No longer living in the Motherland...

Quite unfortunately, my time in Russia has come to an end and I am back in the states (not for too long I hope).  I wish I had found the time, and the internet, to post more about the summer but, I didn't (and that is all there is to it).  I just wanted to write one last post for whoever may actually have been reading to say thanks for your time and I hope you enjoyed my sometimes long-winded and practically incoherent blog entries during my stint in the Russian Federation (yes, that is the official name of the country).  

In other news, I have actually become slightly addicted to the blogging habit and have started a new blog for my time in the states (however long it may last).  The blog address is: http://madelyninamerica.blogspot.com/  Clever, right?  Check it out if you are interested, but be warned, I doubt it will be anywhere near as entertaining as this blog has been because, well, it is rare that fabulous and unusual events occur in my stateside life.  

So, for now, Madelyn in Russia says, until we meet again and enjoy your time with Madelyn in America ;)

You can grow flowers from where dirt used to be.

11.July

“If you don’t eat that cabbage you won’t have any strength.  How will you travel?  What if you are on the cruise and suddenly you have to row a boat on the river?  You won’t be able to because you won’t have any strength because you didn’t eat that cabbage.” – r.mom

I adore the idea that whether or not I eat cabbage today will have a direct effect on my boat rowing abilities more than two weeks from now. 

I didn’t eat the cabbage.  I just couldn’t.  I’d already eaten a bowl of thick soup with meatballs, a large salad, a plate of berries and several slices of black bread with butter.  Not to mention, all I did today was sleep, so I burnt, lets say, 5 of the 500+ calories I consumed from blini alone this morning. 

Here’s to hoping I don’t have to row any boats any time soon.

In other news, it really is always raining (and dirty) in Moscow.  When I got home last night around midnight, all I wanted to do was bathe.  Luckily, by the grace of God (whose I’m not sure), our hot water was turned back on, get this, five days early!  That is what I call a miracle.  I was able not only to bathe, but shower, in hot water.  It was lovely. 

You may be asking, why was I in Moscow?  Granted, you probably aren’t, as you may or may not realize that I actually live in Vladimir, and not Moscow.  Wait, who are you anyway?  Perhaps for my own records then, I went to Moscow to do something I had up until yesterday, never gone to Moscow to do – go to the doctor.  Fun times. 

In April, I had the pleasure of attempting to treat a mysterious blood-urinating problem I was having in Vladimir.  After waiting in several lines, bringing a urine sample with me in an old jam jar to the hospital, and scoffing at an old Soviet doctor with a complex (as if they don’t all have complexes), I gave up on solving the mystery.  However, after an incredibly painful and sleepless night last week, I decided to try again – this time, in Moscow.  I went to a European medical clinic where they spoke English, used sanitary containers for the testing of bodily fluids, wore gloves, washed their hands, took credit cards and seemed as if they genuinely were in the business of curing patients.  However, the European Union flag and the name of “European Medical Center,” were a little misconstruing, as all but three of the doctors were French.  The ophthalmologist was British, and there were two Japanese doctors (which, take note, Japan is not even in Europe).  I think they ought to rename it the “French Medical Center.”  But, I suppose if they changed the sign to the French flag, people might get confused because it looks so similar to the Russian one. 

Name of the establishment aside, the experience was a good one.  The girls at the desk were friendly (no way, right?) and spoke understandable English.  The doctor took me into his office early (when does that ever happen in America, eh?), attentively listened to what I had to said, did a test, waited while I underwent another test, talked to me again, wrote me out a prescription, and said he would call me when the results (not instantaneous) of my other test came in (also, double checked my cell phone number in order to reach me).  Thus far, I do not know precisely why I’m having the problems I am, but the urinalysis did show that, in fact, there is blood in my urine, which makes me feel a lot less mentally unstable (at least when it comes to imagining health problems).

Spending time at the clinic was not the only first I had in Moscow.  I also successfully gave directions to a Russian (which I have done in Vlad several times, but in Moscow never, I don’t even know where the hell I am).  Guess where?  McDonald’s!  Haha.  I’m a good little American, knowing how to get to the closest McDonald’s at all points in time. 

Realization: A carton of eggs is cheaper than taking a pee.  10 eggs -14 rubles, One public toilet use – 20 rubles.  

On the way home from Moscow, I was sitting on the electrichka, listening to some jams, trying to teach myself to crochet a hat, when some random молодой человек (young man), got my attention by saying, “дебушка (girl).”  When I looked up, he handed me a white rose and said “к вам (for/to you).” I blankly, or confusedly (I hope), stared at him for a minute, and then took the flower.  As he walked away, I managed to muttered, “спасибо (thank you).”  The women sitting next to me just looked at me and said I needed a vase and some water, as if there were nothing unusual about the situation.  Perhaps, on electrichki traveling between Moscow and Vladimir, strangers giving girls flowers is completely normal.

12.July

This morning, my r.mom informed me that Michael Jackson didn’t die on his own, but that he was killed!  Then she proceeded to ask me about it, inquiring “who killed him?”  Clearly, I, as an American, would know, who killed him.  When I regretfully told her I didn’t know, she told me to tell her if I hear anything.  As if, simply being born in the same country as MJ, means I must be in his inner circle.  The real question, why does she even care?  

N.B. After being seriously ill (according to my r.mom and all of the teachers), I travelled to Peter where I spent a few days.  It was lovely.  I was planning on writing a blog about both the illness (it warrants one, as it lead to my r.mom rubbing warm honey all over me, then wrapping me in plastic, covering me in blankets, and telling me to let my illness sweat itself out) and the trip (went to the ballet, the Nabokov house museum, realized the city was HUGE when I walked parts I'd somehow never walked before, and relaxed in the best company possible), but I don't have time.  I'll just have to rely on my actual memory to record these events in my history, or at the very least, remember that being ill in Russia is always interesting, and that I had a lovely time in Peter (yet again).  

Movies

28.June

Today at breakfast my r. mom asked why I was so sad.   I said I wasn’t.  People ask me that a lot these days.  Do I really look that unpleasant?  I certainly don’t intend to.  Luckily, I have r. mom to uncover all of my problems.  She mentioned that I’d been coughing all night.  I said, well yes.  Then she informed me that the cough was a result of the rain, which must have gotten my feet wet, following which, the wetness traveled (immediately) from my feet to my throat and thus, the cough.  Thank you Dr. Russian Mom.  All of my problems are so easily solved.  As long as I don’t go traipsing through puddles, I shall be able to avoid coughing.  

Furthermore, with the help of r. mom, I discovered that the “sad” look on my face (at least for today), was a result of thinking too much about how much reading I have to do today, and really not only today, but in life.  After talking about reading lists for Slavic programs last night with Scott and Eric, and the thousands of pages of Russian texts I will be reading throughout the next several years of my life, reading was on my mind.  However, I’m still not quite sure that such thoughts should translate to the “sad” emotion that my face was apparently emitting.  Despite the difficulty of reading in Russian and the speed at which it needs to be done, I adore reading. 

Overall, I am not sad, and I am disappointed that my face makes it seem like I am.  Perhaps there is a bit of disappointment in yesterday, as I spend most of it sleeping and watching movies rather than reading, or spending time outside (when the weather was finally warmer).  But, yesterday evening was spent with good company.  Scott, Jessica, Tom and I gathered at Eric’s for a movie.  However, Tom forgot the remote to his DVD player, and we could only watch the first movie on the disc rather than the one Scott had gathered us all together to watch.  The movie we were subjected to was titled, what at first glance we thought was “underground witches,” and only later, after watching 45 minutes of the film without coming across any witches, or anything underground, we reread the title, and looked up the word for underground, only to discover that the title most likely was “cave/vault of the witches.” There were no witches in the movie, but there was a cave with bright flashes of light and laser beams.  Luckily we had some really delicious cookies, which Eric especially enjoyed, and a can of a Pringles knock of brand from which Tom had to refrain from consuming the entire contents.  We also had an intense conversation about the death of Michael Jackson.  Turns out, Scott is quite the MJ fan, and Tom is quite the MJ hater.  Tom went as far as to say that he hopes that with the death of MJ will come the death of the era of “entertainers” rather than musicians and that the quality of popular music will increase.  Those seems like rather high hopes to me.  Personally, I loved MJ’s music or “entertainment” if that’s what we’re going to call it.

I have a history book.  I use it to prop open the window on my balcony.  Christina spotted it on my desk (when it wasn’t being used to keep the window open) and asked if it was a good book.  It’s certainly good at keeping the window open, and it’s a book, so yes.  However, I have to confess that I have read the book, just not this copy or edition of it.

Apparently, this was a weekend for movie watching.  On Thursday evening I went to the theater with Christina and Jessica.  We saw a terrible chick flick called “The Proposal.”  However, everything is somehow much more tolerable (perhaps because I can write it off as a learning experience), and much funnier (especially dubbed over American films).  Plus, we got to drink a bottle of wine and eat caramel popcorn, which is obviously what people really go to the movies for. 

Friday, I somehow feel like I watched a movie, but I may just have taken a nap.  I’m unsure.  Saturday, I watched “The Devil Wears Prada,” because I was too lazy to get out of bed.  Then, upon getting out of bed, I met up with my friend Aleksei, and we watched “Pulp Fiction.”  After which, I headed over to Eric’s where the whole “Underground/cave/vault of the Witches” scenario occurred. 

This evening I went back to the movie theater (really for the wine, right?) with Alex and we watched transformers.  As far as I’m concerned, it had no plot.  However, the fact that a majority of the characters were transformers, who spoke really quickly in male Russian voices, might have somewhat interfered with my comprehension of the film.  Despite all that, it was a good time. 

Tomorrow, I must stop watching movies and go back to class.  However, since I spend most of my time alone with the teachers, if I really want to watch a movie I can.  As a matter of fact, one day last week I went into class not having finished my reading and instead of discussing what I’d read, I suggested we watch the film version of the last play we finished reading instead - and we did.  It’s lovely to control your classes. 

29.June

Yesterday was not the end of my movie-watching spree.  We watched a film today in class.  Unfortunately, not one I like.

In other news, I think I'm starting to go a bit crazy (as if I haven't always been certifiably insane).  I could use a vacation (a real one, not one where I go back to America to "take care of things").  Perfect, since I already have tickets to leave for Peter on Thursday night.  Thank you credit card god for giving me such a lovely opportunity.  I can hardly wait to get there.   

"People and Time"

23.June

Have you ever had an idea that you believed, for just a flicker of time, to be a brilliant new discovery?  For instance, have you ever thought, “I should try putting some of this peanut butter on one of those marshmallows and then eat it.”  After which, you try this “new” concoction and think, “damn, that was pretty tasty! Why hasn’t someone else come up with this?”  Then, almost instantaneously, you realize that not only has someone else perceived this idea, but they have gone even further and created a paste out of marshmallows in order to make the creation of a “peanut butter and fluff” sandwich even simpler.  Perhaps this hasn’t happened to you, but just now, as I was searching through my collection of food ingredients from America, this exact scenario occurred.   

Why exactly I wanted to eat anything in the first place is quite strange.  Just moments before this “discovery,” I was sitting at the dinner table with my Russian mom telling her I couldn’t eat anymore because I have a “маленький живот (small stomach).”  To which she responded, “у тебя есть животок, даже не живот (you have a “small stomach/diminutive form of stomach” not even a stomach.” I adore the incessant use of diminutives in this culture. 

Today while walking around Vladimir with Masha I told her that I don’t like the sun because it makes me sneeze.  She said that I should move to Peter.  I said I couldn’t move to Peter because I also don’t like the wind.  Then, while we were standing in Pushkin park, chatting about film, literature and the educational systems in America and Russia, some women came up to us and asked, “девушки, на что мы смотрем (girls, what are we looking at,” and referenced the vast land in front of us.  Then we discovered that they didn’t know because they were here on a trip from Peter.  After they left, Masha told me that is how she knows Russia is a small country - when you talk about a city and then people appear who live in that city.  Or, when you meet a person from Irkutsk on a train, who knows someone in Samara with whom you’ve already become acquainted even though you live in Vladimir (and no, the train was not on the way to Irkutsk or Samara). 

24.June

Momentarily, I was removed from my current life situation.  While talking on the phone with my mom, about her life and my impending return to the states, I felt quite overwhelmed.  I started to realize that, in many ways, the time I’ve spent living in Russia, has been a sort of hiatus from real life.  Certainly it hasn’t always been easy, but my only real responsibilities have been getting my work done and showing up for class and excursions.  There have been no lasting relationships I’ve had to work to maintain, practically no household chores (aside from laundry and dishes), no genuine money worries (as upon coming here I decided to plunge myself further into debt via student loans and credit cards) and thus no need to say no to any opportunity that sounds even remotely appealing. However, in August, I’m faced with a move to Virginia (which will be very pricey), enrollment in a program in which I’m actually working towards a degree (a PhD for that matter), and the prospect of living alone in a town I’m unfamiliar with.   Perhaps none of it matters.  It’s all my life.  I can honestly say I have never felt like I’ve “lived” more than I have during my time in Vladimir.

When I walked out of my room, where I’d been speaking English on the phone and pondering life in America, several familiar sites greeted me and the sounds of Russian voices and working hands pulled me away from the future and dropped me directly on my ass into the present.  My brother-in-law was sawing some wood (completing the “ремонт” that the actual carpenters failed to properly finish), mom was in the kitchen cooking, my sister was on the balcony sorting through various herbs, and my niece was playing a game of “lock mom on the balcony,” which morphed into “make faces at aunt through the window.”  Then sister and mother started arguing over taking niece on a walk, and brother-in-law, covered in sweat and shirtless, requested that someone go buy him more cigarettes.  Whether I was running away from a past life or not, this is my current reality, and I can honestly say, that in many ways, I prefer it to any life I’ve lived before.  

25.June

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRETT!

Под дождем

22.June

If I had ten rubles for every time a Russian asked me if I was French, insisted I was French, or told me I looked French, I would have bus fare for at least a month.  And yes, this occurs even when I am not wearing a beret.  In fact, probably more often when I'm not wearing one.

The Vlad group spent this last weekend in Moscow.  It rained the entire time we were there.  For I moment, I thought we had accidentally traveled to Petersburg.  But no, the weather is just as unpredictable and wet in Moscow.  However, I shouldn't judge because Vladimir is just as uncooperative.  Luckily, our storms usually occur at night.  

Despite the weather, we managed to enjoy our time in Moscow.  On Friday night we met up with a few of the Moscow students.  As it was raining, we decided we should go somewhere inside and warm that sold alcohol.  Over the course of a few hours and a few drinks we discovered that the combination of a table of graduate students and alcohol, leads to incredibly ridiculous conversations.  I believe we managed to thoroughly discuss absolute morality, Truth (with a capital T), sexual orientation and social stigmas, amoung other topics.  The next night we did our drinking in the hotel (upon recommendation of TM), where we got into an intense discussion about whether Stalin or Peter the Great was the better leader.  Conclusion - 3 to 1 Stalin:Peter.  

After the circus, which was, well, not the worst way I've spent my time, TM asked me if I was going to walk around the city more.  I said no.  She asked if I was going to go to sleep.  Again I responded with the negative.  Then she asked if I was going to go buy a bottle of vodka.  I said yes.  She said, "That's the right decision!"  It is that very bottle of vodka that let to the Stalin vs. Peter conversation and to JR asking Eric if he ever gets lonely, or if he needed a hug.  Then we all participated in a massive group hug around Eric.  

In other, more culturally enriching news, I went to a contemporary art museum I'd never been to before.  There were a lot of very intriguing exhibits.  I especially enjoyed one entitled "Признаки революции."  It depicted the revolution in Petersburg with elephants.  Another strange, and also incredibly annoying piece, was a sculpture of the letters of Yeltsin's name that sung a very strange version of the song, "Kalinka."  I couldn't get the song out of my head for quite some time, actually, it's still there.  I also spent a brief amount of time in the Tretyakov Gallery with some students who had never been there.  However, modern art is far more my style, so I left rather quickly to search for the Tretyakov Gallery of 20th century art, but on the way was sidetracked by the other modern art museum.  

Random fact:  I spent more money in a day in Moscow than I spend in a week in Vladimir.  Ouch.  

18.June

There are moments, although few and far between, when I think, “it would be nice to be in a country where I natively speak the language.”  Usually, it is when I want to tell someone off.  Although I probably could sufficiently insult someone in Russian, I’m never quick enough.  Allow me to tell you a story about one of these moments.  The women who work at the ticket касса at the train station are notoriously unpleasant.  Yesterday, I went to purchase tickets to and from Peter, and had a fabulous experience with one woman in particular.  After standing in line for what seemed like eternity, I asked the woman if I could pay with a credit card.  She tartly responded, “If there is a sign in the window that says you can pay with a credit card, then you can pay with a credit card.”  I was put off by this, because those signs rarely mean you can actually pay with a credit card (at least not in Vladimir), AND because last time I tried to buy a train ticket in that station with a credit card, the sales woman reprimanded me for not asking about it at the beginning of the sale, and refused to let me pay with anything other than cash.  This time around, I tried to do it in the right order and I got a negative response.  After arguing a bit over what places were available on what dates, she asked for my passport for the ticket purchase.  Once my passport was in her hands, she said (very condescendingly mind you), “Oh, a foreigner.”  I was perturbed.  Yes, I am a foreigner.  Could you not tell by my accent and possession of a credit card?  Jesus.  I hate the train station.  But, as I am having a love affair with Peter, I suppose it was worth it. 

Today at lunch a man made eye contact with me and called me красная шапочка (little red riding hood), presumably because I was wearing a red beret.  Then a few minutes later, as I was leaving, he came up to my and said, “Я волк/I’m a wolf.”  I ran away.  Earlier this morning TM called me красная шапочка as well, and asked if a wolf had eaten me.  Not yet, but there was a close run in.  Also in reference to the beret, Tom said, «I didn't know we taught French here.» He always makes French comments.  Is it not possible for an individual to embrace the beret without seeming French?  Or edible?

Since my return to Vladimir, TM and IA have mentioned that I'm a completely different person than I was during spring.  They are probably right, but their reasons are endlessly intriguing due to their relative inaccuracy.  For instance, TM noted that 1. I eat at lunch (I still don't eat much more than a plate of rice and now Sarah isn't even around to eat the crusts of my bread).  2.  I go to Folklore & on excursions (I only went to folklore once to give a good "example" & I've never missed an excurion before).  3.  I'm thinner (perhaps, but that's not from my two weeks in America, its from my life in Russia).  4.  My face is rosier (the sun came out & I am no longer living in the eternal darkness of Russian winter).  After informing me of all my "changes," she asked if I was "in love again or something."  She insisted that girls' faces are rosier when they are in love.  I insisted that no, I am not in love, it is just a new shade of blush.  As a matter of fact, I am the opposite of in love - I am free and it is fucking fantastic.

Instead of grammar, TM and I spent part of our time together today looking at my wedding pictures (it was associated with a grammar lesson in which a special dress for a wedding was mentioned, and she asked if I'd had one, so, I showed her).  She said, "You look so different.  You used to be normal sized and now you are skinny.  What happened?"  I told her I didn't know.  Perhaps, seeing as I was a teenager in my wedding pics, I've just grown into myself a bit.

Speaking of weddings, my sister here is now trying to get me to marry her friend.  She asked if I wanted a Russian husband and insisted that somehow being married to a Russian would be a wise decision.  I attempted to explain that I'm not exactly in the market for a second husband quite yet (or EVER).  But there is now a Sergei out there with my phone number (and yes Chelsea, this one's name actually is Sergei hehehe).   Better yet, Anna told her husband and their friends that I am actually related to her.  When Roma (her husband) asked how we were related, I didn't know what to say, thus, I said nothing at all and changed the subject. 

Life without a toilet...

15.June

What a wild weekend.  I don’t sleep.  I’m exhausted, but I’m having a blast.

Friday we went to Suzdal, which frankly, I liked better in winter.  After longing for warmer weather, I’ve decided I prefer winter.  Perhaps it’s simply a “grass is greener on the other side of the fence” thing, but honestly, the snow and starkness of the winter months is in many ways more beautiful than the greenery.  Besides, on my first trip to Suzdal we played baseball with a stick and snowballs, this time people barely spoke to one another. 

After Suzdal I went over to Masha’s (Masha Noskova) for her birthday party.  Then I slipped out early to head over to another party. I didn’t come home until five thirty in the morning.  Once I awoke from a brief nap on Saturday, I headed to the center to meet with the other Americans, and then I took them on a picnic in загородный парк, which we followed with a stint at an outdoor cafe, where we drank beer and watched the sunset at ten o'clock at night.  It was lovely.  Then I headed to Masha's to help her decide what to pack and to say goodbye to her (she left for the states today – watch out America!).  We had a sleep over.  She read me some lovely poems she had written over the last couple years, and sang me Russian songs.  When we parted the next morning, she promised to email me if she doesn't understand something in English or just about the U.S. in general.  Доброе just isn’t going to be the same without her. 

Upon arriving home on Sunday I was fed an obscene amount of blini for breakfast. Which, of course, made me sick.  I really think I’m lactose intolerant.  How frustrating.  Then I snuck away to go swimming with Anna, Roma, Sergei, his nephew, and Liza.  It was a blast.  I taught Anna how to swim.  She was terrified.  I kept telling her if she would just breathe normally everything would go much more smoothly.  Then we dipped Liza in the water.  She loved it.  Anna was concerned it was dangerous, but I assured her that I had learned to “swim” (more like love water) at only six months old.

I’ve taken to spending my breaks between classes in the teachers’ office, where I drink coffee or tea with them, listen to their gossip, and often continue some of my lessons.  I adore those women.  They thoroughly enjoy the coffee and peanut butter I brought them from America.  Better yet, being in their office often means that my breaks end up being longer than those of most students, because whoever is teaching me at the moment lingers longer because, well, her student is already there J 

 

09.June

While in the elevator this evening I heard a clicking sound.  It reminded me of the monotonous and tormenting tone of a timer attached to a bomb clicking the seconds off of soon-to-be-victims lives.  I’m assuming it wasn’t, because I’ve only ever heard that sound in movies, and the building has yet to explode. 

Upon arriving home, T told me that the toilet is “occupied” for the rest of the week.  Then she opened the door to the toilet room in order to display that in fact, there was no toilet at all.  We’re undergoing remodeling.  Always.  Immediately following this she told me that if I need to pee I should pee in the bathtub “like this” (yes it even came with partial demonstration).  Then she bluntly said that if I need to poop I should go to the neighbors’ apartment and that they’ve already been told about our toilet sitch.  Schweet.  I can see it going something like this.

“Knock Knock.” 

“Who’s there?”

“Madelyn.”

“Oh you must need to poop.”

Sitting on the toilet unable to perform.  Oh the pressure.

After the toilet fiasco, she made me eat (no surprise), but I’d already eaten at Masha’s (Masha Ermonovna).  However, T’s meal did come with kvas.  I told you she’s always trying to get me drunk ;)

I realized today while at Masha’s house that it was the first time I’d spent any real time with her alone.  Although I already knew her, she was Faye’s tutor and thus, I usually only saw her around Faye.  Also, Katya still lived here, so she often was part of the mix.  Now Faye is gone and Katya is gone.  It’s just Masha and me.  She’s a sweetheart.  I looked through a lot of her hiking pictures and she tried to teach me how to crochet again.  Honestly, I may be a lost cause.  Or just need reading glasses… sometimes I really think I can’t see.

Today was the first full day of classes.  I have ten hours a week one on one with Irina Alekseevna working on lit, and four hours one on one with Tatiana Mikhailovna for grammar.  The director of the program thinks that IA and I might kill one another by the end of the summer if I don’t at least switch a couple hours to something different.  Perhaps history with Evgenii Leonidovich?  Or maybe I can just promise to NOT kill IA.  I’m excited for the one on one with TM, I love that woman.  She can be pretty hardcore, but she’s soft on the inside.  Not all of my classes are individual.  I do spend a few hours a week in speech class with some of the new students and Nadezhda Ivanovna.  It’s only been two days, but I already believe we have a fabulous class dynamic.  I’m excited about it.  We’re also all grad students. 

My iPod’s battery died while I was riding the bus home tonight.  Consequently, I was paying much more attentive attention (yes I wrote that) to the various goings-on outside the bus window.  There was a little girl standing at a bus stop sucking on a lollipop.  Then I watched as her face lit up and she began running to the bus.  Her daddy was home.  He exited the bus and simultaneously she slammed into his chest.  It was so endearing.  Reminded me how much I love children.  Then it made me think about how I’ll probably never have any, which will be fine until I become my mom and need someone to hold back my hair and rub my back while I constantly puke in reaction to anesthesia.  And who will photograph me learning to walk again?  Damn.

Back in Vlad

“Home is where the heart is.”  I’ve never quite understood this phrase.  My heart is in my chest everywhere I go.  Is everywhere home?  I get that it is supposed to be taken less literally.  Home is supposed to be where your loved ones are?  What if they aren’t all in one place?  Because, assuming you love your family (at least your parents and siblings), of course they aren’t.  Each of us grows up and leaves “home.”  Then we are supposed to create our own homes.  For quite a while now, I’ve felt homeless.  However, I’ve begun to think that home can be transitory.  It doesn’t have to be tied to one distinct location.  Right now, Vladimir is home and I’m ever so grateful to be back here, if only for a flicker of life.  I’d like to reinterpret the idiom with which I began this paragraph.  Home is where your heart is at peace.  I’m home.

Every Sunday there is a show on TV called “Едим Дома.”  It’s a cooking show.  Tatiana always watches it, but that’s not all - she also writes down the recipes.  I’ve never noticed this before.  How is that possible?  Perhaps because I tend to travel on weekends and thus am rarely home on a Sunday morning?  I watched with her this morning and had to stifle my giggles at the frequency with which the camera zoomed in on some product (blatant advertising), while the woman continued to describe how to prepare the dish.  She made gazpacho today, which made me wonder the origins of it.  The best part – the instrumental version of “Here Comes the Sun” that continuously played throughout the latter part of the show.  Everyone loves the Beatles.

Although I enjoyed the opportunity to analyze the cooking show, I remember why I usually travel.  I don’t like to watch television.  I’d much rather spend the weekend wandering a new city, or spending time in a familiar city at a theatre or museum.  However, I did enjoy accompanying the new students on the tour of Vladimir yesterday.  Tom was ill.  His replacements – Larisa Viktorovna and Tatiana Mikhailovna.  Fabulous.  The tour was in Russian instead of English, and I learned a few new things about the city.  For instance, did you know that the KGB used our monastery during the 1930s (under Stalin) for executions?  I didn’t. 

In other news, the “new Faye” doesn’t speak any Russian.  He is part of the ROTC program (it’s a group of four students from the University of Utah).  They are all complete beginners.  I’m loving it (perhaps even more than McDonald’s).  I taught him the alphabet, and I’ve been serving as a translator between his host family and him (in case you don’t remember, or for some reason are joining us on my blog for the first time, Faye lived immediately next door to me – so much so that we actually shared one of our doors).  Now I share a door with Daniel.  Instead of his host mom taking him to meet the group yesterday, I did.  And when everyone’s hosts came to pick them up, Larisa Viktorovna noted that I picked up Daniel.  Haha.  Weird.

I’d also like to mention that when I arrived home after a ten-hour flight, Tatiana asked me why I wasn’t wearing any makeup.  Geeze, what was I thinking not plastering my face with eyeliner for my overseas journey?  The next morning I made sure to paint my nails, and my face before leaving the apartment.  But, I wasn’t wearing heels, which concerned Katya when I went to pick up Daniel.  I’m just not Russian enough J

День победы и т.д.

09.May

Victory day is one of the most widely celebrated holidays in Russia.  I tried to come up with a holiday that Americans are as excited about, but I couldn’t think of one.  Perhaps we just aren’t very patriotic.  Maybe if we had won WWII, like the Russians did, then we would have something to be proud of J In all intents and purposes, Victory day is celebrated in a similar fashion to July 4^th.  There are parades, and red white and blue flags.  Of course, the parades only include soldiers and cadets, and the flags are Russian instead of star-spangled banners.  In order to celebrate this important holiday, I went to the parade in Vladimir.  Most of the Vlad kids went to Moscow for the weekend.  I doubt they got anywhere close to red square to actually see the parade. 

The weather was perfect today, so those of us who remained in Vladimir, decided to go have a picnic in загородный парк.  We made a fire, cooked сосиски and enjoyed the weather. 

Then everyone learned how to twirl sticks, or I taught them how, and they were seemingly endlessly amused. 

Then we all tried to balance the sticks on our upper lips and then smile (without dropping the stick), it was practically impossible.

We found a tree that was very flexible, so if you sat on it and some one pushed it about, you could “ride it.”  A little girl was very fascinated by this group of adults climbing into and riding trees. 

It was quite an entertaining afternoon/evening.  People kept staring at us.  We knew they were only jealous because they couldn’t join our club. 

08.May

What a pleasant day.  We had our last excursion.  How sad.  Endings aren’t something I find very pleasing.  However, perhaps beginnings are worse.  I’m terrible at beginnings.  At least I get to calm myself with the thought that I will be back in Vladimir in just two and a half weeks.  This place feels like home.  I’ve decided to tell myself that I’m only going to the U.S. on a vacation (because really, I don’t want to go at all), and then I’m coming back home to Vladimir.  What a comforting thought.  I’m going to be a wreck in August.

Bogolubova was beautiful.  We went to a monastery, where Tom tolds us, “Don’t touch the monks!” Meanwhile he was making tickling motions with his fingers.  There is a church in Bogolubova located in the middle of a field, close to a lake. 

The water in the lake is clean enough to swim in, and there is plenty of grass to lie in and soak up the sunrays.  I foresee myself spending many an afternoon there during the summer.  It’s only about a ten-minute bus ride from my house (since I basically don’t live in Vladimir in the first place).

Post excursion, I took a walk around Доброе (the part of Vladimir I live in) and snacked on some ice cream.  When I got close to home, I wasn’t ready to go inside (the weather was far too beautiful today), so I sat down on a swing, enjoyed the feeling of the sun on my skin, and people watched.  I found this couple particularly intriguing.

Eventually I managed to coerce myself inside (or my stomach did).  After washing dishes and taking a brief nap, I went into the center of town.  I met up with Chelsea briefly before she headed to Moscow for the weekend.  Then I wandered about a bookstore waiting for Lilit.  We walked around a part of the city I hadn’t really seen, stopped to buy a drink at the продукты, walked to the main park of the city, sat on a bench and chatted.  Lilit gave me a wise piece of advice, “Never talk to drunk people, Madelyn.”  Then we caught sight of a man with a poodle and a stroller.  I wanted to know where the child was (or if the stroller was for the poodle).  Then we saw the mom carrying the screaming boy.  Both of the parents were laughing.  The mom put the boy down and he ran.  He just wanted to wander on his own.

Lilit said she wanted a child, and I said, “yea maybe in like ten years.”  She thought that in ten years she’d be too old to have a kid (she’ll only be 29 in ten years).  I mentioned that 29 is probably relatively close to the average age at which Americans begin to have children.  She agreed, and said, “For Russians it’s 11 or 12.”  I found this hilarious.  Lilit doesn’t always have the best opinion of Russians (because she’s Armenian & therefore would win a war against Russia solely due to the fact that Armenian food is far superior to Russian food).  Fun times.

This evening, my Russian mom and I made лапша (it’s basically pasta).  It’s quite a process.  I had a blast.  The product of our toils (before being boiled of course).

I didn’t know the word for rolling pin, and when I asked what it was called, she told me and then went into a story about how her grandmother used to hit them with a rolling pin.  She told me about one time when she was staying at her grandmother’s in the summer, she met a boy, and they went on a date.  While she was gone, her younger sister told the grandmother that Tatiana was with a boy.  Then the grandmother came running through the woods towards the lake after Tatiana with a rolling pin.  When they (boy & T) caught sight of the grandmother, the boy got on his bicycle and quickly rode away.  I adore when she tells me stories.  It was such a lovely day. 

6.May

I shouldn’t be allowed in bookstores.  They are dangerous places for me to be, especially Russian ones.  Chelsea asked me for some advice on what to read over the summer.  She wanted Russian literature suggestions.  We went to a bookstore where we proceeded to spend at least an hour, while I piled her arms full of books.  Good luck reading all of those this summer Chels J  I’m having a love affair with Russian literature.  It’s possible the only kind of love that can last a lifetime.

We had to do our OPI interviews on the phone at Tom’s apartment.  As usual things were moving behind schedule.  While we were waiting, I got Tom to bust out the wedding pictures.  It looked lovely.  Margarita’s dress was beautiful, and Tom looked dashing.  It seems to me (from this one set of wedding pics, which clearly makes me an expert), that Russian weddings are much more laid back than American ones. 

Upon arriving home I was met with a “salad.”  It was a plate of lettuce about the size of my head.  Luckily, the bitterness of the lettuce was masked by the sourness of the lemon, which had been squeezed on top of it.  Still, I couldn’t help but think I had been signed up for some kind of “how much lettuce can you eat” contest.

In other news: Team Vladimir’s favorite vegetable is – asparagus!

5.May

Russian mom – “This is called a hamburger.”

Me – “No, this is called a sandwich.”

Either way, I didn’t eat it.  Sausage, cucumbers, and cheese make much more sense on an individual slice of bread rather than in sandwich form.  I’m such a disappointment.  I never eat anything.  Poor хозяйка.

Sochi

04.May

I’ve come to realize that my most advantageous language learning has occurred through conversations with random strangers.  This evening, Chelsea and I were walking through Pushkin Park and speaking English.  I noticed that a middle-aged Russian man was looking at us with interest, thus I said hello (in Russian).  He said, “Guten tag,” so I said “Guten tag” back.  If he wanted to believe we were German, that was fine with me.  However, a minute later, he approached us to ask where we were from.  We answered honestly, which is a rarity, and said we were from America.  We proceeded to talk with this man for over an hour.  He was very interested in the differences between America and Russia.  Unfortunately, we couldn’t really remember what they were.  He would tell us how much money some profession earns in America verses Russia, and we would unknowingly shrug.  We also didn’t know what to say we he asked if Obama is a good president.  Luckily, we knew that he is the 44^th president.  I would’ve felt like an ass if the Russian knew that (which he did) and I didn’t.  When he asked how much drugs cost in America (I think he was referring to heroine) we also didn’t know.  Then he showed us his arms to prove he had no track marks and wasn’t asking due to desire, simply curiosity.  When I realized how long we’d been talking with him, I couldn’t stop laughing.  This is how I spend my free time, conversing with strangers in parks, or on trains, or while climbing through the letters of the Nizhny Novgorod sign.  Didn’t my parents teach me not to talk to strangers?

In other news, I just arrived back in Vladimir from Sochi yesterday.  I know most of you have never heard of Sochi.  It is a part of Russia with a sub-tropic climate, located on the Black sea.  It was beautiful.  I believe I posted nine facebook photo albums of pictures, so you can see for yourself.  However, it was warmer in Vladimir than in Sochi.  One of those freak things, you know, the kind Mother Nature decides would be hilarious.  While I was in Sochi where it was about 60-65 (F) it was between 70 and 80 in Vladimir.  Unbelievable.  It also rained quite often, which I didn’t find surprising (if it didn’t rain a lot, a sub-tropic climate/wildlife couldn’t be maintained).  The rain was rather pleasant.  The only down side was less time spent soaking up the rays on the shore of the Black sea and more time spent enjoying faux ice cream products in McDonald’s or along the embankment (board walk type thing?) of the sea. 

What is interesting about Sochi?  The mountains are beautiful.  You can get a nice view of Avkazia (one of the disputed territories of Georgia/Russia).  There is a lovely tea plantation, where you can pick your own tealeaves and learn how to make tea from them.  Honey is available in mass quantities and multiple varieties.  Homemade wine is widely available for purchase.  You can hike to a breathtaking waterfall and swim in the pool at the bottom (the only side effect being the freezing of your blood due to the icy coldness of the water).  You can spend hours searching for sea glass on the stone beach without approaching boredom.  There is Georgian food almost everywhere and it is fantastic!

Rather than delve into details about each day and excursion in Sochi, I’ve decided to simply post a few quotes from the trip, perhaps throwing in a bit of a story for the purposes of contextual understanding. 

“Can I dip my nut in your honey?” – Faye (holding an almond and coveting my jar [which after my bloody urine experience, I am convinced probably at one point contained a urine sample before my honey] of homemade honey)

“Smells fishy.” – Meagan (she was sniffing salted fish, of course it smelled fishy)

“Faye, make fire!” – Meagan (during a discussion about how we were going to trap the pigeons on our balcony and eat them for dinner, which occurred simultaneously with a conversation about how Faye was the least evolved of the four of us because her wisdom teeth all comfortably fit in her mouth)

“You have more personality than you know what to do with.” –Faye, in her you are ridiculous for even saying you lack personality Madelyn, voice.

“If war was always a cook off, Georgia would totally dominate Russia.” – Reese (we were eating fabulous Georgian cuisine after our hike to the waterfall)

“Yea, kudos for doing that with zero body fat.” –Reese (in reference to my swimming in the icy cold pool at the base of the waterfall/it is especially amusing because the next day he was the one who was sick and couldn’t attend the excursion to the tea plantation)

“I in general don’t like bird because they don’t have arms.  They’re like walking around like a double amputee.” – Kelsey (while we were sitting on the beach and she kept freaking out when a pigeon walked by/she also made me chase a pigeon out of her hotel room one day because she was so freaked out by it)

“I’m going to say a few words in English.” – Jon (hilarious because Jon, in my experiences, only speaks English and it is never just a few words)

“One stick, one lick, especially if you’re sick, but be quick cause there are a lot of people waiting for a taste of the honey.” – Jon (somehow context seems unnecessary)

“Becca, he’s making you look good,” – Kelsey (he – Jon, who was telling terrible pirate jokes over the microphone on the bus, after Becca had spent quite a while telling a few bad jokes about a donut)

“Vladimir group just… go to your rooms.” – Tom (before we got off the bus at the hotel & after the embarrassing amount of bad jokes we told on the bus in order to torture the Moscow group)

When Tom came knocking on our door after sentencing us to our rooms, I asked, “Babushka Tom, do you have our allowance (he was supposed to be giving us some rubles for dinner)?”  He responded, “It depends, have you been naughty or nice?”  Then Sarah came looking for us and Tom told her, “They can’t leave their room because they’ve been naughty.” 

“Cards usually go with drunkenness.” – Luke (we were trying to remember how to play card games, but realized we’d been taught most of them while drinking and thus couldn’t recall the rules)

“Ouch that hurts, oh my ovaries, I could use some more of that honey.” – Luke (after I insulted him in some way/he bought the kind of honey that is supposed to be good for female reproductive organs – apparently it was the only one he liked the taste of)

“Is that Masha?” – Luke (after hearing a loud noise outside of the train window at a stop/Masha followed me and Luke to the train when we were leaving Vladimir and wouldn’t go away until the train pulled away)

“It must have been you then.” – Tom (when Kyle asked, “What douche dealt these cards?”/Tom had been calling Kyle a douche throughout the entire game – apparently douche is on the approved list of words for ACTR RD’s to use in reference to their students, but dominatrix is not)

That’s all folks J

N.B. I am busy taking exams and preparing to head back to the states for a couple weeks, so this may be my last “Madelyn in Russia” blog entry until June. 

I wish every Thursday was this entertaining… (not for the squeamish)

Yesterday morning, Faye came a knockin’ on my door as she does every morning, so that we could head to school together.  As usual, I wasn’t quite ready so Faye came in.  Then I started regaling her with a tale of urinating blood, in order to inquire if she thought it was a problem, or if I should just ignore it.  The look on her face was enough for me to realize that perhaps, just perhaps, I should tell Tom about my current sitch and allow him to take me to the doctor. 

While we were waiting for the elevator, I, having no filter, continued to tell Faye the details of my possible medical problem.  I explained, that I had suspected there was some blood in my urine (either a day ago or a week ago – of course I couldn’t remember, because I can’t remember anything).  Then I told her that the night before I had come home feeling rather, well, shitty, and decided to take a bath.  As I sat on the edge of the bathtub, running the water, I felt the urge to urinate, but thought that I couldn’t (as I’d peed about 8 times in the prior hour and didn’t believe anything was left).  It was then, that I looked down into the white bathtub and saw that a bright red trail of what seemed to be blood was creeping down the side of the white ceramic.  I thought, “did I just piss that out?”  Sure enough, I did.  I thought, “well that’s new.”  Then I rinsed out the bathtub and took a bath. 

At this point in the story, Faye started to feel a little sick and sat down on the stairs.  When she felt better, she stood up, and we boarded the elevator.  About 30 seconds into our downward travel, Faye fainted.  I tried my best to catch her, which wasn’t very successful.  I did however manage to keep her from hitting her head on anything on her way down.  Once she was on the ground, I realized the elevator had stopped.  I don’t really remember what went through my head at this moment in time, I just remember being incredibly calm.  I pushed the button to call for help on the elevator.  Faye seemingly started to seize.  Didn’t really know what to do, and frankly, reacted in a shockingly cavalier manner.  Then a Russian woman started speaking to me over some speaker system.  When Faye came to, she thought that God was a Russian woman.  Hehe.  Ultimately, I managed to explain our predicament to the Russian woman god, and we called Faye’s host mom who came to find us.  She kept yelling, “Faye, where are you guys?”  Which, when we responded, “here, in the elevator,” didn’t really change much.  After about thirty minutes in the elevator, a woman pried the door open and told us to jump.  We were caught between floors.  Once we’d escaped the elevator, I went to class and Faye went home to sleep. 

When I arrived at KORA, I went to the director’s office to ask if Tom was in yet.  I was sure he wasn’t, but I just wanted to make sure someone told him I was looking for him.  Tom seemed a little shocked when I wanted to talk to him about my bloody urine rather than the elevator event.  Then he asked, “Is this what you were telling Faye when she fainted?” I said yes, and we laughed.  It is pretty amusing.  

My adventure with Tom at the clinic was quite amusing.  The Russian urologist did not like that Tom came into the room with me.  He’s like, “you really want this young man in here with you?”  “What does that mean she’s your student? She’s not a kid, she’s a grown up.  She can speak for herself.”  How awkward.  Then he told me to stop taking all of my medications, that my American doctors had prescribed me, and told me I shouldn’t go to Sochi.  I decided, I will keep taking my medications, AND go to Sochi. 

Last night, Tom called me to tell me that I needed to find a jar, wash all of the jam out of it, and bring in a urine sample to the hospital.  This seemed ridiculous to both of us, as we understand the need for the container to be sterile.  Tom joked that they would be looking at my urine and say, “There is a high sugar content in your urine.  Actually, there are blueberries in your urine.” Hahaha.  It couldn’t be because the urine sample I gave you was in a jar that formerly contained blueberry jam? 

As the American that I am, I decided to come to the internet bar today and research bloody urine on WebMD.  Possible diagnoses:

UTI (probably not, I’ve been tested for UTI’s constantly over that last year or two and have never had one)

Hemophilia (nope, would’ve bled to death by now)

Bladder cancer (don’t have that, I’ve been tested for it in the last year)

Hydronephrosis/Glomerulonephritis /Supraventricular tachycardia ( I don’t know what any of these illnesses are)

Polycystic kidney disease/Kidney infection

Diabetes, type 2/Diabetes, type 1/Diabetes insipidus/Diabetic ketoacidosis

Aspirin use (haven’t taken aspirin in months – cross that off the list)

Medication reaction or side-effect (distinct possibility)

Bladder stones (think I would be in more pain?)

Blood clotting disorder (doubtful)

Gonorrhea (well, that would be a first)

Interstitial cystitis (wait, I already have this!)

Pre-leukemia (certainly hope not)

Living in Russia, and reacting to medical problems by researching them on WebMD could be potentially hazardous.  I could decide I have 18 different diseases, and then go to the pharmacy, where they sell practically everything over the counter, and buy all the medications necessary to treat all 18 conditions.  Sounds dangerous.  I think, I just won’t do anything.  Well, other than continue to take this “paste for the health of the insides” that the doctor told me to take. 

While on WebMD, I found an interesting article and would like to give you all a little piece of it to chew on, “Unlike sex with a partner, masturbation can't give you a sexually transmitted disease. Nor will it subject you to the muscle strains, pokes in the eye, and awkward moments that can come with partner sex.” Also, “You don't need an expert to tell you that solo sex feels good, relieves stress, and is a terrific sleep aid.”

Las Vegas = Russia or Russia = Las Vegas

15.April

Today, I exposed my bare legs to the Russian air for the first time this year.  Of course, first I had to shave the lovely winter coat I had grown on my legs (for protection from the cold winter elements), which proved to be quite the challenge as I hadn’t shaved since before I arrived in Russia (I’m sure you wanted to know all of the details).  The point is, that the spring air felt lovely on my skin as I walked around Доброе in a dress – without tights (or leggings, or long underwear, or under armor or some combination of layers)!  It was +17 C, which is in the low 60s in fahrenheit.  I didn’t think such weather was possible.  However, it’s supposed to get cold again this weekend, perhaps even -2.  Not looking forward to that L

This evening, I made tomato soup, grilled cheese, and chocolate chip cookies for my host mom.  She loved it.  Not a big surprise though, most women enjoy being cooked for.  Plus, she really likes chocolate chip cookies.  The tomato soup wasn’t quite up to par with my standards, but not bad, it was made from fresh tomatoes. 

Yesterday, Faye came over and we laid on the floor together.  We pretended my ceiling was midnight blue and speckled with stars.  For a moment, I could really see them.  It’s been far to long since I’ve laid outside and watched the universe exist around me.  Then we started talking about rock climbing in Siberia, because I asked Faye if the stars were bright in Siberia.  She told me that she was way slow at rock climbing, and she remembers watching all the Russians who climbed twice as fast as her getting to the top and smoking a cigarette, she said, “Maybe I should start smoking.”  Perhaps it would help.

Which reminds me, a few weeks back, I glimpsed a couple walking down the main street in Vladimir, each clutching their young daughter by one hand (she was walking between them), and a cigarette in the other (holding it away from child).  I’m constantly surprised how common it is to smoke around children here.  It was quite the image. 

In other news, I’ve decided that Russia and Las Vegas are the same.  The evidence:

1.     Smoking indoors is almost universally accepted.

2.     Drinking on the street is common, but technically illegal.

3.     The fashion is outrageous.  Everyone thinks he or she is a rock star.

4.     The architecture is strikingly diverse.  You’ll see a beautifully designed cathedral (or casino) with its back to a street speckled with industrial or shack-like buildings.

I’ve made a few other observations that link the two locations, but they haven’t been fully formulated into points of evidence.  Check for updates in the future.

Faye and I just had a private dance party on my balcony.  It was exactly what we needed. Now it’s time to study for that grammar test I have tomorrow. 

Nizhny Novgorod

What happens when you put four American girls and 60 Russian soldiers in one train car? 

Chelsea, Faye, Kimberly and I solved this riddle on our trip to Nizhny this past weekend.

Once settled into our hotel, we caught a bus down town.  It cost 12 rubles.  Random price.  Some buses were only 11, and the trolley was only 9.  I prefer Vladimir, where everything is 10.  It’s a nice even number. 

Chelsea and I walked approximately 384 stairs down to the Volga, and then… back up the hill.  Then we ate at a Czech restaurant, where the  “15 minute” soup took 37 minutes to arrive.  After which we walked the ped walk and decided Vladimir is like living in the clearance rack of Russia.  We missed our inexpensive, provincial город.

Best part of the evening… Phantom of the Opera.  The prose was in Russian and the songs in English.  It was like watching a more sexual version of the show, in which Kristine is really quite whorish, and the Phantom is just a creeper.  I still haven’t figured out if any of the Russian audience understood what was going on, as most of the action of the play exists in the songs, which as I said were performed in English.  Oh and did I forget to mention that the theatre was located in some kind of police station?  Who could forget that?