the other side of siberia

Cotton candy and pollution by the sea

2008-04-20T17:45:00.001+11:00

Well into my eighth month here in Russia, I'm finding myself thinking more and more in terms of my ever-nearing departure: routine tasks like sorting laundry double as mental preparation for how to pack, my thoughts have begun to veer from the various oddities of domestic life here in Vlad to my inevitable apartment hunt in Berkeley, and I'm still reeling from the realization that I can easily manage a countdown of weeks without the help of any toes!

Strangely enough, Vladivostok meanwhile looks more and more like it did when I first arrived in September. The endlessly frozen Pacific that had been so fixed in the landscape of the city melted seemingly overnight. One day, the stretches of rough ocean ice were dotted with lone fishermen crouching on overturned buckets, nursing beers in one hand and fishing poles in the other. The next, deep blue water rolled on as if the last four months had never happened. The ice cream stands along the boardwalk have re-opened, and the waterfront is teeming anew with high-heeled and mini-skirted teens, giddy kids parading giant, pink balls of cotton candy (I was one of them this weekend), gangs of young sailors, and the occasional wayward policemen enjoying piva rather than patrols. But this time around, I can recognize some of them as my students or friends or co-workers or that grumpy lady from the post office. And in that way, I couldn't feel further removed from those first bewildering days in town.

That, of course, isn't to say that things have begun to make more sense to me as time has passed-- as far as I can tell, one doesn't really understand life here as much as one learns to embrace (or abhor) its raging incongruities. Some anonymous citizens thoughtfully adorn the local bust of Pushkin with fresh carnations year-round, while others (or maybe the very same?) litter the hillside and street below with an absolutely astonishing amount of refuse. People walk casually past a foreign student getting mugged on a busy street in broad daylight without so much as a second glance, but it's a rare day that goes by without some well-intentioned stranger randomly proffering unsolicited advice about everything from that day's wardrobe choice to how to take a proper photograph. On the small strip of beach in the city center, little kids happily chuck empty soda bottles into the water and plant themselves in the sand to dig earnestly not shells but the remains of discarded grocery bags. Mom and dad look on lovingly as their children play.

Utterly incomprehensible to me maybe but not without hope for change? Next month will see yet another set of elections here in Vladivostok-- this time for a new mayor. As far as I know, the last four have been prematurely ousted and/or jailed for a number of crimes-- embezzlement, bribery, the fun never stops! The front runner is (surprisingly? ha.) United Russia's candidate, Pushkaryov, whose catchy slogan "Кто он человек кремля?" ("Who's the Kremlin's man?") says it all. But while the presidential elections saw little more fervor here than that aroused by cheerful teens passing out adorable teddy bear keychains in honor of "Our Medv'ed (bear)," the mayoral campaigns are at least gesturing at some of the issues here in the city. Billboards proclaiming the need for clean beaches, socialized pharmacies, good roads, and functional public transportation are taking center stage-- only its not clear whose campaign (if any) is funding them! In the meantime, election posters are sharing space on buses with proclamations for a city-wide субботник (voluntary unpaid work days initially employed to help rebuild the country after the war) this weekend to clean and beautify the city. My university instituted one yesterday, and as a result campus curbs and trees(...?) now boast a fresh coat of white paint. (The two-year old swastika vandalizing a central building column, however, remains--disturbingly-- undisturbed.)

Last week, I taught a lesson at the American Corner using David Sedaris' 10 Questions from Time. When asked if he, living in Paris/London, missed the U.S., he commented that American culture is so ubiquitous nowadays that there really isn't any occasion to miss it. My students (once we discussed what "ubiquitous" meant) all nodded in earnest agreement-- "Everywhere, everywhere!" And sure enough, lots of folks here are listening to the same top 40 hits, watching the same blockbuster releases, and obsessing over the same celebrities and T.V. programs as people in the States, but I think I've personally found my encounters with "Americanness" here as (or more) surprising and novel than anything else.

A week ago, for example, a bunch of us got together to watch some TV and have dinner... Bizarre, right? Well, okay, how about if that "bunch" included the American Consulate General, his wife, two professional American basketball players, and a handful of other random Anglophones watching the NCAA finals on the CG's couch over some homemade cornbread and chili with all the fixings... all while right in the heart of the Russian Far East, where I can assure you chili and cornbread are far from staple fare! But as we all scratched our heads at the strange informercials that take the place of traditional commercials on the American Forces Network (one emphasizing the importance of never breaking if captured as a POW...), it really struck me how ubiquitous the American presence-- beyond Britney and Brangelina-- really is all around the globe (for better or worse).

Reminscences of the Asian Vaca: Part I, Seoul

2008-04-07T17:34:00.003+11:00

Three months late (very sorry!)…

Seoul, South Korea

Christmas 2007

After two months or so, the excitement of being in a new place with new people, speaking new languages and doing new work, had all but just evaporated. By the end of the first semester, I was feeling tired and worn down, a bit disappointed with my job and most definitely homesick. My trip to Seoul couldn’t have come at a better time.

While I was gingerly munching on unidentifiable, smoked fish (courtesy of VladAvia) from 35,000 feet, South Korea was busy electing its new president. My aunts and uncle picked me up from the airport, and as we drove around Seoul that night, I couldn’t decide what was crazier: the fact that my relatives were able to watch news of the election on a TV inside their car or the glorious lights of Dunkin’ Donuts, Bennigans, Krispy Kreme, Starbucks…*

465 miles from Vladivostok, Seoul might as well have been on another (delightful) planet.

* Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not exactly exulting in the Blob-like spread of American capitalism, but there’s only so much microwaved and mayonaisey fare one can have from the Vlad’s own Magic Burger and Magic Bell before the idea of a Big Mac starts to sound REALLY nice.
______________________________________

That first night in Seoul with my aunties and uncle, we
stopped by at the fantastically Christmas-lit Chunggae
Chul, where crowds of jubilant Lee supporters were already
gathered to dance and sing and drink their new president
into office.

After devouring course after course of phenomenal
Korean foods, we drove all around the city: up to
the top of one of the many city mountains, down
past the presidential Blue House, by Dongdaemun
(East Gate), and stopped for a good while to admire
the recently re-opened (and even more recently,
tragically destroyed!) beauty of Namdaemun (West
Gate), South Korea’s National Treasure #1 that was.
______________________________________

Though I wasn’t able to afford the ridiculously expensive ticket home to the States for Christmas, Seoul provided a remarkable antidote to my homesickness in a way that I don’t know even a few weeks of California sun could have matched.

I stayed at my aunt and uncle’s flat in Gangnam, alternately proof-reading my cousin’s college application essays, soaking in the lightning-fast internet, and chatting with my auntie about life. Most mornings I spent running around the city with two of my aunts, shopping, museum-hopping, taking in the traditional sights, and, of course, eating inordinate amounts of delicious Korean food.

This was my second trip to Korea—the first took place just before I started college in Chicago, and I spent most of it feeling bewildered and estranged from everyone and everything. Nearly five years later, I couldn’t have had a better time.

When I wasn’t being ridiculously spoiled by my aunts, I was catching up with delightful friends from college over Green Tea shaved ice in posh Apgujung cafes or roaming the packed and festive streets of Insadong and Myungdong with a hodgepodge gang of pals from Russia (two Korean girls studying Russia in Vlad, one of the girl’s Russian boyfriend, a Japanese teacher at my university, my English dorm buddy, and two of the other Fulbrighters from Irkutsk and Kazan).

Though Christmas everywhere seems to have become more commercial fanfare than a celebration of Christ’s birth and any subsequent joy, peace, or love (see Schultz, Charles M. A Charlie Brown Christmas, 1965.), I guess it was still a bit surprising to see the extent to which the holiday was treated almost entirely as an opportunity to buy elaborate cakes from one of the 189739423 smiling Santa-hat-wearing teens chanting “크리스마스 캐이크!” (transliterally: Ch-ri-s-ma-s ca-k-e) on every street corner or to indulge in some other goods peddled on nearly every square foot of Seoul’s popular neighborhoods.

Christmas is also evidently another holiday (in addition to Valentine’s Day and White Day) to go out on the town with “that special someone,” so while the lot of us were wriggling our way through the crowds of Myungdong on Christmas Eve, it didn’t take long for us to realize that there was some method to the madness: carefully observed, the mass of people was easily divisible into pairs, often identically dressed—just to facilitate such recognition, of course.

I had my own bounty of ho ddukk (sweet honey-filled deep fried dough cakes) and shopping to keep me warm, anyway. But it was refreshing nevertheless to run across a group of adorable teenage girls—a number of whom were dressed in padded Santa suits—giving out hugs and smiles (without any desire to sell us Christmas cakes!) to simply spread the holiday cheer. The idea of anyone in Vladivostok offering strangers even a kindly “hello” is already quite unheard of, so you can imagine our surprise to receive giggling hugs from these jolly schoolgirls. But then, the level of hospitality and warmth (albeit at times commercially motivated) from everyone in Seoul blew all of us who had grown accustomed to life in Russia well away.

Sunshine and Effigies

2008-03-06T12:52:00.000+10:00

Many of you have expressed your concerns about how I’ve been able to handle THE RUSSIAN WINTER. While the cold is certainly no joke, the mythical proportions the winter here seems to take on in the foreign mind (mine included) is a bit amusing. Are there places in Russia where temperatures drop to ungodly -50C, snow piles higher than an elephant’s eye, and the sun itself seems to go into prolonged hibernation? You betcha. Is Vladivostok one of them? Nope!

Situated on a little peninsula jutting out into the Pacific, Vladivostok soaks up all the brilliant summer sunlight in the winter months while the ocean freezes over and somehow thus keeps the grays at bay. It’s only after the temperatures really pick up in June and July that the cloud cover, fog, and general darkness come. (And hopefully, I’ll be back on a California beach before that happens!) So while the season’s temperatures are nothing to scoff at and the occasional winds are enough to inspire quite legitimate awe and fear, my “Russian winter” has also been drenched in an uncanny amount of golden sunshine and clear blue sky.

Today—another of those golden blue days—about a hundred foreign students and teachers gathered in FENU’s Russian School celebrate the Russian religious/folk holiday of Maslenitsa. The week-long festival commemorates both the beginning of Orthodox Lent and the pagan celebration of the sun and winter’s end. A colorful troupe of folk musicians danced and sang sheepish students from China, Japan, and Korea around the central foyer and out on the street for everyone’s favorite past time: burning effigies! All of this much to the bemusement of every local television station crew in Vladivostok—every one of which came out to report on the day’s “breaking news.” (I even got to make my television debut with some deeply insightful commentary comparing the properties of Russian and American pancakes…)

As the flames devoured Lady Maslenitsa (the colorful dummy representative of Winter who had been propped up in the hallway all week), we happily devoured the traditional sun-like blini (golden crepe-like pancakes) to welcome the spring and warm our tummies.

Considering how generous Lady Maslenitsa had been with the sunshine here the past few months, I can’t help but think the whole affair a bit unjust. But mm, those blini sure were good…

Alive and well and strolling on the Pacific

2008-02-16T15:14:00.002+10:00

For the past several weeks, almost all of the emails and messages I've received have run something along the lines of: "Are you alive?," "Where have you disappeared to..?," "Send an update!," "Lose 20 lbs. in 20 days!"

The alarming tone throughout certainly warrants response.

Firstly, an apology. I spent about a month and a half constantly on the go, and though I've been back in Vladivostok for a good two weeks now, I've been mostly hibernating, avoiding thought, etc. The interim has also seen the start of a new year (both calendar and lunar), a new academic semester, and yes, that's right: a new hair-do, too. Exciting times. I am very sorry for the neglect and any worry I might have caused by failing to update more regularly!

Secondly, does anyone else find it rather offensive that perfect strangers have no qualms about yelling at you to lose weight and how via the world wide web? Right.

Anyway, because the gaping hole on this blog gives quite the misleading impression that I didn't do diddly over the last three months or so, I'll be working to fill it in a bit with "many impressions" and фотки from my time in South Korea, China, Yuzhno-Sakhalinsk, and Moscow... while also endeavoring to keep you folks updated on the ongoing Vlady fun on more than a quarter-yearly basis.

Returning to Vladivostok and my teaching responsibilities this month has been strongly reminiscent of my first arrival last September-- complete with chaos, confusion, and a seemingly brand new cast of characters. On a good day, I tell myself that the only thing I'm missing for round two is the soul-shaking fear of what I had gone and commited myself to this year. On a less-than-good day, I realize that while I'm no longer squeaking in irrational terror at every turn, the excitement of being somewhere entirely foreign and new has also dulled a bit.

But just a bit.

It seems that a large part of getting used to my life in Russia is realizing that there's really not all that much to get used to-- that is, the one constant is inconsistency. This is more likely a reflection of life as a temporary visitor with an end date stamped on heart, mind, and visa, than life generally in Russia, but there is no doubt a bit of the latter, too. A loaf of bread costs something like 14 rubles one day and 24 the next. The popular cafe down the road is packed with customers one day and a gutted pile of rubble the next. Friends come, and they leave; we come, and we leave.

There's not much solid ground for this Southern California girl to stand on... except on that, the absolute least likely of spots: atop the frozen surface of the Pacific Ocean.

... What?!

How's that for a looking glass world on the other side of Siberia? of the planet? A good day, a less-than-good day-- everyday, there are these tiny explosions of my former understanding. And this new year, I'll try to be better about sharing them with all you.

My, what big guns you have!

2007-12-10T14:36:00.000+10:00

The past weekend was rife with reminiscences of wars past and present. On Friday evening, the American Consulate hosted a charity gala for children with HIV/AIDS. The AIDS epidemic has hit Russia particularly hard, and it seems that the growth rate per capita here is now the highest in the world. A frighteningly large percentage of those affected are young children. There are a few hospices in the region that take care of some of these kids, and the proceeds of the event went to support one of them.

It was a surprisingly swanky affair-- surprising for me only perhaps because the concept of a gala is totally foreign to me-- taking place at Vlad's Hotel Versailles. A couple hundred folks from the city (includings reps from various consulates) came out to donate funds, bid on auctioned goods, and sip yummy champagne. There were a number of performances as well-- some flamenco dancers, an ensemble of adorable kids playing Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, etc.-- intersperced with the techno soundtrack and formal grandeur that seems to prevail each of the (many) holiday occasions here in Vlad. It just isn't an event without some sequins and house music. I love it.

The following morning, one of my students invited me out to one of Vladivostok's fortresses/museums. This particular fort is located less than ten minutes by foot from my dormitory and less than two from the city's main boardwalk and ferris wheel. And, I mean... wow. The inside of the fort was converted into a museum during the 60's (I think?), while the outside looks rather like a crazy bellicose sculpture garden with guns, guns, and bigger guns galore.

Originally built in the 1860's when the city was officially "founded" by the Russians, it saw numerous renovations to keep pace with the threats of both civil and world wars. While I'm sure such forts or relics of such forts exist somewhere in the U.S., I know sure haven't had the chance to hug missiles back home. A fact for which I think I'm rather thankful? The concept of encountering war quite literally on one's civillian doorstep is totally mind boggling and heartbreaking and... entirely unfamiliar to me, personally. But as I continue learning more and more about the impact of war here in the Russian Far East-- and in the Far East, generally-- through books, lectures, new friends and aquaintances, the thought (if not the actuality) has struck closer and closer to home.

I dare you not to throw your trash away in the proper receptacle in a place like this. Heh.

At noon, we waited outside for them to fire one of the guns. For all that we were waiting for the express purpose of seeing this happen, I still gave an entirely undignified yelp when it did. Such is life... one undignified yelp after the next.

Kh-Town

2007-11-17T17:13:00.000+10:00

I realize I’ve been rather remiss in keeping up with my blog entries in the past few weeks: my apologies! Rest assured, this lapse was not because I haven’t had anything remotely interesting to write about—life in Russia is always “interesting”! The past few weeks have actually just passed by in a whirlwind of constant crazy activity, with little time to sit and process with my crippled and immobile laptop. But today I’m home keeping ailing Mac company, so I’ll do my best to sketch in some recent happenings…

The Train to Khaborovsk (11.08.07)

Last week, my friend Lena and I hopped on an overnight train to see some mutual family friends in Khabarovsk for the weekend. We were like giddy school kids on a field trip for the first four hours or so—eating, chatting, silly-photo-taking. The next 11, we felt a little more like the weary chaperones.

The two guys who had the bunk/benches above us hit it off immediately and spent the early part of the evening steadily draining multiple 2 liter-bottles of beer between the two of them. One of them, it soon became almost nauseatingly clear, had definitely not showered in recent months.* Lena and I slept with our scarves wrapped around our faces for ventilation, but that didn’t stop this fellow from waking us up randomly throughout the night to ask if we wanted to give him mp3s through our phones. At 4am I woke up to someone sitting on top of my feet, I held my breath and opened my eyes to see not our odious neighbor but an old man with an intense chronic cough hacking away over a cup of tea and me. This man was from the top bunk across the way and for some reason felt the need to sit on my bed (rather than his wife’s below) to soothe his consumptive impulses. To my expression of horror and incredulity, he paid no regard, and continued hacking away until he was quite satisfactorily done.

Reaching the warmth and kindness of the Chungs’ three hours later was a relief on many, many levels.

K(h)-town (11.09/10/11/12.07)

The Chungs are an older Korean couple who lived in L.A. for over thirty years before moving out to Khabarovsk last year to help out with some of the churches in the city and to minister to the significant Korean and Korean-Russian population there. It was both Lena and my first time meeting them in person, and from the very first moment we were welcomed into their home like daughters. I don’t know that I’ve felt quite so at ease anywhere else in my time here. Part of it was, of course, the commonality of background, language, and faith. And part of it was, I’m equally sure, the tremendous amount of incredibly delish Korean food Mrs. Chung kept preparing! We got fully incorporated into their busy schedule, and it was a real pleasure to spend time with them and a number of Korean/Korean-Russian folks in Khabarovsk through them.

I think I’ve mentioned a few times already how surprised I was at first to encounter so many Korean-Russians here in the Russian Far East, generally. As I make my belated efforts to learn more and more about Korean history (Prof. Cumings found his way onto the shelves of the Am Corner here in Vlad) and simultaneously meet more and more Korean-Russians whose families arrived here through Sakhalin Island and/or Kazakhstan, my surprise has turned into real fascination and curiosity. Perhaps a legit research topic for my Fulbright grant…? Maybe, maybe. If anything, it’s been an interesting personal journey to contemplate hyphenated Korean identity in Russia, U.S., or anywhere else for that matter—especially as I’m evidently here as an official “American” representative. Two lovely Korean girls here in Vlad somehow concluded that despite my lack of Korean language skills, I am of their own, and they regularly insist: «Ты не иностранка! Ты кореянка! Мы знаем что твоя душа кореская.» (You aren't a foreigner! You're a Korean! We know that your soul is Korean.) Every time they say this, bits and pieces of Core Sosc readings and questions about the construction/inherency of racial/ethnic/national identity fly through my head. But it warms my (Korean?) heart to hear it anyway. ☺

The Other Capital

Khabarovsk is the capital of Khabarovsky Krai and about the same size as Vladivostok (700,000 people). And that’s where, in many ways, the similarities seem to end. While Vlad twists and turns up and down narrow, convoluted, and craggy streets, Khabarovsk is made up of clean, wide, freshly paved streets and walkways lined with lovely older buildings and plenty of well-maintained parks and open spaces. One friend put it simply: “It’s like someone actually took time to plan the city!” Khabarovsk, like Vlad, has an embankment—a nice stretch of quiet walkways and parks along the Amur river, ideal for those sensitive solitary strolls. No half-naked giant mermaids popping out of the water or colorful ferris wheels and shashlik stands every three yards. But perhaps that’s where crazy Vlad might come out on top. There is something charming (on a good day) about the haphazard (de)construction of this place, the sidewalks that disappear one day and the misplaced skyscrapers that show up the next, etc. The Vladiness of Vlad is, in large part, what keeps life so "interesting" here, I guess! :)

*You may think I’m exaggerating, but there are a few students in the dormitory who—despite the individual bathrooms in each room—nonchalantly say they only shower the few weekends they go home during the 16-week semester. Yummy! Heh.

The Unity of Other Peoples

2007-11-04T20:15:00.001+10:00

(So yes, here is more of me catching up on the backlog of events here in Vladivostok...)

The 4th of November was День народного единства (roughly translated = Day of the Unity of the People) here in Russia. A fairly new holiday, the day marks a much cherished long weekend and culminates in all sorts of festivities: parades, parties, Neo-nazi marches...

Um, yeah. All of the foreigners in the dormitory at DVGU were strongly advised not to leave the building. At all.

So my girlfriends in the obsh and I decided to make our own national(ities') holiday. Each of us had the task of cooking something tasty from our homelands. Zhenya made a delish Chinese stew and fried some calimari (опасно!), Nadia made some pork stir fry, Julia an amazing Korean dish whose name (yeah, I know, shame on me!) I can't remember, and I made one rather sour kimchi jiggae. Only because I couldn't find all the ingredients for apple pie until a few weeks later. Seriously! ;)

Zhenya and Julia stay home to avoid random violence on the street only to battle it in the kitchen. Who knew deep frying could be so dangerous?

The lovely Nadia.

What's not to understand?

2007-10-28T09:23:00.001+10:00

The temperature began dipping early this month. The days of warm 80deg sun cooled into days of a crisp 60. Cooled, but by no means cold. So you can imagine my surprise to see women busting out the fur-lined parkas, boots, and hats. Surely, these Russian folks are aware that it's only fall-- that there's a long winter yet to come. Surely, it's silly to be wearing full winter gear for a slight autumn chill.

Last weekend, it began to rain-- a nice, dreary October rain. The Friday night korean food crew bundled into a city bus to 1-ая речка (first river) per the usual... just as the rain began to crystalize into little pockets of slurpee-like goodness. We feasted on galbi-jim, pa jun, and fried chicken to celebrate one of the girls' birthdays... until the power went out. Entirely. Once we finished our impromptu candle/cellphone light dinner, we scurried outside to find the cosmic 7-11 machine gone absolutely beserk, spitting ice and snow with alarming ferocity. Back in the dormitory, the power had, of course, gone out too. So Vladivostok sat in the dark and waited to see what the morning would bring.

Saturday, the snow swirled down in a heavy flurries, uncertain of which way to fall. Sunday morning, it finally settled down like a white sheet neatly covering every street and hill. Up in the hills, the snow sat at least a foot or two thick. On the way up the hills to church, we saw little kids gleefully sledding down snowy slopes on plastic trays and a few snowmen in the making. On the way back down the hills, a warm burst of sunshine had already washed away the snow entirely.

By Monday, the green slopes and golden leaves and 60deg days were back. And the wise Russian women continued walking up and down the streets of Vlad in their fur-lined parkas, boots, and hats.

The weekend weather seemed to set the crazy and unpredictable pace for the week that followed. Up until last week, my schedule had been far from full-- my sole task was to teach 5 hour and a half English classes a week and hold one office hour. All at once, I've become responsible for three hours of morning Russian lessons on days when I don't teach, three more English classes in the evenings, a number of lectures and presentations at the American Corner, and putting a rather pricey gym membership to good use. Throw in the craziness of daily life in Russia-- e.g. being stopped and harassed by the police for being Asian, being stopped and harassed by student teachers for being American, unannounced schedule changes, pickpocketers on the bus, inexplicable traffic on the streets, random power outages, and the freakish inconsistency of weather-- and, believe me, it was ALL thrown in this week-- and you have my first real Russian meltdown. The effects were thankfully mitigated by all the goodness of daily life in Russia, no doubt-- the comforting tea and chocolate chats, some super enthusiastic students, and the general kindness and generosity and support from colleagues, hallmates, and friends all around.

During all of this, I had exclaimed to a Chinese friend here that I just don't get this weather. She laughed, patted me on the back, and repeated a sentiment I've come hear over and over in the past few months: "Что ты не понимаешь, Ира? Ето Россия." ("What don't you understand, Irene? This is Russia.")

Asian Russia

2007-10-05T10:44:00.000+11:00

I live and teach on the humanities campus of DVGU, where the department of foreign languages, the Oriental Institute, and the Russian School for foreigners are all located. And though I encounter it regularly, I’m always quite startled to come across Russian teens spouting rapid-fire Japanese or Mandarin or Korean with the foreign students— or each other. But then spending my evenings chatting in Russian with students from Korea and China and Japan is just as delightfully odd, I suppose!

Last weekend, two Korean girls took a group of us from Russia, England, Japan, and the U.S. to an amazing Korean restaurant here in Vladivostok. The food was certainly good, but the most remarkable thing about this place was that it was actually the inside of a good ol’ Soviet block apartment belonging to an older Korean couple! No advertisements, no signage—just a non-descript apartment buzzer for those in the know—ie: the entire Korean population of Vladivostok.

Sunday night, some of the Japanese students on my floor organized a sushi party. Sanai and Yuko, two incredibly sweet and enthusiastic girls who embody the notion of “kawai” better than any wide-eyed cartoon character I’ve ever seen, coached me and two Russian girls studying Japanese at the Oriental Institute in the art of rolling and slicing sushi, while others deep-fried chicken (a staple food of folks from any nation, I’ve come to realize). We spent hours eating together and playing countless Russian and Japanese card games whose rules I still don’t think I know.

A few days ago, my friend Lena and I saw the Китайский Цирк (Chinese Circus) at the local circus theatre. Sitting in the giant, dilapidated Soviet concrete complex was a bit of a trip in and of itself—watching young (too young?) Chinese acrobats bend and twist and flip in a number of unthinkable ways was just insane. (Watching the Russian audience watch the Chinese acrobats was pretty interesting too. But more on that later?) Every once in a while a random Russian duo would appear on stage to swallow knives, whip each other, and taunt crocodiles for good measure, too. Not quite the shrooms and Cirque de Soleil combo a la Knocked Up, but it was really almost as weird.

Last night, I tried my hand at making Korean pancakes. While I was painstakingly translating and following the instructions on the mix, a few of the girls from down the hall swooped in and rescued me from culinary disaster, throwing in an impromptu egg and some salt and mixing up a storm. These same girls taught me how to make kimchi jiggae a few weeks ago. At the end of my year here I might not be able to speak or read or write in Russian properly, but I bet I’ll be able to make a mean Korean dinner!

I realize that a lot of this post has centered on food. For those of you know me well, I’m sure you’re not surprised! But really, it’s pretty remarkable to consider the kinds of goods that are readily available at the local markets. I was resigned to a year of frozen blini and pelmeni, when behold— the ChocoPies on the shelf… the tubes of wasabi… the rice cookers and sushi mats… even that crazy aloe jelly drink stuff from the Taiwanese super back in California! One of the Japanese teachers even suggested that I try eating my pelmeni with a bit of wasabi: “О! Вкусно!"

My students might not ever have been to the U.S.—might not have any desire to go to the U.S.—but they’ve all done a ton of shopping across the border in Sufenhe or vacationed for weeks at time in Harbin or Seoul. I’ve done my share of late-night reading with the Lonely Planet: China guide I borrowed from a friend here to plan for my own winter vacationing (and by the way, I would love any tips or advice on travel throughout China/Korea/Japan? if you have any!). For all of the strange xenophobic tensions (and they, no doubt about it, do exist), it seems there’s also a palapable fascination with East Asian culture. And fascination or no, there's no denying that glorious box of ChocoPies on the supermarket shelf.

Foreign Exchange

2007-09-26T15:01:00.000+11:00

For the past few days, the streets of Vlad have been seemingly overrun by hundreds of Americans.

The U.S.S. Something or Other has been sitting pretty in the harbor, while its 300+ crew members have been strolling the streets of the city center, attracting stares and ("officially") spreading good ol' American cheer wherever they go.

It's been pretty fun watching the Russian reactions to these gangs of very American sailors. On my way to dinner last night, I saw two Russian men attempting to freestyle for a handful of sailors and discuss the finer points of hip-hop through non-existent English language skills. Later that night a some of us walked down to the beach and saw another group of sailors surrounded by bright-eyed Russian teens. We (a Frenchman, Englishman, and American) were somehow enlisted as translators for the comical exchange.

The Americans gave out white sailor hats to a few of the squeaky-voiced teens: "Подарок? Классно! Мне ОЧЕНЬ нравится." Sailor Tom and co. smiled, nodded, and gave the occasional thumbs up as we translated the repeated "Cool!"s, "Thanks!"s, "You're welcome!"s, "Do you like beer?"s.

Soon, a smiling babushka selling flowers strolled up to join the fun. Her last two roses went to me (my own подарок from my new French friend-- классно, indeed!) and Tom, as we negotiated the deal-- one hat for one flower-- on her behalf. She proudly donned her bartered good, flipped the brim down, exclaimed how she had been looking for a new beach hat, and strolled away smiling just as she had come.

I'm not sure how the distribution of hats and audiences for bad rap fits into the grand scheme of international diplomacy, but it seems like everyone's been enjoying themselves here regardless. (I know I've appreciated the opportunity to debate the relative merits of UCLA and USC with some local SoCal sailor boys on my way to struggle with the ladies at the почта for some stamps.)

On a more serious note, there's also a delegation in town from the U.S. Embassy in Moscow, the State Department in D.C., and USAID here this week, meeting with different Russian NGOs and municipal organizations and giving lectures and talks on the subject of human trafficking. I sat in on one such talk at the American Corner here in Vlad last night before dinner, and it was really fascinating and thought-provoking to hear local Russian college students discuss this issue with the delegates. While I had heard about the sex trafficking and trade of women and young girls from Russia, everyone there also drew my attention to the even more numerous instances of forced labor-- and some of it done through the State itself via the sale of conscripted military labor to private firms and corporations.

I never gave my decisions to study/work abroad much extra thought beyond the question of, well, "Gee, do I really want to go?" These students all vie for the same opportunities but have to temper their excitement with tremendous suspicion: they're the primary targets here for such awful scams, and they know it. They see the ads in the newspapers, on the bulletin boards of their colleges, and they have to realize that these programs could potentially provide some of the best experiences of their lives or years of torturous physical and psychological abuse. Hefty consequences to weigh for a 20-year old kid who wants to see a little more of the world-- not to mention a much, much darker portrayal of international exchange than the silly one I got to partake in later that evening on the boardwalk.

The strange and sudden presence of so many fellow Americans this week has been greatly entertaining and comforting on the one hand and rather eye-opening and disturbing on the other. How do such exchanges-- and my own year here in Vlad-- fit into an understanding of international relations, indeed?

FRussian Noise

2007-09-23T13:38:00.000+11:00

Whenever I flip through the 4 T.V. channels I have, I invariably come across some foreign film dubbed in Russian. This morning it was a French murder mystery flick. The strange thing about the dubbing here, however, is that instead of eliminating the French entirely, they simply run the Russian translations over the French dialogue, such that whether you know French, Russian, both, or none—you haven’t the slightest clue what anyone is saying!

This bizarre and somewhat incomprehensible mode of incorporating foreignness(?), seems to be the norm here in Russia, or at least in Vladivostok.

The city buses are all second-hand imports from Korea, plastered with route maps for cities like Busan (rather than Vlad) and advertisements for Korean tutoring academies. Though, I haven’t quite figured out yet whether the floral print curtains (+ fringe!) and tinsel Christmas garlands adorning the drivers’ sections of the buses are a Russian addition or a Korean remnant.

A Bang and Olufsen store and boutiques selling Gucci and Prada goods dot the downtown of a city that can’t supply hot water for months at a time. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve seen “Gucci” studded in gold and bling across women’s posteriors here—in large part because (from what they say, anyway) after most these girls spend six months salary on one high-end article of clothing, they wear it almost every day for the next seven or eight.

Vladivostok has a number of moving memorials all over the city to commemorate the great losses suffered on Russian soil during WWII. The swastikas I’ve seen tagged on walls around the city are almost as common—with one just around the corner from the 7000+ names of fallen soldiers from here in Primorye.

But I sure do appreciate the little English café on the city’s “Arbat” (likened to the famous Arbat Street of Moscow, Semyonovskaya Street turns into a little promenade of shops and cafes leading to the seashore) with affordable, imported tea from Whittards of Chelsea (!) and the tasty Chinese and Korean food stands at Sportivnaya Market. In the past 15 years or so since Vladivostok re-opened to foreign trade—and foreigners, in general, its desire to return to its former status as a cosmopolitan, international port is plain… even if along the way, some of it gets lost or muddled in translation.

The Russian Smile

2007-09-19T11:56:00.000+11:00

Almost every group of students I've met in the past two weeks has asked me what I've found most shocking or unsettling about my first experience in Russia. My mind usually goes to a now-stock image of some Russian fellow half-stumbling down the street at 11 in the morning with an empty liter bottle of Baltica in hand. (Sometimes it's 4 in the afternoon. Sometimes it's Bochkarev. But you get the idea-- even if after nearly two months living in Russia, I still take a moment or two to adjust to encounters with it myself.) But this is not what I tell my students-- mostly because there isn't really much to say about it beyond, "Wow, folks sure do like their пиво (beer) here, huh?" No, I usually go with the second, infinitely more comical and telling image at the forefront of my mind: the look-- *that* look-- of disdain, distrust, and desired distance on the face of X-store attendant/waitress/random-person-on-the-street when I smile my big "American Smile." I think I'm displaying the good will behind my clumsy Russian language skills; they think I'm insane or mentally and/or morally deficient. Why?

I spent an afternoon exchanging stories of silly stereotypes with a Russian friend during my first week in Vlad. While all I had to offer were bears, booze, and babushki, I was quite surprised to hear a rather lengthy description of perceived American insincerity and superficiality from her end. Russians ask questions they want to hear answers to, look angry or upset when they're angry or upset, and smile because they mean it. We Americans ask people how they're doing and walk away before they can respond, we cover up our real emotions with conversational niceties, and we smile at everything and everyone for no understandable reason. Why?

Golly, I never gave a simple smile so much thought before.

Silly stereotypes or not, perhaps there's something fundamentally true about these distinctions. I dealt with my initial loneliness by greeting and smiling at every living creature I came across-- hallmates, students, teachers, stray dogs, cats, roaches. (Though, if I came across a roach, it also got quickly acquainted with the bottom of my heavy shoe.) I don't think I was ever particularly insincere about any of it, but I certainly didn't expect anyone to respond with more than a similar greeting in kind. But they did. In the past week, I started off making small talk and smiling; they, in turn, invited me into their homes, showered me with friendly text messages and emails, cooked me meals, took me on tours of the city, escorted me to the movies, treated me to cafes, shared deeply personal stories of their lives-- and yes, they smiled at me too.

I spent my first few weeks in Russia perpetually stunned by how cold and unresponsive the people I met seemed to be to my own, uh, "warm and friendly" behavior. But the Moscow cell phone salesman and the GUM boutique clerk both knew I wasn't there to start any kind of meaningful, lasting relationship with them: smile? Why, indeed? And now, coming to understand the flip side, the "Russian Smile" in Vladivostok, I'm still shocked and unsettled... but in a rather pleasant and almost overwhelmingly touching way.

Moment of August #1

2007-09-19T11:39:00.000+11:00

Today, we're experiencing a bit of a gray and grim typhoon(?) in Vladivostok. So I suppose this is as good a time to post reminiscences of the summer as any, eh?

(08.28.07)

Most of the ETAs left for their respective host cities on the 28th, but five of us hopped on a bus to the city of Рязан (Ryazan), three hours southeast of Moscow, for the day instead.

Ryazan is a much smaller city than Moscow, with a population of about 500,000, but it is much older city (and thus, better?)—a fact that the good folks of the city seemed to enjoy emphasizing. In any event, the day provided a welcome break from the crowded and chaotic capital. After picnicking in a park nearby the university, we set off for a nearby dacha town on the river Ока where we spent the afternoon playing frisbee, doing some yoga (much to the amusement of some Russians relaxing nearby), and swimming. Evidently, we weren't the only ones enjoying the river that day—shortly after our dip, a passing cow ambled up to the water to chill and drink.

Yup, we were definitely not in Moscow anymore.

How do you measure a week in the life...?

2007-09-08T21:57:00.001+11:00

Sportivnaya Harbor-- where almost all of those little white stands sell ice cream or shashlik. Mmm! :)

What seemed a lonely start to my new year here counted in empty frozen-food packages and stacks of already-finished paperbacks has fortunately picked up quickly as new friends emerge magically from the construction-zone woodwork of Far Eastern National University.

My first few days were, well, sad. I had no work, no meetings, no friends… and no clue as to where I was exactly! I spent the days roaming around aimlessly— always making sure to return to the dormitory well before dark (in accordance with the stringent advice from everyone I’ve met here)—and the very long evenings dining, reading, writing, studying, and (not or) watching bad Russian television* alone in my room. Those initial evenings all blur together in one confused, lamp-lit memory where Hemingway’s Frederick Henry conjugates irregular Russian verbs in green stilettos. Ужасно.

But on Tuesday, I had my first class with a group of very sweet girls, and we all giggled at each other over bits and phrases of English for an hour. Later that evening, I hung out with our lovely floor administrator Luba, and she helped me translate a poem by Anna Akhmatova. Since then, she's been super sweet about passing me notes of information she thinks I'll find helpful-- like the website for Russian Skype. It's a good feeling to know girl's (or, y'know, "dear older woman's") got my back.

Wednesday, one of the other teachers took me to lunch at Magic Burger—like McDonald’s but infinitely more awesome. We sat and chatted candidly for hours about… everything! She’s my age, about to enter a doctoral program, and, in my opinion, an extraordinarily sweet, intelligent, and down-to-earth woman. When she described the social pressures and expectations for women in Russia and her own personal struggles with them, I have to admit that I fought a strong— though, of course, wrongheaded and perhaps entirely erroneous— urge to whisk her away to the States where she might be better appreciated. Anyway, I guess the subject of this post is not gender roles in Russia, but friendship, and suffice it to say, this teacher and I confirmed the beginning of a friendship beyond coffee room camaraderie with a mock-ceremonial handshake halfway through our magic burgers.

Thursday, I invited Женя, who lives down the hall, over for tea and cookies after dinner. (Yes, I know, I really am an old lady trapped inside a 22-year old). All of the uni students (unlike their interim English teaching assistants) have a pretty ridiculous amount of class and work on a daily basis, so I wasn't sure if she would actually come. But at 9pm, she appeared with some sesame snacks and two pretty little ornaments for my phone (she had helped me figure out my cell) from her hometown in China. The two of us had a fun and cozy tea party in my dorm, eating too many sweets and chatting in a borrowed language for hours about our lives at home and in Russia. We have some grand plans for exploring the city's cafés and museums—but not on school nights, of course. :)

Friday, the rain began.

Today, I met my second and third groups of students—all surprisingly lucid and energetic for Saturday morning classes (one of which meets at 8am! Eek!). Eager to talk and quite charming at that, all of my students so far have been quite fun to get to know. This afternoon I received some friendly texts and emails from a few of them with welcomes and offers to show me around town. And some of the girls in my most energetic class seemed quite ready to "remedy" the fact that I had not visited any of the city's nightclubs.

After classes, I also met Vlad, a friend of a friend's Moscow friend, and his roommate Artyom. Turns out they're both studying English and Korean... and live just a few floors above me in my dorm! They gave me a lovely guided tour around Vladivostok (which I have an even greater appreciation for now, as a result) all afternoon, while we chatted in funny spurts of Russian, Korean, and English. And in a week or so, Vlad and I are going to Vladivostok's Pacific Meridian International Film Festival to see a screening of one of its French/Italian? films in Russian/English.

And tomorrow: brunch with a friend of the former ETA here in Vlad, church with the Pastor-friend of a Pastor-friend of a family friend (I guess that's how these things all work!), and dinner with two sweet Korean girls on my floor who will (I hope) show me how to make the magical food of my people.

The (close to) bottom line of this lengthy post seems to be the lesson I keep learning at the end of every day here: nothing is as I thought it would be at first! I spent a while moping about my impending loneliness this year, only to realize by the end of my first week that I'm actually surrounded by a myriad of warm and splendid people.

A season of love?
True-- maybe.
Cheesy-- most definitely.

*Bad Russian television is much like bad American television, while maintaining its own, uh, cultural idiosyncrasies. For example: on the Russian version of American Idol, one judge’s only comment to the lead singer of an all-girl punk rock band was that if she was serious about show biz, she needed to ditch the Chucks and adopt some stilettos. A pair of lime green, floral-print heels were immediately produced on stage and forced upon the poor girl.

с днём знанием!

2007-09-01T23:45:00.000+11:00

September 1, is the first day of school across the nation... and therefore, of course, a huge holiday? On campus all afternoon, downtown in the main city square, and all along the main streets of Vladivostok (as elsewhere, I'm sure) hordes of people congregated around heavily decorated stages where various singers and dancers performed, students and teachers delivered heartfelt speeches, and little kids ran off with numerous balloons and cotton candied faces: all in celebration of Денъ Знании (the Day of Knowledge), the beginning of the academic year. A little bizarre at first, but ultimately rather touching, I think.

As a teaching assistant, my first classes won't actually begin until Tuesday, by which time any semblance of joy at the prospect of a new academic year will been thoroughly forgotten, I'm sure. But I remain optimistic, if not a little terrified, about having my own classes. I'll be teaching seven groups of 10-15 fourth year English students once every two weeks in conjunction with their regular classes. Everything else about my time here remains a mystery, but at least I know I have students!

Until Tuesday, I'm on my own to do... I don't even know what. The other students in my dorm are all very nice-- and because I'm in the foreigners' dorm, I live down the hall from student groups from Japan, North Korea, South Korea, and China. Rumor has it that there is a lone Frenchman on the floor above. The Japanese girls and I have discovered that we have a common language comprised of broken Russian smoothed over by lots of giggling. (Who knew a discussion about pelmeni could be so uproarious?) But that said, it has been pretty overwhelming to realize how very... alone... I am here. The closest fellow Fulbright ETA is a good thousand+ miles away, and every oblique contact I have here either doesn't seem to exist or will not arrive for another month.

So I spent the afternoon гулятьing around the city on my own, walking down to the famous waterfront along the Sea of Japan. My first view was of some incredibly ugly industrial barges... but then, thankfully, I got lost! And thus I kept walking until I found, well, the *other* bay (gulf) complete with bobbing sailboats, a colorful ferris wheel and permanent amusement park, ice cream and shashlik stands as far as my admittedly near-sighted eye could see, and tons of ridiculously happy people running around on a nice little strip of rather ugly beach.

Vladivostok is often compared to San Francisco and, to some extent, justifiably so. It's a relatively compact, hilly city similarly positioned on a bay (Golden Horn). The biggest city in the region and located within hours of Japan, China, and Korea, it feels much more cosmopolitan that I thought it might (though I don't know if that says more about how cosmopolitan it is or how little I thought it would be after visiting a couple of other cities of comparable size in the West?). Basically, there's a lot more shopping, many more tourists, and a good deal of shopping tourists that I hadn't really anticipated seeing here. I don't know whether that's a good or bad thing, but it is what it is, I guess? I also keep hearing about a really great burgeoning arts scene in the city, but I haven't yet figured out where or how to find it. But I suppose it is only day two, and if my Lonely Planet guide is right about Vlad being a nice place to visit "for a few days," the next eleven months should provide ample time to get to know it a bit better.

*i

P.S. The image is from an article on RussiaToday.com about the holiday, if any of y'all are interested in learning a bit more about it.

P.P.S. On the subject of images: I have a handful posted online here (http://www.picasaweb.google.com/yoon.irene) and there are others from my month in Moscow on a collective photo site of the Fulbright ETAs here (http://www.flickr.com/photos/11183682@N07).

Yoon, Irene You are Welcome!

2007-08-31T21:24:00.000+11:00

After a month of training, classes, and miscellaneous adventures in Moscow (and other cities of Western Russia), I finally arrived in Vladivostok this morning. The taxi ride alone to Moscow's Sheremyetevo-1 through rush hour traffic seemed almost as long as the ten-hour flight here to the capital of Primorskii Krai, Russia's Far Eastern province. But somehow, 5,000 miles and two full days of traveling later, here I am enjoying the luxury of dial-up internet and bad Russian television in my very own dorm room on the other side of Siberia. (And you think I'm kidding about this being luxurious.)

I have to admit that before coming to Russia, I had envisioned, well, a much smaller country. And no, I don't just mean to say that I was surprised by how much ground this country covers (and I was: it is, after all, the largest country in the world with respect to territory). All of my cultural familiarity with Russia-- its literature, cuisine, arts, language, history-- had been pretty neatly bounded in the east by the Ural mountains. The Urals might even be a generous designation. Very rarely would my imagination wander into that vast realm of Siberia, and never-- ever-- beyond it. In an enormous country where the tremendous majority of its population, economy, and admistration resides in just two northwestern cities, it's perhaps difficult to avoid this mentality even among Russian citizens-- much less among less-informed Westerners such as myself!

And yet here I am, almost twice the distance of the United States away from Moscow and St. Petersburg, eager, I guess, to be proven wrong again and again as I learn about-- and experience for myself-- life in Russia from the Far East. Hopefully, this blog will serve as a readable account of what I imagine will be a simultaneously humbling and exciting year.

So far, I've been to the newsstand and my bedroom. And gee, who's not humbled and excited by experiences like that? :)

Tomorrow I meet with the dean of the foreign languages department (ie: my boss), and in a few more days I'll start teaching my first English classes. In the meantime, I'll also try to post some photos and thoughts from the highlights from my month with the other Fulbright English Teaching Assistants (ETAs) in Moscow, St. Petersburg, Rostov Veliky, and Ryazan. 'Til then!

* i

P.S. The title of this post comes from the very lovely sign two of the English teachers who came to pick me up from airport made in anticipation of my arrival.