Eleven year olds can be very hard to live with. Especially when they are named Vlad.
Vlad and my's relationship over the course of the last three and a half months has been anything but constant. We started out fine, testing the waters of a friendship that included an age gap of ten years as well as a considerable about of cultural differences. He helped me with my homework, I helped him with his (well, clearly only the English assignments) and we even played games every night after dinner. Life was good.
Then Vlad started getting a little too comfortable around me, and cuddling commenced. It started out with an abnormal amount of hugs and quickly progressed to full out cuddling, Vlad jumping into my bed at any chance he got. Now this was all very cute and fine, and probably as close to brotherly affection as I’ve ever had, but at the same time strange. Like I would tell my friends, it was hard to know where to draw the line between cute and creepy. So we were cuddle buddies, which was weird, but I could handle it.
But ever since Petersburg, something has changed. Yes, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s correct – Vlad is now in a continual state of PMS, which is possible in only a select group of Russian males. After Petersburg, and for no apparent reason, the cuddling completely stopped, hugs included (I’m not going to fight it, it was a welcomed change). But now new, unaffectionate Vlad has a new quest – to be the most irrational person in the entire world. Did I mention he also developed a Napoleon complex? (And I realize this is the second reference I have made to a Napoleon complex in my blog, but bear with me) He now seizes every opportunity to inform me about what I am doing wrong. When I try to talk in Russian, he tells me to just say it in English so he can understand. He yells at me whenever I do something that is clearly wrong- like turning on lights before eight o’clock at night, or turning off the TV using the switch that is actually on the TV, or placing my laptop near the family computer (because it is obviously common knowledge that it is bad to put computers too close to each other). And now that we have most of the mornings to ourselves, he has taken to teaching me how to do everything (like wash dishes and turn on the stove) because ‘Americans don’t know how to do anything.’ Clearly. And of course he uses his most annoyed, exasperated voice about 90% of the time he speaks to me. But then that other 10% he’s being nice, and telling me the score of last night’s hockey game or spinning coins on my desk while I do homework or showing me his latest magic trick. I can’t figure this kid out. Was I like this when I was 11? (If I was, please don’t answer this question.)
Good thing I’m leaving for Sochi tonight. Sochi, for those of you who haven’t been locked-up in a cold, icy tundra for the past three and a half months and therefore not in the know, is a city on the Black Sea with the second longest coast in the world (second only to the city of Los Angeles, and yes there is a technical word for it and, no, of course I don’t know it). There is a nasty rumor floating around that there will be palm trees, but I have my doubts about how good the weather will actually be, so keep your fingers crossed (we will, after all, still be in Russia). So after a 34-hour train ride there, a week enjoying the town, going on lots of hikes, maybe seeing the sun, and a 37-hour train ride back, I’ll only have about a week and a half left in Vladimir. Craaazy.
Send over your very warmest thoughts, we’ll need them.

I’m fresh out of my first ‘serious’ conversation with my host family, and it was definitely eye-opening.In a rather roundabout way (via a character with a gambling problem on our nightly soap) we came across the topic of slavery while sipping our after dinner tea. Papa Nik said that his sister, who lives in New York, had said the all the black people there are criminals. Oh no, I thought, I’m about to have to relay an entire semester of Intro to Anthropology to my family with 3 months worth of Russian. And thus started a rather garbled explanation on my part as to why that was incorrect and a result of bad things that happened in the past. This little monologue was, like the good student that I am, mainly in Russia, save a few tough words like ‘inequality’ and ‘racism’ (though it seems like I should know them by now, as they are even more prevalent in Russia than at home). Mama Olga said when she flew into New York, all the workers were black, after which I had to explain that these weren’t the best jobs in the world. And of course, in my family’s unending quest to know the exact salary of every profession in the United States, they asked how much money black people make. After their surprise at $5.50 an hour, I began to realize how foreign a discussion like this must really be to them. Minimum wage here would go a really long way, and I’m sure most young people in Russian would be more than happy to secure a job at the airport. And of course they don’t understand why it’s bad to live in the ‘inner city’ or how one government funded school can really be that much different than another, despite its location. Conversations like this only reinforce the reality that even the people that are the worst off in America are so much better off than ordinary people in places like Russia (keeping in mind that blanket statement likes this are never entirely true, but you get my point). Keep in mind, also, that after over three months of living in Vladimir, my friend Amanda and I have collectively sighted five black people, and know of the existence of one more, in the entire population of Vladimir, a city of over 300,000. So topics such as tonight’s are foreign in more than one way.
On a lighter note, this past weekend included a quick trip to Moscow (to experience yet another episode of lovely Muscovite weather: read- cold and rainy) and well as celebrating Orthodox Easter. Thus, over the weekend I accumulated skills such as learning how to naturally dye eggs using only onions (and of course, a little oil, because it wouldn’t be Russian if it didn’t include oil), make Russian cottage cheese, and how to win the egg-smashing contest (yeah, that’s right, I beat the whole family, much to Vlad’s displeasure). I also got to accompany the family to the church on Saturday, along with what seemed like the entire population of Vladimir, to have our beautifully dyed eggs and giant cupcake like bread blessed with holy water by a priest. It was a really incredible experience, being in the church with so many people at such an important occasion (though it slightly resembled, or at least I thought, a giant birthday party, because everyone had their huge loaves of bread covered in icing lined up with a candle in the middle, and I half expected confetti to stream down from the church dome… alas). The actual Easter service involves processing around the church Saturday night between the hours of 10 and 4, along with a service and singing, but I was clearly not tough enough to endure this kind of Easter celebration, but I can report that there was a disturbingly large number of militia on hand the entire time (why so many people… perhaps on of the eternal questions I have of Russia). On Sunday, between what seemed like fifteen monstrous meals, I walked down to a square that was the site of an Easter festival. There was singing, and dancing, and people in giant chicken outfits, as well as free eggs over-easy and bread for all. And though it can’t make up for me missing Easter at home (and my family’s wonderful feast, which they cruelly sent me pictures of), it came pretty close.

we had a nice little sunset this evening, so the last two pictures are of the view from my bedroom window (though they may be too dark to look like much of anything)

It snowed yesterday.
It is the middle of April, on Easter nonetheless, and Russia has found a way to rob me of what remained of my heart. I can safely say that I prefer –30 snowy winters to this kind of weather in April.
Luckily, today’s weather revived my spirits with beautiful sunny skies, much warmer weather, a lightness that lasts until at least 9 o’clock. With just about a month left in Russia, my hopes are for steadily improving conditions, and no more of these winter regressions like yesterday.
This weekend’s trip took us to the town of Yaroslavl, about 4 hours north of Vladimir on some of the best-paved roads in all of Russia (absolutely dripping in sarcasm… i almost died). Yaroslavl is the biggest of the Golden Ring Towns, an elite club that naturally included Vladimir, and in four years will be celebrating its 1,000-year anniversary as a town. It lies on the Volga, and just about every other building seems to be an old, and usually closed, church. They are currently building a new church right on the Volga to be the main church for the city, because apparently their 2:1 church to people ratio just isn’t good enough. Russians are crazy.
Some of the highlights of the trip included staying in the nicest hotel yet, where we each had our own rooms along with bathrooms with working toilets. Also, while exploring the city, Amanda and I, in our unending search for markets, walked unknowingly into a meat market. On our way in, we passed a man who was carrying to cow heads by the horn (this maybe should have been a sign to turn around). The market was full of animal heads (eye balls still intact), tongues, basically every body part imaginable, along with a stench that made even meat-loving Amanda want to barf (it is times like these when I am thankful for the kind of allergies that render your nose completely worthless). We also visited the “Museum of Music and Time.” Don’t let the title fool you, however. The museum had in it large collections of clocks, gramophones, bells, irons, and samovars (large and completely ridiculous Russian hot water holders) among other things. To give you a better idea of just how crazy this collector really is (and I know first-hand, because he led part of our tour) I have included a picture of a 100-dollar bill that he gave us. Remember, this man collects irons, many of which were smaller than a teacup. Russians really are crazy.


I’m including two of my very favorite pictures of Russia, which I took this weekend. They are of the outhouse and the makeshift sink we used while in-route to Yaroslavl (there is definitely someone in the outhouse as this picture is being taken, but it smelled so wonderful that we left the door ajar). Doesn’t the addition of a bar of soap make the whole thing seem that much more sanitary? Note the beautiful background of the picture – could spring possibly be any more beautiful?

Part of my weekend homework included writing a fairytale (this came about because during class I read the Russian version of Goldie Locks and the Three Bears, so there is some logic to this assignment). And did I ever have fun with this assignment. The story went a little something like this (because I know you’re all just dying to know, though I’ll give you the shorten version for time’s sake) – long ago there was a village of squirrels, who lived together quietly and peacefully. On day, after a storm (I added this for dramatic flare- I’m no amateur) Magical Sasha came to the Squirrel Town. She was very beautiful and wonderful, and they all loved her immediately. And since Sasha had a very big butt, all the squirrels immediately wanted big butts as well (the Russian word for butt is pronounced ‘popa’ which only adds to the greatness of my story). But sadly, their diet consisted only of fruits and vegetables, so this was very hard to achieve. A few squirrels tried really hard to get big butts (named Ilija and Nikita, but they’re stock characters so no worries) but were stupid and therefore, unsuccessful. But one squirrel named Pasha was very intelligent, and knew that many animals had very large butts. The best thing to do, he thought, was to find the animals with the biggest butts and ask them for help. And naturally, he went to go find the whales. He found out from the whales that they actually don’t eat fish, they eat nuts instead (where they get these nuts remains untold, again for dramatic effect). So Pasha went back to Squirrel Town, eating nuts the whole way. And when he finally returned, he had the biggest butt of them all. Magical Sasha saw this, and immediately fell in love with him. So from then on, all squirrels eat only nuts, because who doesn’t want a big butt? (FYI- the main inspiration for this story lies in my favorite random fact about Russian language, that when the word for protein is in the genitive case, the becomes the same as the word for squirrel, which I discovered after noticing that my yogurt included 2.7 grams of squirrel, or so said my dictionary)
Yeah, I know what you’re thinking, and my teachers loved it too. This is probably why I now have to write a small fairy tale every night for homework. I’m working on creating a Pasha-Sasha-bad guy love triangle tonight, and if you’re interested, I’ll let you know how it goes. So basically, learning Russian is going pretty well (as if you couldn’t tell from that amazing English translation of my work) and I’m glad to saying I’m enjoying it a lot more than the other languages I’ve studied. It’s naturally very hard, but unlike other people (cough French people cough), Russians all seem really excited that people want to learn Russian and are sometimes even helpful. Well, everyone except Vlad, who is pretty sure I still don’t even know how to say my name, but that’s another story entirely).
When I wasn’t busy writing prodigious fairy tales weekend, I managed to stay pretty busy. We visited a crystal factory about an hour away on Friday, which was really interesting but also very Russian (read extremely rundown and dirty with underpaid and greatly unprotected employees). Then we celebrated a birthday in the evening and experienced Vladimir’s incredible nightclubs (also a story for later… and I thought they dressed badly at school…). Saturday Amanda (my inspiration for Magical Sasha) and her friends from Moscow and I went back to Suzdal to see more of the cutest town ever. And Sunday the group celebrated Easter a little early by cooking a great American feast, full of potato salad, green beans, and chocolate chip cookies among other things. It was incredible, and I ate so much I had to unbutton my pants (this is probably more a result of almost three months of Russian food, but you get the point). My only interesting running stories included almost getting tapped in the butt by a rather drunk Russian and then 5 minutes later getting attached by snowballs and chased by some boys (lovely country huh). Otherwise, my burgeoning career as a storyteller continues…

the pictures are of suzdal and the beautiful blue-domed church, and at the cafe in vladimir (can you tell what kind of drink everyone is toasting?!)

I think Moscow has a predisposition to bad weather; it’s like it wants to prove its dreary, melancholy attitude over and over again. True to form, the skies showed no signs of color apart from the ever-faithful Russian grey the whole time I was there. Truly, that city has a very heavy soul.
Despite the colorless weather, this weekend’s trip to Moscow went very well. After stealing more than our fair share of free candy from the train (it’s called scavenging folks, and in Russia it becomes second nature), my friend Erin and I navigated our way around Moscow pretty well. On Friday we went to the Novodevichy monastery to look at the second most famous cemetery in all of Russia (the most famous being the wall of the Kremlin). The cemetery was stacked full of people, all of whom seemed to be very important because of their elaborate graves (Russians seem to like to put pictures on tombstones in an overly dramatic fashion). Some of these people, however, actually deserve the fancy burial- literary giants Gogol (who was, fyi, unknowingly buried alive), Chekhov, Bulgakov, and Mayakovsky, Lenin’s wife, entrepreneur Tretyakov brothers, Nikita Khrushev, and my absolute favorite tomb, the grave of an old clown who happened to be the only person in the 11 time zones Russian spans that was allowed to make run of its Soviet leaders. I probably enjoyed this cemetery a little too much; I think my dark and fatalistic Russian side is beginning to show.
Next we ventured back to the center of town to walk along Old and New Arbat Street. Old Arbat Street is a pedestrian zone full of rip-off souvenirs while New Arbat Street seems to be, from the overwhelming presence of casinos and large bulky men, where the Moscow mafia hangs out. We then set out on a quest to find Georgian food, and after only our second try (first attempt proved, in typical Russian fashion, to have either closed and relocated to Siberia a la Purges) found a little restaurant called Mama Zoya. Georgians don’t have much love for vegetarians, so the meal sadly wasn’t worth the trouble it took to find it. Then we headed back to Red Square for some incredible nighttime viewing of St. Basils (the obsession grows with every visit) and back into the GUM, where the most expensive stores in all of Russia are kept. Next, Manege Square, where a little half-dome of the world is nicely lit up at night. There, we met two very nice Russian men named Denis and Constantine, who proved that Russians are indeed a good deal friendlier and open to foreigners when under the influence of a substantial amount of alcohol.
On Saturday I sent out to the outer rim of Moscow to Kolomenskoe and Tsaritsyno. Kolomenskoe is a large wooded area (which is such a lovely change from downtown Moscow, where you’d assume nature is only a figment of the imagination) with some very famous and beautiful old churches (one of which was covered with a large tarp for scaffolding) and an old log cabin of Peter the Great’s. It lies right on the bank of the Moscow River, so being there really does feel like you’re nowhere near Moscow and its heavy (and currently very dirty) soul. Tsaritsyno is the ruins of a palace constructed by Catherine the Great that was never finished, so it just looks pretty eerie now. Then back into the city to look around, saw the first McDonalds to open in Russia in the last days of communism (and currently serves 70,000 people a day, or 1/140 of Moscow’s population) and what seemed to be the nicest (and consequently most over-priced) grocery store in the world; there were actually multiple chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Moscow really is a world away from the rest of Russia in its extravagance and obvious amount of wealth. It becomes obvious pretty quickly that this city encompasses 80% if all the wealth in Russia. Talk about inequalities.
After the dining fiasco of the previous night, we returned to our wonderful Ethiopian restaurant, which seems to get tastier every time (or maybe Russian food is just starting to get to me). Do we have these in Tennessee?
All in all, a very fun and interesting visit, but I’m still so glad to be in Vladimir instead of a crazy big city like Moscow (aside from the fact the Vlad has been off school for a week due to a minor cold and driving me absolutely insane). Less than seven weeks left, and a lot of Russian left to learn and, hopefully, a lot of warm, snow-free weather to experience.