Home Again . . . and Thoughts on Russia

After beginning Sunday having breakfast at the Savoy in Moscow, I put my head down to sleep back in Massachusetts. It's a surreal experience to travel nearly 5,000 miles in half-a-day. Being back in familiar surroundings makes the past two weeks seem an extended, pleasant dream. 

As it turns out, I also had to return home in order to find out why there was such an abundance of police in Moscow on Saturday. My friend Virginia emailed me to say that she'd been thinking of me when she heard the news about the protests in Moscow on Saturday. I had to google to find out that a year after the massive protests staged following last year's parliamentary elections, a new protest day was held on Saturday. A significantly smaller protest than a year before. Based on the numbers of police that I saw on every street I wandered down, I would imagine that police may have outnumbered protestors. 

From my hotel room, I could see the police helicopter hovering overhead of the protest, which was literally a block away from where I was staying. 

It's such an interesting time for Russia and its citizens. As I've noted before, the abrupt shift to an economy based on capitalism has been jarring. The attempt to establish a democracy in concert with the new economic model has been challenging. No one can do this for Russia, of course. It's a bit like watching a friend who decides it's time to make some changes in his or her life. 

Evil Amidst Beauty

I visited the Gulag Museum this afternoon in Moscow, a day after the horrific and incomprehensible tragedy in Connecticut . . . the brutal slaughter of innocents, including twenty children. No matter what scale, when evil manifests itself in our world, it is impossible to reconcile. 

Clearly something goes terribly wrong within the perpetrator's being. Whether it is a physiological malfunction or a defect in character doesn't really matter to the stunned and saddened families of the victims. For those not directly affected, we shudder and then, on some fundamental level (perhaps due to the instinct to defend and survive), we quickly turn the page. It is not that we lack sympathy or compassion. It is just that there is nothing we can do to change what has happened. 

That's a brutal fact. We want to support the survivors and the loved ones of those lost, but the work of doing so is necessarily left to those who know these people. The rest of us . . . the larger society . . . goes on with living. Albeit with a sense of melancholy and a more tangible foreboding. But, the impact on any of us not directly involved fades quickly in the wash of all that comes next. 

Though imagine if homicidal brutality began to become more prevalent. It would be not unlike those eras when the plague decimated whole societies, taking people from almost every family. As awful and indiscriminate as disease can be, at least it's not mindful of its actions and effects. When Stalin was able to extend his own paranoia to Russian society, ordinary people became both perpetrators and victims on a massive scale. 

Millions died. Starvation, torture, and literally being worked to death became commonplace. One man drove the madness. He was able to extend the heinousness exhibited in the Connecticut massacre to a societal level. Finally, after decades, Stalin is being held to account more regularly and openly.

If you can look at this photo closely enough, you will find that Stalin's portrait is made up of human skulls. What a horrible man. And, his ability to lead Russians to join in such slaughter is what is harder to understand . . . and more frightening. 

The act of one person taking the lives of innocents is unforgivable and incomprehensible. That Stalin took the lives of millions of his fellow countrymen evokes a similar bewilderment. And, both this week's and the events from the long decades when Stalin ruled, raise the specter of a society that no longer condemns, but rather, tacitly condones slaughter. That's a very disturbing legacy that we must guard against, at all levels where it appears.

I Love These People!

Once in a rare while, what we hope for in an experience is surpassed. I was very fortunate to have that be the case with my time in Yaroslavl with the CCS family. What a great and caring group of people. And, what great work they've done in the community. I will miss them each and all, but I will never forget my fantastic two weeks making new friends in Russia. 

From left to right:   

Victor, Driver Extraordinaire and Top Hockey Fan in Yaroslavl! 

Asya, Interpreter for All, Friend to All, and the person to see if you need tickets to Six Flags in Illinois! 

Sveta, Interpreter for All, Friend to All, and proud owner of a new kitchen, soon to be installed in her new apartment!

Natalyia, Enthusiastic Leader of the Team, Friend to All, and willing to go every extra mile to help make Russia a fantastic place to visit!

Olga, Friendliest Accountant in all Russia, and who was a good sport about being in this photo!

And, let's certainly not forget Galina (below), who kept the place humming and homey for us all!

And, one of the two people who ensured that I left Yaroslavl with more pounds than when I arrived is in the midst of the scene below, having prepared another phenomenal meal for us . . . Ludmilla (sorry, I didn't get a snap of Elena). 

Finally, my fellow volunteers made this whole experience a communal one. I feel so lucky to have participated with such a caring and fun group of individuals. 

Clockwise from the left:

Dorothy, Justine, Sally, Natasha, Raya, Christina, and Rachel (hand with fork . . . nice job by the photographer!). And, of course, absent friends who had to leave last week: Tom, Marilyn, and Rebecca. 

What a great, great couple of weeks! Thanks to all for everything! 

Last Evening in Yaroslavl

Took a hike into town after dinner this evening, about 3 miles round trip. It was немного холодно . . . 13 degrees (or -11 C), with a breeze out of the east. Siberia is pushing some of it's 40 below weather our way! 

While in the downtown area, I noticed some municipal workers putting up holiday decorations. Now that's a cold job! The exterior walls of the Kremlin are festively lit. Though not as extremely lit as we'd likely do in the U.S.A.

Another interesting difference in the holiday season is that in Russia the focal point is on New Years, not Christmas. Since the country was officially atheist for 70+ years, there was no such thing as Christmas. And, now that Christmas has returned, the Russian Orthodox event occurs in January . . . not December 25th. 

So, the party really doesn't start until New Years. When we had kids make Christmas cards at the Boarding School, almost every one made a card that read: С Новые годы! Or, Happy New Year! Nevertheless, at the Boarding School this afternoon, the kids were quizzing Raya on whether or not she'd seen Santa Claus and his reindeer. Raya said she had indeed seen Santa, but that in Australia his sleigh is pulled by kangaroos rather than reindeer. 

There didn't seem to be a lot of partying tonight in the old city. Yaroslav the Wise stood on his pedestal watching chilly citizens wait for the bus or hurry past to get to someplace warm. And, for a few last moments, I was among them.

Melancholy Parting

This morning was my last time at the Hospital for Kids. It was hard to say good-bye to so many sweet souls. We had fun this week. Lots of games, laughs, and crafts. I hope they will remember Peter Parker (aka, SpiderMan) fondly. I will remember each of them very fondly. 

Today we did paper lanterns, thanks to Raya's creative inspiration. The kids seemed to really enjoy creating and customizing their lanterns. Afterwards, there were unique versions of War, Uno, and Jenga. The one game where the rules seem to be followed as intended is Chutes and Ladders. It is a universally classic game, where the rules are intuitive in any language.

It's so unfortunate to realize that these kids will be losing Asya and Sveta after next week, as well. The kids clearly adore both, and are always eager to show them what they've created. And, of course, to try to get help getting through to the not-so-fluent Peter Parker!

Fruit of Our Labors (and the kids at the Hospital for Kids)

After three intensive days of crafting, here is the result of all the work done with the children at the Hospital for Kids this week. There are some creative souls here clearly. And, some very sweet and enthusiastic ones, as well. It's been really engaging to work with them. Even though I am not very crafty, I am eager to lend a hand . . . to tape others' creative productions to the wall, to applaud their efforts and results, to pass along the beads and puffs.

What If

I've been thinking more about what 1991 meant to the people of Russia, largely because I continue to hear what it meant. Irina, who has taken us on two enjoyable and informative excursions, to Uglich last week and to Velikoye today, described the impact when we visited a small, three-room museum this afternoon. One of the rooms had several items related to Lenin and his legacy.

Irina told us about her experiences passing through the various Soviet youth organizations, with the culmination being admittance to the Communist Party upon reaching adulthood. Imagine, if you were raised to believe and trust in these principles, and then suddenly they vanished into a puff of history. I think Russians are doing remarkably well adjusting to this latest wrench thrown into the gears of their national and personal identities. 

By the way, the young boy in the second photo above is, I understand, Lenin himself. What a cute kid. Aren't they all? It's interesting what we become and do as adults. There are, no doubt, intimations of our future selves and actions present in our early selves. I've seen this, it seems, in one young man in particular this week. He seems sweet and creative, and also threatening. I wonder what environment he has come from and its influence. I can imagine him growing up to be a gangster. I could see him as an artist. I wonder which path he will follow. And why.

Why did the man below become one of history's heinous, paranoid mass murderers?  

While the man who painted the picture in the second photo above, spent 95 years in his village creating art and apparently harming no one irreparably. Looking at his self-portrait below, there's nothing that indicates why he wasn't also a monster. Maybe someone provided an example or some influence that encouraged a path away from the potential for evil that is harbored in each of us. Maybe we are providing something similar for the creative, sweet, threatening young man who I met this week in Yaroslavl?

  

Interesting Days!

Before returning to tales of St. Petersburg, I want to record more about my experiences with volunteer activities over the past couple of days. However, before diving into that, this evening the head of one of the district social services operations in Yaroslavl where we've been volunteering came by to provide us with more information on the work her operation performs . . . and how we fit into those efforts. 

What a fascinating person. Actually, everyone we've encountered here has been fascinating. Not the least of whom, of course, are the Cross-Cultural Solutions staff: Nataliya, Asya, Sveta, Olga, Victor, Galina, Elena, Ludmilla . . . what a great team of caring, committed, and fun individuals. It's such a shame that CCS is closing the Russian operation down. Our speaker tonight agreed. She explained through photos and discussion all the work that they do, with the elderly and children. The social safety network here seems to be as challenged as it is the U.S., but not necessarily more so. And, what CCS has provided has helped tangibly to complement this network.

What is challenging to try to comprehend is how abruptly and completely the rules changed after 1991. It seems that many would assert that they were happier under Soviet communism. Getting shoved off the cliff into capitalism was jarring. As our speaker tonight explained, everyone went broke in the 90s, except for the oligarchs and their associates. In the hyper-inflation days that plagued Russia in the Yeltsin years, her monthly salary's purchasing power was enough to buy 1 kilo of butter. There were nights her son went to bed hungry. Talk about a harrowing free fall. Before, while there was only a single option for bread, milk, cars (which no one owned, and now it seems many do . . . based on the ubiquitous traffic jams I've witnessed), people felt that the government would take care of their needs. Even if only minimally. Our speaker said, for example, that if her husband (who is in his mid-70s) were asked what was the best time of his life, he'd answer the Stalin years. Even though people recognize now that Stalin butchered and starved millions of Russians, including much of the intelligentsia, there is nostalgia for the confidence that all would be taken care of by the government. 

There apparently was also a civility engendered by mutual deprivation that has vanished in the pell mell dash into free market nirvana. Our speaker tonight, as well as my guide in St. Petersburg, both spoke of this phenomenon. People are more aggressive and less caring. It's a brave, new world indeed . . . filled with shopping malls and supermarkets jammed with every imaginable product, in a plethora of varieties and brands. And, as mentioned, a lot of Russian drivers jockeying for position on the roads. Though I would note that I've not witnessed road rage nor its predecessor, the honking horn, since being here. There is a level of patience and forbearance that Russians have developed in order to endure hardships that an American can barely imagine, which persists perceptibly. Maybe folks aren't as communal as they once were, but I have a strong sense that Russians will continue to look out for one another on a fundamental level. Maybe even more so than we do in the States.

I asked our speaker if she felt people in Russia today are optimistic. Her answer was no, and the reason is endemic corruption, which she likened to the lawless American Wild West. This is a perception that others have mentioned before, and it leads to a sense of frustration and futility that are corrosive. The other critical challenge, of course, is how to turn the population decrease tide. Our speaker outlined the incentives available to families that have a second child (or more). It's hard to encourage people to procreate more, when they're negative about their prospects. Still, this is a country with a great deal of pride and intellectual prowess. The challenges are enormous, but they're working their way through . . . it will be so interesting to see what the next 20 years will bring. 

Okay, now back to that volunteering I mentioned I've been doing. 
This week, thus far, I've been to the Hospital for Kids twice, back to the Boarding School, and this afternoon to the Leninsky Center to visit with the disabled citizens who the center serves (last week we visited the elderly who use the center). We did our best to build elves from blocks, pipe cleaners, construction paper, and assorted puffs of fabric. I'm afraid I was more a hindrance than a help, but the group I worked with seemed to appreciate the intent if not the caliber of my assistance. The whole group was charming, as you can see (my fellow volunteers are immediately to the right of me and they are Dorothy, Sally, and Natasha . . . all of whom actually were big helps with the execution of our craft projects):

The Hospital for Kids is a new placement for me this week. The children we work with probably range in ages from 6 to 10 years old. Some have physical, emotional, and/or cognitive issues. But all share an enthusiasm for welcoming volunteers. I made several fast friends yesterday, and they all came swarming to greet me today when we returned. In our previous visit we worked to build a Christmas tree by tracing the outline of our hands on white paper, cutting these out, and then decorating them with a green motif. After which we taped them to the wall, with fingers pointing down . . . representing the boughs of the tree. Today we made paper chains of various colors, and strung these across the wall on which the tree now resides. It all looked quite festive by the time we were done. Then we settled into the game playing phase of our visit.

We have a range of games, including several cards-related, Chutes and Ladders, Hi Ho the Cherry-O, Jenga, etc. A lot of the usual rules don't apply, as I've mentioned before, but we sort it out and have fun. Not a lot of currency is given as to who wins. It's truly all about how one plays the game! 

The boys in the group have had a lot of fun at my expense, but all innocent fun. At this age and stage, they've not been tainted with cynicism or sarcasm. It's refreshing to be teased in a truly good-natured manner. For example, I was dubbed Peter Pan and Peter Parker the Spider Man. And, then later, Iron Man. I'll take being compared to Robert Downey, Jr.! One young guy, who was eager to show me his tattoos (which I take it are genuine, weirdly) and his notepads full of drawings (which were quite good), tried to teach me to rap in Russian. I couldn't rap in any language, but he and his companions did get me to a point where I could do a couple rhymes for a moment or two . . . kind of like a meteor of rap flashing across the stage and then flaming out. I'll be back on Thursday to try again for another rhyme or two!

My favorite placement remains the Boarding School. The kids there are exceptionally well behaved and sweet . . . and they LOVE my poetry! We met with a different class of 4th graders yesterday and, though I didn't have to write any poems on the spot this time, I was asked to read one of my poems. So, I did. I read "Last Testament" in English and Asya tried to interpret for me, which proved impossible. This was not due to any limitation in her abilities as an interpreter, of course. Rather, my poems are indecipherable in any language! 

On the way out, a couple of the kids from last week's class saw us and came running over to say hello, including Pavel the Poet of Spider Man acclaim. I asked him if he'd translated the poem I wrote for him yet into Russian. He said not yet. So, I chided him that I needed to hear it in Russian before I leave. That way I can, at last, experience the indecipherability of my poetry firsthand! 

St. Petersburg - The TOP Highlight!

I have much to try to capture about my three days in St. Petersburg. It was a whirlwind, of course. I'll try to break it into components in a series of posts. First among the many highlights was the simplest . . . the original log cabin built by Peter the Great and three sailors for his initial official residence in the new capital. As my guide during my visit to St. Petersburg, Galina, put it, "Can you imagine?" 

And, there it is, 300+ years later, protected by a masonry overcoat building from the brutal elements at the mouth of the Neva. We paid to go inside, to find the cabin nested within . . . a bit like a variant on Matryoshka dolls. On the door frame to the cabin's entrance is a marker showing Peter's relative height; at 6'8", he had to stoop to enter and probably came close to scraping his noggin on each of the three rooms' ceilings. 

One walks around the exterior of the cabin, looking into each of the rooms through the windows. It would take about 90 seconds to make the circuit if one didn't stop. Peter's study is still intact, with his pipe resting on the desk and the chair that he built pushed back, as if waiting for him to return to take a seat and continue defining his plans for a city to rise from the swamps that surrounded him. His bedroom is literally the size of a small walk-in closet. He either slept on the floor or on a long chair that he'd built. "Can you imagine?" The table in the dining room is still set with cutlery and dishes used by Peter. And, wham, you're done with the tour!

A last interesting tidbit about Peter's cabin. He had it painted to look as though it were constructed of white brick. And, on the front, north-facing side of the house, faded squares of white paint are still visible. "Can you imagine?"

Peter was a great visionary and manager. He imagined a city where no sane person would ever consider one possible, and it became St. Petersburg, Venice of the North, and Peter's (as well as Russia's) capital, until the Revolution of October 1917. From the iconic log cabin, a city filled with architectural and cultural treasures blossomed. One of the most impressive is the Winter Palace . . . which Peter established on the site of and to replace his log cabin palace. Peter's successors (particularly Catherine the Great) oversaw the Winter Palace's evolution and extension. 

And now, here I am standing on the site of Peter's cabin (it was moved across the river once the replacement palace was initiated).

Behind me are the main gates to the palace, which were stormed by the Red guards when they booted the provisional government in the now infamous fall of 1917. And, with that, came the end of the palace's role as residence of the Tsars. Today, it is one of the four interconnected buildings that make up the Hermitage Museum. I'll try to say more about this incredible collection of some 3 million pieces, but to bring this particular post to a close I want to note a couple of the items in the collection, specifically related to Peter the Great . . . the two are part of an odd pair, as you will see.

When Peter was 50, he commissioned a sculptor (whose name, of course, I don't recall) to form a cast of his head. The sculptor encased the czar's head in plaster, inserting two straws into his nostrils so that he might breathe during the 30 minutes it took for the casting to set. The result was a perfect representation of the great man's noggin.

But, Peter, like all of history's great egomaniacs, believed that future generations would really appreciate knowing just how he looked. So, supposedly, when he had his hair cut and his mustache trimmed, he ordered that the detritus be retained so that it might be  attached to one of the castings of his noggin. The result is below. Again, that's reportedly the actual hair and mustache of Peter the Great. "Can you imagine?"

While I didn't get photos, in the same museum case as the two busts of Peter, there were displays of tools used by Peter in exploring his varied interests. There were several carpentry tools, there was an astrolabe, and then there were some other things. Peter apparently was an amateur dentist, and his tools for extracting teeth, including the still-blood-stained bowl that his patients had to rest their chins upon, were there. He was fascinated by human anatomy, and so had his autopsy tools (including a pretty impressive looking saw). And, to top things off, there were Peter's obstetrics' tools . . . supposedly he delivered several of his own children. 

What a guy! 

"Can you imagine?"

Volunteer Poets Wanted

On Thursday of my first week, I got the chance to go to another center for the elderly, where I dazzled the crowd with my two sentences of Russian: Hello, my name is . . . I live in . . . This set up a buzz in the room that I speak Russian. That notion got disabused in a hurry, of course. Although, I will say that I continue to be surprised that I understand snippets of what is said. As I’ve noted before, if I can maintain the discipline of effort without the benefit of a pending trip, perhaps I can become conversational by the time I return for another visit.  

It was an engaging group, as was the group at the first center. We each introduced ourselves and shared pictures from our homes. Mine were in the form of a slide show on my MacBook. I am Mr. Technology, of course. After our presentations, we entertained questions and got to ask some questions. I couldn’t resist asking how people feel about America and about the Putin administration. Most felt fondly about the American people and were relieved that Obama won reelection. They all seemed to know that Romney had declared that Russia is Foe #1, which baffled them as much as it did most people in America. 

On the subject of Putin, a couple people spoke up, including the one man in the group. My understanding is that there is frustration that Putin has consolidated power in much the way that other Russian leaders, from the czars to the Communists, have done throughout Russia’s history. What is surprising, of course, is that people will speak about this openly, publicly, and with strangers. I couldn’t help but think back to what would have happened in Stalin’s time had someone expressed opinions remotely close to these. The gulag at best, and summary execution after a period of prison at worst. So, I suppose that is progress of a sort. 

One woman in the group was small and stooped, even sitting in her chair, but she had electric blue eyes that let one know that a strong spirit inhabited this wizened frame. Afterwards she came over to talk to Dorothy. It turns out that she is 92 years old, and she fought at the front as a soldier in WWII. Wow! She also has been to America three times. What an interesting person and life story. I hope I can find out more about her experiences if we return next week.

In the afternoon we went to the Boarding School, which I believe is home to kids from families where drugs or alcohol impact their parents’ ability to care for their children. What a sweet group of kids. There were 12 in the class. They were maybe 8 to 10 years old. Each stood up in turn and introduced themselves to us. One young fellow, dark haired and dark eyed, did so in English: “I am Pavel.” To say we were impressed is an understatement! 

After their introductions, we began our drill, introducing ourselves and entertaining questions. One of my colleagues from Australia, a young woman named Raya, was asked by Pavel if she wrote poetry. She said that she didn’t. But, Asya, our interpreter, looked at me and made a comment identifying me as the group’s poet. I gave Pavel the poets’ universal high-five sign (which essentially is an awkward glance of surprise that someone else has acknowledged their affliction publicly).  

When it came my turn, I brought out the MacBook again, and was swarmed by 12 enthusiastic faces, all wanting to get a closer look at the photos as they came up on the screen. The boys got particularly excited when Fenway Park came up and knew it was baseball. A similar reaction occurred when a shot of the Garden and the Celtics popped up . . . basketball! After the introductions were completed, we began work on our craft project du jour. 

We’d decided on ink blot portraits for today. Each child received a sheet of construction paper, and we then dispersed into the rows of desks with paint tubes to dab the sheets. Once dabbed, the sheets were folded over on themselves and then rubbed with the side of the hand to smear the paint. When unfolded, the paint had generated symmetrical designs on each side of the sheet. Some were quite cool, and those that weren’t got the benefit of adding some feathers or beads, if desired, to embellish their appeal. At some point, I think it was Pavel who decided he’d like us to autograph his work. A bit of a twist on the artist signing his work. But we were happy to comply. I think most kids ended up with half-a-dozen signatures. 

Pavel then decided to share his journal with me. He brought it over and I flipped through. Most pages were filled with writing . . . clearly this young man may be Pushkin back again to carry on his work! I asked Asya to interpret some of the work for me. She flipped through and summarized that it was mostly science fiction fantasy stories involving Spiderman. So, maybe not Pushkin, but I was still impressed. Pavel expected me to return the favor. Of course, I didn’t have a journal to share, but it did occur to me that I could show him my manuscript “Asteroid Tales” on my MacBook. Pavel approved and soon the remaining group of kids was gathered around my chair, looking at my “book.” 

At which point, Pavel upped the ante, and tore a sheet from his journal and asked me to write him a poem. Wow! Talk about being under the gun. Of course, I explained that the poem would be in English. He was unfazed. So, I set out to compose something for him. I got about 12 lines or so, and then he wanted it read aloud. The rest of the class joined Pavel in his request. So, there I was, standing amid 12 Russian kids reading a whomped together poem in English. The crowd went wild! And, soon, I had 11 other young hands holding pieces of paper, thrusting them to me to write another poem. Alas, our time ran out before I could compose more. Such a shame! To have so much adulation and demand for my poetic work! I promised to come back next week, the rock star poet making a reprise appearance. I hope I’m able to fulfill that pledge . . . it would be fun for all of us! 

Train Times

A lot of time has stormed past since my last post. As I type this, the overnight train back to Yaroslavl is just leaving the station in St. Petersburg. I’ve just spent three days in Peter’s town, and it was a whirlwind of sights (more on this in another post to follow). 

I have another burly Russian fellow for a roommate (I had one on the way over, plus another gentleman joined us at some point along the way to Moscow). We’ll see if we pick up a third or fourth along the way this time. It turns out I didn’t buy a first-class ticket as I’d intended. Rather I bought a second-class roundtrip ticket. (I should note that if not for Sveta's patience and assistance I probably wouldn't have been able to buy any ticket!) Normally I don’t consider myself to necessarily be a first-class traveler, but I thought I’d splurge in order to ensure I had a two person compartment for the 12 hour train ride. To put this in perspective, imagine bunk beds in a space 6 feet wide by 6 feet long . . . then imagine sharing this space with up to three strangers. It’s not something Americans are inclined to consider and say, “Yeah, that sounds cool.”  But that’s second-class on a Russian overnight train. 

This car appears to be a newer version of the one I came to St. Petersburg in. It doesn’t have the dark wood motif charm that the other car had. I miss that already. It felt more homey. More a classic train car. This one has the ambiance of a hospital room. Though I’m not sure why that should matter much, since the idea is to fall asleep soon, after all. 

It will be interesting to see if my new roommate will enter the Snoring Olympics. I feel pretty primed to rip off some good snorts tonight, as my nose is slightly stuffed and that should ensure ample mouth breathing. Of course, it’s not my snoring that’s a concern. It’s the roommates’ bellows that can be extraordinarily obnoxious. On the way down I found the only solution was earplugs, which blessedly did stifle the decibel level enough to allow for some restless sleeping. 

We’ll see how the night progresses. One thing I have noticed (and that others have commented on) is the punctuality of Russian trains. It may be that they build in large cushions in the schedules. At Yaroslavl on the way down, the train arrived 30 minutes before scheduled departure and stayed sitting until the appointed time before heading on. When we got near St. Petersburg the following morning, the train came to a standstill in the middle of nowhere for 20 minutes, in order to ensure that we arrived precisely on time into the station. There must not be any bonuses for beating the schedule. 

What else to say about the train? Hopefully not much. But if this evening’s journey presents any new adventures, I’ll add comments to this post. Okay, the train ride home proved uneventful. Only one snoring roommate. Thank whomever invented earplugs!  

Uglich!

Wednesday already! Time accelerates in proportion to how much we look forward to an activity and then engage in it. Today we took off a day from volunteering to visit Uglich, one of many, many historical cities and towns all around Yaroslavl. It was a 2 hour drive in a 15 passenger van (again, very un-American . . . the insurance underwriter in me kept thinking of all that could go wrong on snowy roads with a full complement of occupants!). Uglich is, I take it, best known as the birthplace of The Time of Troubles. Something one wouldn't expect the local Chamber of Commerce to promote, but apparently it is quite the draw for many Russian tourists.

As I understand (and I will acknowledge that I may not understand this accurately), Ivan the Terrible's son Theodore succeeded his mad papa in 1584, but his brother-in-law Boris Godunov ran the show. There was one potential complication, as Ivan the Terrible's seventh (and last) wife had a son, Dmitry. They were banished to Uglich when Ivan left for the hereafter. And then, in May 1591, in Uglich, young Tsarevich Dmitry unfortunately had an epileptic fit during which a knife he was playing with slit his throat. Imagine!

A great hue and cry ensued, including a riot by the good people of Uglich, which resulted in quite a lot of them being beaten or otherwise compelled to death, with a good number more being exiled to Siberia, many sans tongues and ears apparently . . . along with the church bell, which had called all the good people to the town square when it was discovered that Dmitry had had his accident. The bell amazingly was granted a pardon a few hundred years later, and was returned from Siberia to Uglich, where it now resides in the small church near where the accident occurred. Our guide, Irina, showed us that the bell's tongue still speaks, as she rang the bell for our benefit. Kind of wild to think that the same sound called so many people to the scene of a tragedy (and an ensuing greater tragedy) over 400 years ago.

The church within which the bell resides, sits beside the Volga (interestingly and understandably many Russian towns were established beside rivers where streams or other rivers joined, creating essentially a peninsula, which made defense much more practical due to the ready-made moats surrounding the village. Some villages that didn't have the advantage of waterways, nevertheless achieved a similar insularity thanks to the taiga, the unimaginably dense Russian forest. These land-locked villages simply carved a single road through the forest, and left the impenetrable forest to guard the other approaches):

In addition to the bell, the church (like so many in Russia) is covered in frescoes on the interior, many of which include depictions of the Uglich riot and resulting mayhem, while others deal with the more typical religious themes and personalities:

Following lunch came the true highlight of the Uglich trek, a visit to the Museum of Vodka! And, of course, a sampling of the national beverage. We each got a shot glass filled with a delicious plum-infused vodka. I have to say that I understand better now why the drink is so popular. When we wandered back into the snowy cold, I felt markedly warmer throughout. Very medicinal and therapeutic!

After a stop at the local Whole Foods for tasty meat pies and other staples to sustain our crew on the 2 hour return drive, we headed out through the taiga once more.

Upon arrival in Yaroslavl, we stopped to secure my train tickets for the overnight train to St. Petersburg. That will be a whole new level of adventure, as I will be completely on my own. Must keep  practicing: "I don't understand" "Please" "Help Me!"

A Walk in the Snow

Took a stroll after dinner this evening. It was snowing still . . . not too intensely. It was a pretty scene to wander through. I got a shot of Ray's Cathedral (not sure if I have the name right, but it's named for some dude who paid to have it built) in the snow. Ray's is a very short walk away, and just across the road from the giant Wallmart-like supermarket (Lenin must be quaking in his mausoleum).

Contrast Ray's stately majesty to the funked-up lights on the car repair shop's driveway (which is across a different street from Ray's). You get the idea . . . this is not your Soviet grandparents' utopia any longer.

Snow and Work!

Today it snowed. It came down hard while we were being driven to our first assignment, a visit to the Lenininsky Elder Care facility. Victor fishtailed us across town safely. And we arrived to a room filled with 20 or so hardy, elderly Russians who had braved the snow to reach the facility in order to visit with us. It actually wasn't a heroic act or even unusual, for that matter . . . this is what they (and everyone else in Russia) does when it snows. They just go about their lives. It may take a bit longer, but they proceed. We can remember how this was done in New England, back when we had winters. 

At any rate, we told about ourselves, augmented by photographs. I scrambled and pulled together a sampling that I showed on my computer . . . starting with a picture of Beth in Africa. That threw everyone off a bit, but I explained the Peace Corps and the work Beth is doing teaching science. From there followed a photo of a Red Sox game at Fenway Park. I don't think baseball really registered. Though one gentleman commented on the Boston Bears hockey team. It turned out that one woman attending is also a poet. She gave each of us a copy of one of her books, and I got two . . . perhaps as a courtesy to a fellow poet? They are written for children, with illustrations by children in the fourth of her four books . . . as her illustrator unfortunately passed away. Besides poetry, she had worked in a factory as an engineer for many years. 

It was interesting to listen to the questions and comments from the group. It was particularly interesting to try to understand what was being said before it was translated by Asya. I am getting better to some degree, in that I can comprehend whole phrases and some short, simple sentences. Not having tried to learn a language in a long time, it's interesting that comprehension appears to be a precursor to gaining confidence in speaking. I have a long way to go!

This afternoon, we went to School 45. I believe this is a school for children whose parents are being treated for alcoholism or other drug addictions. A number of the children also seem to have developmental difficulties, as well. Granted some of this may be a result of the environments they've been subjected to. We had them make masks from paper plates and popsicle sticks. We had four samples . . . one of them was a wolf, which was wildly popular with the boys. I got to help with (well, actually draw) a couple wolves. They were a rambunctious but generally sweet group of kids probably 6 to 10 years old, but we managed to get the masks done with a minimal amount of mayhem. 

Following the mask-making, it was time to break out the bag of games we'd brought, and with the games came the mayhem. First of all, to play games one needs to be able to communicate and agree upon the rules. We had no chance. But, happily, kids can make up rules that bring them amusement (if not consistency). I ended up in charge of a game of tiddly winks . . . requiring one, of course, to pinch small plastic ovals with a larger oval, launching the small ovals in the general direction of a board with various scores segregated by triangles within a circle. For quite awhile we had winks flying at alarming speed across the room, and rolling under radiators, tables, etc. Eventually, it occurred to me to set up a frame from the box the game came in around the board, which allowed the winks to carom off and sometimes land on the board . . . which was fun for all of us, as the kids would yell out their scores, and I got a chance to practice my Russian numbers. I was pretty good at that actually.

Upon our return to home base, we had a lecture from a local historian on the Romanov dynasty. It covered a lot of material that I am familiar with, but it was still a fascinating story to hear. The only challenge was that it was warm, I was tired from trying to keep up with the kids from School 45, and it was just before dinner. I felt the compelling need to nod off, which reminded me once more why the Russians don't allow sitting during church services. A history lecture or sermon that lasts an hour . . . both are equally soporific. 

Time now for a stroll in the snow, and I need to visit the ATM to get cash to pay for my pending train ticket to St. Petersburg, which Sveta (another of our translators and the one who rescued me at the airport upon my arrival) may purchase on my behalf. It appears to be a lot less expensive to buy one if you can read the Russian train schedule in Russian. Taking advantage of the English-speaking customers? Maybe. But more likely it's my inability to comprehend as well as I think I can. I better get used to that, because come Thursday night I'll be on my own on a Russian train. That should be interesting. 

The First Day . . . A Tour and More

The highlights today included a tour of the city and an introduction to crafts that we are hopefully going to lead various groups this week in performing. I am not a crafty person it turns out (though I never expected I actually was). Fortunately, the group has several people gifted with creative ideas and an ability to execute them. I will try my best to follow their lead.

With Asya, one of our interpreters, guiding us, we got to the city via bus, which costs all of 16 rubles, or roughly 50 cents. So, that's a bargain. We slid to a stop beside the original monastery, whose exterior stone walls date from the 13th century and which, thankfully, Stalin did not knock down. However, as Asya explained, Stalin did order one of the principal cathedrals overlooking the Volga blown up. But, once the Soviet Union passed into the history books, some newly wealthy benefactor rebuilt it . . . three times the size of the original. (This is actually why there are dozens of cathedrals of varying sizes throughout Yaroslavl; wealthy merchants through the ages tried to atone for their de facto ungodly actions of making money by building God a new house, which they then named after themselves . . . one could have Bob's Cathedral by the river, and Kevin's cathedral on a hill nearby). Another factoid that I did not know is that the famed onion-domes are actually representative of candles, with the domes as flames, rising toward God. And, if one attends a church service in an Orthodox church there is no place to sit. Everyone stands through the service, which typically is two hours long. Very un-American indeed! 

Before the cathedral is a memorial and eternal flame dedicated to the Russian women who stepped in to make the country run and the millions of men who died in the Great Patriotic War. The level of suffering that World War II caused is hard for Americans to comprehend. In Yaroslavl (a city of half-a-million), half the male population didn't return from the war. The gender disparity continues to this day in Russia, with women outnumbering men roughly 55% to 45%.

We got a ride back to home base from Victor, the CCS driver. I happened to glance up as we were proceeding and was stunned to see that the Gators rule, even in Yaroslavl. I found out this evening at dinner that one of my fellow volunteers is a Seminole. I guess she has to stay tight-lipped about her allegiances if she wants a ride from Victor!

We had an initial Russian lesson after lunch. Where it was revealed that my 47 lessons were largely an investment in futility and budding humiliation. It's really about intimidation. I don't want to speak incorrectly, and yet there's no way to avoid that dilemma. So, I added the burden of this pressure and stammered my way through very basic words and phrases from way back in Lessons 1, 2, and 3. Which means I had better stop procrastinating and writing about my failures of the day and go study for a better tomorrow!

On the Arrival

Sitting in the common room of the CCS home base in Yaroslavl, while my roommate, Tom Fraser from Australia, practices for his Russian lesson tomorrow. Hmmm, I didn’t realize there would be exams involved. I’m sure he’ll do fine. This is his fourth visit after all. There is a good group here . . . five of us who arrived today, and five who were here already. 

What to say about first impressions of Russia? There are a lot of car dealerships in Moscow. I mean a whole lot. They stretch along the highway more ubiquitously than gas stations. Every model seems represented, with some having at least two dealerships in the same general vicinity. Russians must all be ready to drive! And, yet, I saw lines of people trudging through the snow heading to and from a supermarket we passed. Perhaps it’s not unlike America . . . feed yourself, or feed a car. Challenging to budget for both. 

Driving out from Moscow, I kept recalling Ian Fraizer’s descriptions of his panel truck that carried him across Russia on his travels through Siberia. Our vehicle seemed of a more recent and reliable vintage, and it did have a Mercedes Benz ornament on its front (though I’m not certain that was original material). Overall, not an uncomfortable four hour ride, with no mechanical problems encountered. Though the back door did have to be coaxed open from the inside, due to some minor body work malfunction that caused the door to stick if one tried to open it more conventionally, while standing outside.

We stopped for lunch at what would have to called a rustic restaurant about half-way to Yaroslavl. There was a life size statue of a wild boar to greet diners upon entering, accompanied by a plethora of stuffed wild boar heads and other assorted local wildlife . . . a bobcat on one wall, and a genuine bear skin rug on the wall nearest our table, with head positioned oddly close to the backs of some of our party. We relied upon Sveta, our CCS guide and greeter, to navigate our menu options, and we all settled on borscht. I had borscht! I am quite proud of myself for trying it, and quite pleasantly surprised to find I enjoyed it! 

Once we arrived in Yaroslavl, Ludmilla had prepared some tasty chicken, rice, and cabbage for what is the “lighter” meal in the Russian dietary day. Not to worry! I got plenty to eat. And tea to follow. After we got settled a bit, Tom escorted me on a walk about the neighborhood. To be tramping through the snow on a misty, chilly evening (around 16F, according to AccuWeather) in Russia was about all I could ask for to conclude this first day of the mighty Russian adventure.

Tomorrow we get the official tour of the city and an introduction to the volunteer work we will be involved in while here. Oh, and our first Russian lesson. Sure glad I’m through 47 Pimsleur lessons. 

To Russia with Anticipation!

So, having typed a couple paragraphs, what I'd written vanished. Why? Cosmic editing of fuzzy writing is the only plausible explanation. Though, this is in keeping with how preparations for this trip have unfolded. Akin to the vanishing airline reservation specifically. I had my confirmation . . . I even had a seat assignment on Delta . . . and then when I called Alitalia to request a seat assignment, I suddenly didn't have a ticket, nor a reservation. Thank you Alitalia for not having online seat request capability. Otherwise, I'd be showing up at Logan this morning with my bags and a smile, and no chance of getting on a flight to Moscow.

As it turns out, I'm now on a train to NY, to get to JFK, to get on a flight to Moscow. It all worked out. As long as this unexpected loss of power and forward movement in New London proves temporary. 

Appropriately, it was snowing this morning as I walked over to Back Bay Station. Just enough to whiten the ground, but I appreciated the gesture. It appears that the weather has finally turned wintery in Yaroslavl, too. This makes me happy. It wouldn't have been quite the genuine winter welcome I was hoping for without snow around.

My 46 Pimsleur Russian lessons now seem wholly inadequate. I just now got to, "How's the weather?" And, I had to look up snow on my own: снег. Pronounced (I think): Snerg. You can see in this small example one of the principal challenges in trying to tackle Russian as a second language. The alphabet is on one hand familiar, but full of amusing misdirections. с = s; н = n; г = g. And, then there are the extra letters that are more hieroglyphic in nature: жфю. I am glad that Cross Cultural Solutions will have a translator nearby at all times!

Thinking of all I don't know how to say, and even more how limited my ability to comprehend anything said in Russian, I feel compelled to return to Lesson 1 and try to reinforce the most basic and essential components: "Do you speak English?" "I don't understand." "Please help me."