302 of the main building, and no it might not be there, but we can assure you that it will probably be somewhere in one of the 2 following buildings, almost every time”. In fact, I would say that about 15 percent of the English classes I teach (and I’m only counting the ones with designated locations) actually take place in the indicated classroom. Usually, the best option is to show up to the right building and wander through the hallways until a professor yanks you into the proper classroom. The worst case of this sort of unreliability or just plain laziness is the visa-registration office. Because I moved, I have to change my address on my registration (and pay 400 rubles again). I also have to renew my visa (for some reason they insist on giving you a 3-month visa to start and then require that you renew it for a year almost immediately). Anyway, I found the right office and asked her what I need to do. She found a time for me to return, about 10 days later, and provided that I brought my money, passport, registration, landlady, and some special paperwork regarding the apartment, I could change my registration. So I arranged all of this brought my roommate to boot. We all woke up early, including my landlady who took off work, and we made it to the office for our meeting. Within 5 minutes it was decided that either I didn’t have a contract and would need to leave Russia immediately or I could return with my contract, my money, my passport, my registration, my landlady and the paperwork on Friday. Maybe then she will talk to me. I have my contract now, and may even get to stay later than November. We’ll see. This sort of unpredictability is a normal part of life in Russia. Plans are rarely definite. I’ve found it’s helpful to ask ahead of time “наши планы в силе?” (“are our plans in strength?”). Sometimes or even often it turns out that they are not. Such is life here.
Something else that has been bugging me is what has turned out to be the most burning questions in the minds of most of my students and acquaintances. I’ll say that my experiences with Russians so far have been great. They treat me wonderfully with incredible hospitality and generosity. But I’m really getting the impression that somewhere in Russia there are scores of people who think very poorly of Americans. My Russian friends are always amazed to find out that other Russians have been treating me well. They all want to assure me that they don’t necessarily believe what everyone (especially on television, apparently) says about Americans. “That’s funny,” I think, “I don’t know what they say about us on Russian television”. It turns out that on Russian television, they talk about how stupid Americans are, how little we know about geography, history, and how ridiculous American laws are. Lucky, so say my Russian friends, not everybody believes this. Some have friends who have travelled to America and ascertained that, in fact, not all Americans are stupid. One Russian I met said there’s even a show called “Тупые Американцы,” or “Stupid Americans”. This is something I really don’t understand. I really cannot imagine this sort of program, even on our sleazy television networks. In part, I think we’re too PC for this sort of programming. More importantly, I think we’re less aware about cultural stereotypes than Russians (and oh do they love them). If an American were asked to give a cultural stereotype about Russia, maybe he would say “wearing fur hats” or “playing chess” (“drinking vodka” in the worst case). Anyway, we are far less aware of Russian culture than they think they are of ours. Perhaps this is a fault of ours, not caring to know what people do in other cultures, but at least we don’t sit around watching television shows like “Drunk Russians”. Most of the impressions they have of America are from Hollywood movies, which may account for some of what they consider is stupid American behavior. Still, if I judged Russia based on the Russian movie “Gitler Kaput” that I saw last weekend, I would have a pretty bad impression of Russia.
Anyway, I’m pretty tired of being grateful that not all Russians consider me stupid for being an American. There is one question, however, that I’m asked at least three times a week. I always know when it’s coming, because it’s usually after we’ve already discussed “stupid Americans” and because it’s always at the same part of the conversation. The person will get a clever grin on his face, and at this point I know it’s going to happen: “Now we hear about what you learn in history class. Tell me if it is true what they say, that you are taught that America won World War II. The whole world knows that We, Russia won World War II. Do you think you won World War II?” I’ve already been answering this question for a year, and so I’ve gotten used to answering automatically, “Well, you know, we were allies. There were many fronts in the war, and together, with the help of the rest of the allies, we defeated the Germans. You won on your front and we won on ours”. This rarely satisfies them, and I’ve already grown tired of taking the time to explain the whole thing. Now I’ve resorted to a much cleverer answer that someone (I forget who) suggested when we were at the orientation in Kiev. It is simple and I think true. “It is my opinion that in war, nobody wins. Everyone loses”. Really, if you think about it, Russia, more than anyone else, felt the impact of this war. I don’t remember the exact statistics, but unimaginable numbers of Russians died, both at the front and at home (Petersburg Blockade for instance). The war was a tragedy for everyone involved, no matter how you look at it. How they have decided that WWII was a victory for them alone is beyond me. What I remember hearing in school is that the Russians fought the Germans on their front and we on ours. I have heard it speculated that had we not entered the war on our front, Germany would have had an easy time handling the Russians. This, of course, is speculation. If my memory serves me correctly, the Soviets even had a pact with Hitler that Hitler broke when he invaded Russia. I don’t know if Russia would have remained neutral or fought on the side of the Nazis if Hitler hadn’t attacked, but regardless, I don’t think it’s right to consider Russia the solitary victor of WWII. As you can imagine, this question was an unusual one to answer the first time it was asked, and now that I’ve heard it about 20 times, I’m quite tired of being tested to see if I’m stupid enough to doubt that Russia alone won World War II.
Anyway, so now I know that it must become my mission to prove the competence of the American intellect to as many Russians as possible. I’m starting to think I should start watching a little television to find out what else every citizen in Russia is being told about me. Like I said, however, I have yet to meet a Russian who has treated me badly just because I’m an American. I have had an overwhelmingly positive experience here, but I thought it might be appropriate to show everyone what is apparently common knowledge about Americans. Most interesting, however, is the extent to which this interest in the behavior of people in another country is one-sided. Every Russian is filled with ideas about what life in America is like (some of them, as I am explaining, are wildly unfounded), but I think it is fair to say that very few Americans have ever stopped to ask themselves what Russian people are really like, how they live. When Russians ask me what Americans say about them and whether these stereotypes have turned out to be true, it’s always a little uncomfortable. How can you tell them that your people, far from having a lot of negative things to say, don’t really have anything at all to say about them. Which is worse, I don’t really know.
Well that little thought has exhausted itself. Apart from the whole food situation, things are slowly moving into place. I’ve started the rest of my classes this week, the ones at my main department. At first I had a bad feeling about them. I was told that I would merely be reading texts for people to translate. I felt like this was certainly not me and my education being using to the fullest potential. It turns out that so far, these courses have been very interesting. The students are at the 4th level of a department that specializes in languages alone, and so their English is at an incredible level. I have been amazed by how eloquently these students have been discussing politics (the theme for these two weeks). More incredible was the simultaneous translation itself. These students listen to a paragraph of complicated political material at a somewhat normal speed, reflect for a split second, and then proceed to repeat what I say in well-formed, Russian sentences. Their memory and attention to detail amazes me. As in every classroom in Russia, there’s one student who’s at a level twice as advanced as all the rest. This student might not even be paying attention, and yet when another student fumbles with the translation, she chimes in with a verbatim, idiomatic translation, as if she was reading it off the back of her eyelids (I knew she wasn’t, because I brought the article). I was humbled.
Anyway, I think that’s enough for now. Hopefully the excess of this entry makes up for my not having written in quite a while. Be in touch all of you. I really do love hearing from you.
Jason
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