Happy women’s day! Or, as the Russians would say, “Congratulations on the 8th of March” since it seems to be bad luck to ever call a holiday by anything other than its date. The international holiday was actually created in the United States, but I had never even heard of it until I came here. It was instated during the first years of communism, and seems to be as important as ever (imagine a combination of valentine’s day and mother’s day, but as a federal holiday with no work or school). I went shopping all by my big self to get gifts of candy and flowers for my teachers and host mother, and was rewarded with a lifetime supply of chocolate in return (some of it I may have regifted, ACK tacky American!). My family got me a big soap gift box (I guess they think I’m dirty, too) and a wind chime covered in big red hearts (Amanda, immediately, “What in the world are you doing to do with a wind chime in Russia?!”). It’s the thought that counts, I hope.
In celebration of women’s day, Vlad, my tutor Katya, and I went cross-country skiing. The weather worked in out favor again, as it quickly became a bright and sunny winter day. It felt a lot more natural the second time, and I figure with a few more days I should be able to make the Jamaican cross country team (let’s just say, I can ski faster than Vlad now). Unlike the first time, I remembered to actually take advantage of the fact that I can lift my heels. The fact the skiing down hills on cross country skis, was however, greatly reinforced today, as I continued to ever so gracefully fall going down hills multiple times (to the great enjoyment of Vlad). An extremely graceful and proper way to start the day, as always.
Otherwise, I’ve been enjoying what I hope to be the last few weeks of winter. Though it’s gotten warmer since the body freezing Malsenitsa celebration, Russian winters are a stubborn thing and the temperature just refuses to go above freezing. One thing I really have grown to appreciate and love about Russian is their different ways of coping with the long, grey winter. Outside of very strong vodka and the constant state of stupor many of them seem to be in, they are pretty ingenious. My favorite winter coping method is their unabashed use of color. Though not universal, many buildings and houses around town have a very unique splash of color to them. The painting is usually fading and crumbling, the colors almost never match, and it often borders on tacky- but it is absolutely and wonderfully heartwarming. When it seems like life is turning into a black and white movie, these houses remind you that color is Russia is more than just color- it’s hope. That might be a little sentimental, but whatever it is, it’s gotten me through almost two months of winter so far, so they must be doing something right.
Another peculiar thing about being in Russia is the English language. My friends and I have recently been running into the problem of completely forgetting the English translation for relatively commons words (for example, this morning I forgot the word lufa, and my friends have forgotten ‘utilities’ and ‘shishkababs’). When I was walking back from the flower store yesterday, I heard English, American English at that, spoken on the streets. Though that might not seem like a big deal for people in bigger European cities, I have never once heard English being spoken in Vladimir apart from the 20 or so people I intimately know. I just stood there for a minute trying to make sure it was English, because it is just the most bizarre sound ever when it isn’t expected. I was overcome with the urge to talk to these people; it was just that surprising. Oh Vladimir, how I love your randomness.