What's not to understand?

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

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

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

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

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

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...?

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.