An American walks into a village house...

And immediately sees the remains of a dead cow on the floor. This could of course be quite alarming, triggering scenes from horror or plague films. Luckily for me however, this was merely the result of the years-old tradition of preparing for the winter. Today, many forget that food once operated according to the seasons. Pumpkin pie is associated with the fall and not summer, winter, spring because in those months, there was not pumpkin to be had. Of course, food still grows according to the weather, but as we receive food from all over the world in our globalized world, the only change we notice is an increase in price of "non seasonal" foodstuffs. Storing food for winter is a practice I would poster that many of us are unfamiliar with in the 21st century. It is not however forgotten in all parts of the world, as I noticed this weekend.

Tuvan cuisine is based on one principle: meat and everything else that comes with it. With snow already on the ground, winter has come and made its make in Tyva for well over a month now. The temperatures have been keeping with the season with today's temperature being around -17 degrees Celsius (that's 0 degrees Fahrenheit for y'all in the states). Currently, it is hovering around -22 degrees Celsius (-7 degrees Fahrenheit). That is by no means the end of it. The weather promises to get much colder come January, even dropping down to -40 degrees Celsius (which coincidentally is -40 degrees Fahrenheit). Winter in Tyva is serious. Living in such a climate has produced the principle of meat in Tuvan cuisine. In terms of vegetables, there is little that grows here. Furthermore, the Tuvans are traditionally a nomadic people, thus farming was only recently introduced into the culture. To cope with the fierce winters, Tuvans drink a heart tea that is made with green tea, salt, and milk. It not only warms up your innards, but also fills you up as well. That is by no means, the end of the meal though. That would be leaving out the meat. I mented above that Tuvans eat meat and everything else that comes with it. That means EVERYTHING. The remains of the cow I saw in the house understand what I am getting at.

The setting is the small village of Telli (Тэлли) in the western district of "Bai-Taiga" (Бай-Тайга) in the Republic of Tyva. I was invited to this place by my colleague, the chair of the English Department. Both she and her husband are originally from this village. We gathered into a small car, four people (my colleague's sister-in-law also joined us) and set off into the night. It was a five-hour
journey that was unfortunately done in the dark, meaning I missed most of the scenery along the road. What I did not miss were the stars. When we stopped about halfway through the trip to use the restroom (which was an outhouse) and grab some tea and snack, I looked up and beheld a majestic sight. The stars shone so brightly and seemed so close, that I felt I could reach up and grab them. It was one of the clearest and most beautiful skies I had ever seen. It was an especially unique moment for me because I had not really seen the stars or looked at them for quite some time. In Kyzyl, we have smog in the winter, because everyone heats their houses with coal, thus leaving the sky not at all visible. Now, our windows are frozen over, bringing visibility down even further. The sky remained just as marvelous the rest of my stay outside of Kyzyl. We arrived in Telli around 1:00 AM. Greeting us was a cold, brisk night air,
an angry dog, the remains of the cow, and our gracious host, Tat'yana. We came into the house and were immediately sat down around the table in the small kitchen. Soup was dished out to all and two big plates with meat (still on the bones), liver and heart, and onions. I should mention that the soup contained meat as well as bone or something else that was not meat. In any case, it was all very delicious and filling.

Setting to work on the cow.

We then all settled in for the night. I slept wonderfully and awoke to the sight of my colleague's husband and his father cutting into a hunk of meat on the kitchen floor. They cut through, taking clumps off until they came to the bones, making sure nothing was left to be wasted on the bones. Moving from there, they systematically cut off all the meat and harvested the innards of the rest of the cow, moving out of the kitchen into the living room (where I had slept the night before) to work at the bigger parts. Breakfast was served in the morning with oatmeal, bread, jam, chocolate, and pizza making up the meal. Also served was the Tuvan tea I described earlier. Full and feeling quite warm from the tea, I decided to set out for a short walk around the neighborhood before I headed to a local school to chat with the students. The sight that my eyes beheld once I stepped outside was just as majestic as the stars that shone the night before above me. Mountains surround the village on all sides and are well within walking distance. This time I did not succeed in making it out to them, but on my next trip (which will happen in the spring), I plan on walking in those mountains. The village is small and everyone lives in one-story houses. The Russian Federation I am accustomed to is full of apartment buildings, of course, people here do live in houses, but I had personally never been in a place, where there were more houses than apartments.

The house we stayed in for the weekend.

Coming into Kyzyl was like entering a different world, coming to Telli felt like entering a world deeper within the one I already found myself. Within the actual village, there are altogether few roads and among those even fewer paved ones. That day I went out to walk, there was a scattering of people moving across the snow-covered landscape. I added my movement to theirs and began walking in-between the houses. The "other-world" feeling intensified as those people I passed gave me quizzical looks. In these areas, Russians are even fewer than in Kyzyl, so any European face stands out. Add my very German/Scandinavian face and I became even more of a sight in such a small town. As I made my way through the neighborhood, I could not help but feel an odd sense of a clash of cultures.

A monument commemorating the 90th anniversary of the
founding of the Tuvan People's Republic.

This was not the first time I had experienced such a feeling in Tyva. Indeed, the whole republic is a crossroads of peoples. Kyzyl is a city that was founded by Russians, yet today is inhabited by a majority of Tuvans. In many ways it makes sense that in the capital, there is more Russian-ness. Telli however is a Tuvan village, supposedly founded in the days when the Chinese Empire ruled the land (1800s). Therefore seeing Russian influence here is quite different than in Kyzyl. There are reminders everywhere that Tyva has only been in the Russian sphere of influence for 100 years. Russian and Tyva are seem as partners instead of one and the same entity. In Telli this is even more evident than in Kyzyl, as the locals continue on as they have for generations. Staunch communists here did not cast aside their nomadic traditions and forsake their native tongue. Russian is used as needed, but Tuvan rules the day.

I could not however spend my whole day walking. I had an appointment at one of the local schools. I met the English teachers, sitting down for tea and treats. Then I was shown into a large classroom with around thirty students eagerly awaiting the arrival of "the American." Questions were posed back and forth. I showed pictures of "My America" and talked about my life there. They shared about themselves and their home. It was a firsts for them in two ways. First off, I was the first American they had ever met and secondly, I was the first native English speaker they had ever met. For them learning English is such a remote location, it was a spark for me to be there with them. For many years they have been taught English, told that they should learn it, but what for? With little practical application, it is hard to teach a foreign language. Their teachers though do an excellent job at giving the students practical applications for  the language. My time with them was just a part of their greater work.

Overall it was a fun meeting. They were surprised when I showed them my American cell phone and asked why I did not have an Iphone. I brought with me various souvenirs of American life: greeting cards, money, passport, driver's license, etc. At the end of the lesson, I decided to hand out the coins that I had as mementos for the students. Everyone got either a penny, nickel, quarter, or dime. As I left the school to walk back to the house where I was staying, I was stopped on the street by a group of 6th graders, who asked where I was from and why I was in Telli. We chatted, while they ran around me and asked all sorts of questions. Then as we parted I handed them all coins. Luckily, I had just enough.

The rest of my stay was spent resting, eating, and chatting lively with my hosts and friends. The cow was by then almost chopped up and the meat divided up between the families. The original plan was to stay until Sunday morning, but the plans changed we decided to leave Saturday evening instead. Gathering around the kitchen table one last time, we shared a very filling meal before heading out on the road.


I stepped out of the house to enjoy the final moments of quiet and to see the stars as they began to appear in the sky. Around us stood majestic mountains, visible only by their silhouettes in the sunset. It was so calming. It was also a chance to stretch my legs before we all crammed back into the car. For the return trip, we were joined by my colleague's father-in-law, who was going to Kyzyl to help his daughter with some things. We left as night darkness descended upon the land, five souls crammed into the car.

 We made the trip back a bit quicker than five hours. By 11 PM, I was once again in my room, stretching and warming myself up. Bai-Taiga awaits my return.

Tyva: Russia Beyond the Mountains

Hello!

    I was recently asked by my colleagues in the English department to write a piece on my impressions of Tyva. I would like to share it with you below. I drew some of the material from my previous post, so this may sound familiar to many of you already.

Now, the window here is not the best for viewing, so I would recommend downloading the file and reading it like at. You may download it by either:
1. Clicking on "Fail" and selecting "Download"
2. Or by using the command "ctrl + s"

I hope you enjoy the article!

All the best,

Joey

A Month of Silence: Musings

Dear readers,

     It has been exactly a month since my last post. I apologize for the silence. I would offer excuses, but there are none that really justify my silence. A week past and November approached and all the while I sat without a topic to write about on the blog. I panicked and thought the next week would bring inspiration, but alas none was to be found. So that is how the last four weeks passed without as much as a note reassuring you of my existence. I am alive and doing well. Work has increased and as a result I find myself tired at the end of every week, but that is a sign of good, hard work. Teaching is my main occupation here, but that is not the only focus of my energy. In addition to working with students and teachers to increase the level of English proficiency at Tuvan State University, I am involved in the active effort of providing opportunities for our students and teachers to travel abroad, in order to study or work and thus raise their language proficiency (in English or any other language) and increase their experience with which they will return and share with others here. Likewise, we are engaged in efforts to bring foreign scholars to TuvSU.

One tangible product of these efforts has been updates made to the website of the Center of International Relations. At the moment, we only have a Russian language version, so for those who don't know Russian (learn it!), you can admire at least the visual layout: http://www.ms.tuvsu.ru/?q=node/48#overlay-context=node/46%3Fq%3Dnode/46
Click on the links and explore! This page and the linked pages were created by me. The focus is on study and work abroad for students and employees of TuvSU.

Для тех, кто умеет читать по-русски, я понмаю, что там есть МНОГО ошибок. Прошу Ваше терпение. Всё исправлю скоро. :-)

And now time for a shameless plug! If you or anyone you know are interested in studying/working at or visiting TuvSU, let me know!

In addition to work, I've been spent a lot of time thinking. My walk to the main campus and my marshrutka ride (recounted here for those who missed it) offer me plenty of time to muse over plenty of themes. Below, I offer them to you as means of sharing some perspective on this small part of the world and also for you to think about in your own ways.

Tyva: Russia beyond the Mountains
Some of you may have noticed that there are two methods of spelling "Tyva". The reason for this stems from the spelling of the name of the republic in Russian versus the Tuvan spelling. In Russian, it is usually spelled "Тува" (pronounced "Tuva"). The "у" sound in Russian is commonly transcribed into English as "u". In Tuvan however, it is spelled "Тыва" (pronounced "Ty(ee)va). The "ы" sound commonly being transcribed as "y". Both are correct, but I prefer the native spelling to that of the Russian. I arrived here about two months ago knowing absolutely nothing about this place, besides throat singing and that it was not connected to any city by rail. Two months later and I still know regrettably little, but I have ever so slightly began to expand by knowledge of Tyva.

This land is very rich in what it has experienced throughout history. Tyva is a place that still "remembers" to an extent, the Mongols of old, those that rode across the known world, conquering everything and only barely being stopped on the edges of Europe. Chingis is still a popular name here in Tyva (as in Chingis Khan) and the traditions of the Mongols are not that far removed from those of the Tuvans. Indeed, we must remember that our contemporary conception of the world is made up in the sense that borders are drawn and easily erased. Tuvans are found in Mongolia as well, so it is very likely that among the armies that flew across the steppes and conquered the Rus' were quite a few Tuvans. Going back even further, there is evidence that some Tuvans are related to the early peoples of the Americas. I have even seen several people here who have the same facial makeup of our First Nation Peoples. This place is a crossroads of cultures and that remains true to this day. Walking along the streets and teaching in the university, I observe the mix of Russian and Tuvan and western and eastern language, culture, and mentalities. And yet despite this mix, Tyva has succeeded in preserving its uniqueness even into the 21st century. The reason for this lies both in the geography and the history of the region.

How Tyva became a part of Russia is an interesting story. The Russians began moving into what is now Siberia early on after the defeat of the Mongols. Towns were founded and colonists sent forth to this new land. Wars and ambition in the west, slowed down the growth and expansion in the east. Taming the Caucasus also became a priority of the government as did defeating the Turks (approximately from 1703 to the 1850s). This allowed the Chinese some chance to also move north and take control of Mongolia and Tyva. In Tyva especially from what I understand, the Chinese hold on the territory wasn't especially strong, but in any case it kept the Russians from just waltzing in, at least until ambitions in the west were halted. Russia lost the Crimean War and with it any more opportunity to take more land from the Turks, halting advances to the west. Furthermore, the Caucasus were tamed. Being blocked to the north, west, and south, the empire set its sights to the east (and south east). In what is referred to as "The Great Game", the Russians little by little moved southeast through Central Asia, bringing "the stans" into the confines of the empire. Likewise, eastward expansion was viewed as a necessity into Asia. Tyva comes into the story as the leaders of Russia saw the Chinese and Japanese as competitors in the region. Eventually, this led to a war with Japan (which the Russians lost) and the establishment of a protectorate in Tyva. The Chinese were evicted and Russians started moving in to set up shop. It was already the beginning of the 20th century at this point. The Trans-Siberian Railroad was complete, but the nearest stop was many, many miles from Tyva. Furthermore, events in the west (a world war as well as poverty and discontent) prevented a flood of new arrivals from settling down. Also, there was quite a large population of natives already present. After the revolution and civil war, Tyva refrained from joining the Soviet Union and instead created its own republic (the Tuvan People's Republic). The Soviet Union of course maintained a strong influence on Tyva, especially in terms of foreign relations, but the Tuvans handled domestic affairs. This included the preservation of the native language of Tuvan, with some changes being made, specially in terms of the writing system. Tyva did become a part of the Soviet Union (joining with the Russian part), but because of its late entrance into the game, Tuvan is spoken today as a native language and can be heard more often than Russian.

The remoteness of Tyva also plays its part in the uniqueness of the region. The mountains act as guardians of Tyva, keeping the outside world away. Of course, walls have two sides and vice versa, Tuvans also find themselves cut off from the outside world and do not travel that often. Yet the mountains are just as much an insulator as they are a barrier.

The point I am wanting to make here is that Tyva is a country within a country. This isn't "Russia", but the Russian Federation, a distinction we don't often make enough yet one that paints a more diverse picture of this country. I'll write a bit more on this topic in later posts.

The language infrastructure
I'm not sure if this term exists in language teaching, but I'm using it here to mean the infrastructure present in a given language for language study. Components include: print resources (books, magazines, etc), electronic resources (music, movies, websites), native speakers, and efficient teaching methods. The purpose of the Fulbright English Teaching Assistant program is to send grant recipients to places that I would describe as weak in language infrastructure. Despite the remoteness that I discussed in the previous section, Kyzyl has a sufficient amount of these resources except the native speaker. The rest of Tyva is a different story. Having not traveled around I cannot comment on the language structure of these places, but I can imagine they lack most of these resources.

However, I would still described the language infrastructure of Kyzyl as weak. I recently learned that the Internet only fully appeared in Tyva in 2005. At the present, access to the Internet is still limited and mostly acquired through cell phones. Wi-Fi networks are few and far between. Mobile access for computers can only be achieved through modems, yet even with these the service is not always the best. Computer access is also limited to those who can afford it. With so much material located on the Internet and in electronic form, students of foreign languages are lacking an important tool in their language acquisition. Furthermore, with the lack of native speakers in the region, the Internet is even more helpful as a means of interacting with native speakers and materials written for native speakers (known as authentic materials). The remoteness of the region plays a large part in this. In terms of teaching practices, there is also a lot to be learned and shared. Having interacted with teachers of English, I have noticed a trend that even those teachers who at one point commanded English with a high proficiency has lost a lot of English over the years due to the lack of contact with the target language. There is also the idea that a foreign language teacher will begin to speak at the level of the students they teach if they do not maintain practice at a higher level.

All of this paints a pretty dire picture of the language infrastructure, but the situation is by no means without a remedy. In fact, I actually see in all of this a lot of opportunities for those who are willing to put in the effort. Here are some of the things I wish to see done in terms of the English language infrastructure (but these ideas could be adapted to any language):

1. More native speakers. The university is committing itself to bringing in foreign scholars which in turn increases contact between Tyva and foreign institutions. If the common language between the locals and foreigners, then so much the better. To go even further, I would like to see the university hire at three native speakers to work in full-time positions for the academic year. On a broader scale, I would like to see a few more native speakers come here to work independently. In terms of paid teaching opportunities, many people are looking for private tutoring opportunities for all ages and there are also a few English language schools in Kyzyl. There is also an abundance of volunteer opportunities to supplement anyones time.

2. Send more students abroad. This issue has many sides to it. First off, there is the money factor. Studying abroad or travelling for an extended period of time requires a lot of money. The challenge then comes in finding ways to finance anyones trip abroad, not just those who can afford it. Secondly, we need to enable students to be competitive in the competitions for grants and scholarships, many of which require essays to be written in English or for the recipients to already command English as an adequately high level. This in turn ties into the presently inadequate language structure. Thirdly, the lack of Internet and computer access prevents students from having the resources to seek out and find the opportunities for study abroad and financing a trip abroad as well as filling out an online application.

3. Teacher training. It is very rare to meet a teacher here who has travelled to an English-speaking country. Furthermore, due to the lack of contact with native speakers, the language level of teacher suffers. The system of teaching in Russia both for foreign languages and in other subjects is also in need of some change. Sending teachers abroad as well as promoting the exchange of ideas between other teachers of foreign languages would go a long way in improving the language infrastructure here. Native speakers are very important, but they are usually not a permanent part of this equation. Local language teachers on the other hand are permanent fixtures in the community and should be trained so as to be as effective as possible.

I shall conclude my musings here with a promise to return to my weekly schedule of updates from Kyzyl. I hope you are doing well.

Peace be with you!


Joey

Кусочек Кызыла (A Piece of Kyzyl): The "Marshrutka"

Orientation is my number one task when I find myself in new environs. At first, this takes the form of much leg movement - exploring streets at random, peeking down alleys, and becoming acquainted with the layout of  a place by logging as many "foot miles" as possible. Then, as I slowly become braver with my mental map, I begin testing the local transportation system. Subways and trains are rather straightforward, as their maps are posted online and in the stations. Subway stops are located near well-known sights or buildings, making orientation simpler. Ground transportation (buses, streets cars, trolleybuses, etc) however presents more of a challenge. Their routes criss-cross the landscape seemingly at random. Hopping onto a bus for example, its easy to become disorientated with the twists and turns made as if at the will of some unseen puppeteer. And yet, the subway lines do not penetrate every corner of a city and in the case of Kyzyl, they don't even exist. The only options left are to walk, run, or grab a "marshrutka".

The word "marshrutka" (маршрутка) comes from the Russian word "marshrut'" or "route". The idea is that this vehicle follows a specific route. It is however not technically a work of public transportation. Marshrutki are owned by private companies or firms (I confess that I know little of the business management side of the marshrutka). They differ from their public transportation counterparts in that they are generally smaller, faster, and for a little bit higher of a fare than found on a public bus, you can hop on and off wherever you'd like along the route. Personally, I usually go for the public transportation option, but in Kyzyl, the buses are much slower and less frequently lumber about than in other cities. From what I've heard, this is because people prefer the much smaller marshrutki and have voted with their ruble to the detriment of the bus. Thus I too, following the example of the locals (when in Rome...), stick my arm out on the street curb to signal.

The conductor at her post.

What awaits a passenger once their marshrutka swerves to pick them up? There are to faces of the marshrutka - the driver, who you see to signal, and the conductor who opens the door at every stop, acts as the go-between for the driver and the passengers, and of course collects the fare (15 rubles in the case of Kyzyl). Inside every marshrutka, the layout is the same - you have the driver up front with two spots available for passengers, then backing up against the driver's seat is a row of seats for passengers. In front of these spots is a space for transit and standing (although to say you can stand is a bit of a stretch, as the ceilings are low), then a solitary seat, two seats, and in the very back are two pairs of seats positioned to face each other.

The back seats - either the best or worst place to sit.

 The rules for sitting are simple - everyone for themselves, except in the case of women and older people. Then, they are given the right of way. This courtesy is more or less adhered to. As much of a part of the "marshrutka experience" the first moments may be, it is the journey itself that defines the whole escapade. Backing up to the description of the vehicle, the specific name of this type of van is "Gazelle". I find this name quite appropriate in every respect, minus the part where predatory animals feed on the gazelle (I don't know if Fulbright's insurance would cover that...).

Just as the gazelle can burst ahead at speeds of 60 mph (thank you Wikipedia), our dear marshrutka quickly winds through traffic and deposits its passengers at any and all destinations. Furthermore, the gazelle is known to jump high. Keeping true to fashion, the marshrutka ride is known and even expected to be QUITE bumpy. This is not do however to hydraulics on the buses, but to the conditions of the roads here in the city and especially outside of the center. For you viewing pleasure and to demonstrate what I mean by bumpy, I direct your attention to the video below:

To clarify, I was only holding my camera - every shake both big and small is the result of the powers of physics working their magic on the marshrutka. The passenger is also at the will of the road as the only seat belts present are the ones holding the back doors together (appreciate the small things). The act of sitting is also something not to be taken lightly while riding. It is a constant game of knowing which side of your body to lean towards. Even the slightest miscalculation can send an unfortunate traveller in the wrong direction in the event of a sudden stop - of which there are many.

Such a task is even more complicated when there are no seats left to take and standing remains the only option. This brings us to the capacity of the marshrutka. Just as they can be related to the gazelle, I would also offer the bag of Mary Poppins as an adequate object of comparison. They may look small, but in fact quite a few people can fit into the salon of the "gazelle". Comfort is of course sacrificed at such a moment. As is safety perhaps. There are however few options but to cram in with the other passengers if you are in a hurry. This happened to me this past Sunday.

I had just finished a lovely hike around the opposing bank of the Yenisei when I needed to head back home. I waited at the bus stop and was very elated to see my marshrutka coming around the corner (it was getting dark and I needed to hurry back). My elation soon turned into an expression of "Ohh...." (with a decrescendo) when the conductor opened the door and all I could see was a wall of people. "Wait for the next one?" I asked myself. My answer came not from my own brain, but from the other people at the bus stop waiting with me. They were not perturbed at the slightest by the situation. One by one they lined up and somehow moved into the marshrutka. I followed suit, not wanting to be left behind. To say the least, we were quite friendly and I was happy that everyone smelled nice. To comment on safety though, ironically it was perhaps more safe with some many people as everyone cushioned one another and kept each other from fallen down during the sudden stops. In either case, I was happy when the first stop was reached and some people stepped out. I was not elated to see a line of people at the stop, waiting for us. I decided to hop off a few stops earlier than needed to enjoy some fresh air and to stretch my cramped legs.

I will admit though, that after the initial shock of being crammed into the bus, I could barely keep from laughing while we bumped back to the center of the city. It was such an experience really. Something to revel in despite perhaps the awkwardness of it all. All of us there were sharing in an experience together and no one really cared whether you were snugged up right next to them (arguably because they had no choice). It's a piece of comradeship and it's a piece of Kyzyl.

Кусочек Кызыла (A piece of Kyzyl): The Market

Walking along the main thoroughfare of Kyzyl (Ul. Kochetova), one immediately notices a steady stream of pedestrians and automobiles moving steadily down a particular side street. I stop and stare and find myself also drawn down that street, as if there is a mass of gravity, pulling anyone towards its center. What is this mysterious physical anomaly? It is in fact nothing that strange at all, it is the city market. But you are not aware of this fact quite yet. 

Continuing down the street with the other pedestrians, you notice that it is a one-way road, whether on purpose or just because, no one knows. You start seeing hints of a market – people have set up tables along the sidewalk selling clothes and accessories. There are piles of second hand clothing, neat rows of socks, and boxes of gloves. You glance at a distance, knowing that if you step too close, your curiosity could be mistaken for a desire to purchase something laid out on the table. Then comes a sign to your left: “City Markets”, this is the beginning of endless rows of tents and stalls.” Like a department store, the market is divided into different sections – food, clothing, hardware, goods for the house, etc. You glance past the sign and see only a tunnel, bordered on both sides by pantyhose dangling from clothesline, hats on racks, and suits and coats on hangers. You rush forward, not allowing yourself to be sucked into the tunnel.

The crowd thickens and the noise increases as cars, trucks, and people all attempt to cross the street. Your nose detects the scent of gasoline and local and foreign delicacies being made in small shacks and stalls. Food is the reason you’ve come today, but not this kind of food. Your goal is to the right a bit – the produce stands. Farmers and sellers stand behind and in front of stands full of an array of bright colors. Watermelons, peppers, carrots, potatoes, tomatoes, onions, beets, oranges, apples, mandarin oranges, and much more are available for purchase. But you aren’t fooled into thinking that each stand’s produce is identical. At a distance, you walk past each stand, noticing the price and the look of each item in turn. Back and forth you go, comparing prices and making note of the sellers from which you will buy.

The next items on your shopping list are meat and milk products. This requires you to step inside the large, metal structure behind the produce stands. Here you are greeted by the sights and smells of birds and beasts that are brought to the slaughter. Before your very eyes, chunks of meat are cut into pieces ready for sale. Beef, pork, and mutton are all available. In many respects, the meat here is used more efficiently. Russian and Tuvan cuisine still call for livers, hearts, fat, and various other parts of animals which we no longer use. The selection is quite large – there are ribs, wings, hind quarters, breasts, intestines, fat, livers, hearts, kidneys, bones. This is the meat department. Ringing it all are the dairy produce stands. Here you find cheeses, milk, yogurt, and the thick, Tuvan sour cream. People are rushing to and fro through narrow aisles. It is overwhelming at first, but you get your bearings. You are sliding past the customers, eyeing prices of meats side by side and comparing them in your head. Sucked into the middle of it all, you do not notice the hustle and bustle around you. That is when you stop and step back and admire it all. Hundreds of people are in here, making connections and building relationships with the people behind the counters. You aren't necessarily going to the stand with the cheapest goods, but to the person you trust and know who is selling you the goods. After you buy each piece of meat or some sour cream or a salad, the person says “Come again!” This isn't just a formality but a sincere request. It is an invitation.

With you bags full of everything you had on your list (plus a little extra), you set off back home. The crowds thin out as you fight against the pull towards the market. Soon, you are back on the main street and back in a different world.

Кусочек Кызыла (A piece of Kyzyl): The Main Square

Sitting. I do love sitting - especially outside in lovely weather. I mean, who doesn't love that? But what is sitting? It is of course, one position in which a being may choose to position its body, usually for rest. Taking a less literal look at it, sitting is in fact a means of saying "stop". Sitting ceases our forward motion as we are at rest and with our physical movement stopped, we are left to focus our energy and attention on other matters - whether that be conversing with someone or ourselves, reading, or merely "being" and watching the world around us. Yesterday, I chose the latter of these options. Sitting on the edge of a flower bed, I beheld in front of me the central square of Kyzyl. The clack of steps on the bricks punctuated the mid

afternoon air, but these were not the steps of soldiers, but of a women rushing to a fro in heels and boots. I was not the only person who decided to sit here that day. Lining the boundaries of the square were benches with people sitting there alone or with company, discussing the days events or making plans for another time, or simply enjoying the air or remembering times past. On the steps of the national theater to my left was a group of students, laughing jovially. Their contemporaries were to be seen all over the square - forsaking benches for the edges of the fountain pool, which was now shut off for the season. All generations were gathered here, from the very young who sat in strollers or waddled on their own around their parents to those who remembered a Kyzyl and world much different from the one they now see. It is a gathering place for all.

In the middle of this place is a small, brightly colored pagoda, inside of which is a prayer wheel. The prayer wheel comes from the Buddhist tradition. From my very quick research, I now know that spinning the prayer wheel is paramount to reciting a mantra or prayer out loud. On the prayer wheel itself is written a mantra in Tibetan. Here in Kyzyl, it isn't just a pretty thing erected in the middle of the city - people use it. Many alter their route across the square to make a few rotations around the prayer wheel before continuing on their way. It is quite beautiful. They are stopping their lives for a few seconds to say that there is something more to this life than just rushing around on our two feet. The prayer wheel attracts the eye and draws attention away from everything else on the square or surrounding the square. Across from me on the opposite side of the prayer wheel stands the

government of the Republic of Tuva. Nearby is the parliament building. Such power and yet all attention is drawn to the prayer wheel. Admittedly with difficulty, I draw my attention away from the center of the square and glance to its periphery.

Off and to the side is Tuvan State University, where I teach. It is painted in a bright beige, making it stand out amongst the Soviet grey of the government buildings. Students and professors are going to and from the main building. While glancing in the direction of the university, my attention is drawn to another figure overlooking the square. It is of course Lenin. Staring at this figure for a bit longer, I cannot help but compare him to Dr. T.J. Eckleburg in Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby." Both figures hold their gaze over their domain, seeing everything. Like the good doctor, Lenin is forgotten in many respects. Lenin hasn't by any means fallen into complete oblivion, but it has been

twenty-two years since the country he founded ceased to exist. My generation and those that follow us no longer read his books or memorize his quotes in school. His picture no longer hangs in every government and educational building. Mayakovsky's immortal words, "Lenin lived, Lenin lives, Lenin will live!" seem to have lost their emotion as Lenin is dead to the imagination of people here. And yet he still stands tall, keeping watch over Kyzyl.

A cool breeze brings me back to the present. The sun is shining still, but clouds are coming in, stealing away the day's warmth. Fall here is spectacular - gold and bright! I could sit here all day, but there is still much to do. I glance towards the post office, my next stop of the day.

Farewell to you dear square. We shall soon enjoy each other's company once again.

Yours,

Joey

Living on the edge...

The River Yenisie near Kyzyl with accompanying snow-topped mountains.

Ever since I saw my first picture of a far away land, I've always romanticized about living in an outpost; on the frontier. I don't know what it was exactly that drew me to such a notion. Perhaps it was nature, as such places are some of the few which humans have not touched or destroyed. Or maybe it was the idea of freedom, of having a wide-open plain to run across or a tall mountain to climb without human imposed barriers, only those that nature puts in our way. And yet, it could also have been the sense of adventure that comes from all of that combined. I got a hint of such a life on Baikal when I visited and now that I've fantasized more and more about it, I finally find myself "on the edge". It is of course perhaps a bit extreme to call Kyzyl, or Tyva for that matter, the "edge" of anything because what is in fact that edge? The world is round, leaving us geometrically with no edges. One could call this the edge of Russia, but for me that implies that a country's borders are stiff and rigid, while in fact they are very fluid (in terms of culture and language). Yet with all that said, "edge" is the most suitable word. "Remote" also has its place here. Last night, I watched the news, both local and national/international. To make a side comment, Russian news is the same no matter where you are. However, seeing and hearing the anchors in Moscow, I felt so far away from "it" all - "it" being the rest of Russia and the world. Here, it is truly remote and wild.

Travelling to the edges of St. Petesrburg and to dachas and standing on the top of Vyborg's fortress to look out onto the pristine northern woods does not compare to seeing mountains here everyday or just living here on the "edge". In those places, I felt "unplugged" from the world and I would have even used the word "disconnected" to describe how I felt. I never though felt as if I were in a remote place. To reach each of those places mentioned above, I took a train and walked for a bit through the woods maybe, travelling no more than three hours. Here on the other hand, no trains are to be found, not even those carrying commercial goods. A long, lonely stretch of two lane road connects us with the cities to the north and an airport, with only propellers to be found, provides the other means of connection. The plane ride is about two hours to Krasnoyarsk - the distance approximately it takes to fly from Peoria, Illinois to Minneapolis, Minnesota. Driving to Minneapolis takes about eight hours, but driving to Kyzyl from Krasnoyarsk takes about sixteen hours (if not more). Another testament to the remoteness is found in the language here. I was glad my Russian skills had improved so much after finding out I was going to be teaching in Kyzyl. I don't know how one could live out here without speaking one of the native languages. That's right, one of them. I thought my Russian would be enough. It is of course, but I never expected that everyone would also be able to speak Tuvan. On the streets, I hear Tuvan spoken more than Russian, while all signs are posted in Russian (official postings come with a Tuvan counterpart). Interactions are easily conducted in Russian, but it is common for locals to speak Tuvan among themselves and then switch to Russian when speaking with me. One good example is the class that I taught the other day. I was speaking entirely in English and the students spoke among themselves in Tuvan while asking me questions in Russian! Of the many ethnic republics in Russia, I've been told that Tuva is the only (or at least one of the few), in which everyone knows the native language (all Tuvans at least, and some of the Russians here as well). 

I do not wish the picture I paint here to appear bleak and I assure you that it is not. All of this remoteness fuels the romance of this place, the "edge". It is indeed beautiful and I am enjoying the adjustment to life here. This post of course cannot do justice to what this place actually is. Therefore, I've decided to present Kyzyl to you in a series of "pictures". I bring you "Кусочки Кызыла" or "Bits of Kzyzl" wit the first post coming soon, so stayed tuned!

Yours,

Joey

Pictures! And an announcement!

Hello dear readers!

    I am officially in Kyzyl! For some pictures from the journey, as well as some pictures from my walk around town today, please have a look at this link:

https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151977138993140.1073741825.615098139&type=1&l=1396d44099

Don't worry, you don't need a Facebook account to view it.

Also, I just wrote two other posts back-to-back, so please have a look at both of them, one about Moscow and one about Krasnoyarsk. You don't want to miss out!

Yours truly,

Joey

Reminders for the journey

The time had come. Five months after receiving notification about the Fulbright and four months after finding out that I was going to be teaching in Kyzyl, I was standing in Moscow's Sheremetyevo airport, awaiting my flight to Krasnoyarsk, the midway point to Kyzyl. The emotions that hit me while I was waiting for my flights to Russia all came rushing back: excitement, worry, sadness, expectation, and all the ones in between. Flights all across Russia were being announced, including ones to St. Petersburg. To say I didn't think about running to they gates for those flights would be to lie. I was embarking on a journey to a place unknown and completely different from anywhere I had been before. In St. Petersburg, I knew people, felt attached to people and to places. I didn't want to leave that behind, but we don't grow by staying in one place. We need to move, either mentally or physically and stretch our legs and mind. I was about to do both.

But in any case, I was panicking a bit. Ok, maybe a lot bit. I was seriously going into homesick mode, for St. Petersburg. Slowly, but surely the minutes and then hours ticked by and the gate was posted for my flight. I headed to the waiting area and soon enough, the announcement came to start boarding. Here goes nothing.

It was a full flight for a 12:40 AM trip to Krasnoyarsk. We left the ground and Moscow lay below us, burning brightly in the night. It was an amazing sight to say the least. More than anything else, seeing the lights at night makes you understand how big the city actually is. I caught my last glimpse of European Russia before our plane slid through the clouds. It was at this time that I realized that I wasn't going to get much sleep. We left Moscow around 1:00 AM and we getting into Krasnoyarsk at around 9:00 AM (according to the schedule, but probably later). The flight was only going to last four hours, so that's the amount of sleep I was going to get if I could even fall asleep. I didn't fall asleep right away of course, also they came around offering us drinks and a light meal. It was delicious, but also a bit strange for a 1 AM flight. No complaints though from my end. I then shut my eyes and did my best to calm my thoughts for at least a bit of rest. Sleep came and went and before I knew it, the sun was shining brightly into my eyes. Of course, we were heading straight for it (going east I mean). The captain announced that we were making our descent and that's when I saw this:

The last time I was in Siberia, it was covered in snow. This was during my trip on the Trans-Siberian railway. After that trip, I swore I would live in Siberia. St. Petersburg worked its magic though (staying there longer and seeing the summer won me over) and now I don't have the same desires as before, but seeing the Siberian landscape spreading out to the horizon awoke in me once again all the feelings I had during that trip. Siberia is mighty and I uttered to myself as we landed, "Ok ok, it is beautiful." It was good to be back out here and the mix of emotions I had felt in Moscow started to recede a bit and I focused my mind on the task of getting into the center of Krasnoyarsk and deciding what I was going to do for the day. I met up with my host who I stayed with during my last tenure in the city. I was planning on just holding up in a cafe for most of the day, but she recommended a spot outside the city. I decided "why not?" I put on my adventure hat and set off on a bus. The place I ended up going to a "Funpark" called "Beaver Ravine". It's a ski/outdoor adventure base. I rode the ski lift up to the top and beheld Krasnoyarsk from above. That was one side of the mountain, on the other side was something like this:

 Nature has a wonderful way of yanking away from me the gift of speech. I can only stop and stare at the majesty of it all. It's a world so beautiful and more or less untouched by us. That in and of itself is an awesome thought to ponder.

What struck me then as I gazed at the awesomeness of the mountains was a sense of calming minuteness. The fresh wind carried away all my fears momentarily and I was reminded right then and there that there is little need to worry about what the future will bring in Kyzyl. The year will be great, the work rewarding, and the connections made unforgettable.

In my opinion, Siberia teaches a person how to live. William Wallace (well, at least Mel Gibson's William Wallace in Braveheart) says that "Ever man (person) dies, but not every man (person) really lives." Travelling across Siberia two years ago changed me perspective on my time in Russia. It was cold and there were moments when I felt rather alone and lost. I got into situations and had no idea how I was going to get out of them. In the end though, I survived and everything turned out great and I returned with a perspective of having to cherish every moment even stronger than the last.

I learned that the harshest and coldest of climates can also be a time for love and fun. The warmest of hearts can warm any person faster than a cup of tea. Looking out into the mountains, I remember all of that and felt reassured that I was where I needed to be for the time being. I don't think I'll stay "out here" forever, but I need to stretch my mind and body further away from what I know.

Without sounding too romantic, I "descended from the mountain" on the ski lift and with renewed purpose, returned to the city, ate some KFC (not my proudest moment), and set off for the bus station.

16 hours lay before me until arriving in Kyzyl.

Let's go.

On the Road: Moscow

It's a cold, rainy night in Moscow. The rain that I avoided while in St. Petersburg has finally caught up with me here in the center of the country. It is of course, not the geographical center of the country, but the political and financial center. All the money is here and it's easy to tell - prices in Moscow are much higher than other places in the country, including St. Petersburg. An example can be found in housing. The listed prices for apartments that I saw in Piter numbered around two million rubles (around 62,000 dollars) while in Moscow, I've seen prices upwards of six million (188,000 dollars). Prices for food, entertainment, and transport all follow this logic.

Moscow for me has always been a place I'd rather visit than live in due to many reasons. First off, the city is huge. I will be the first to say that I very much enjoy living in a big city as opposed to the small towns that I am accustomed too. However, I can't say the same about a megalopolis - and that's what Moscow seems to me. We are located twenty minutes from the center of the city by subway. It is rather close in all actuality, but the thing is, that this isn't the end of the city. Standing on the top floor of our hotel, the landscape spreads out, it seems as if the whole of Moscow is laid bare before us. On one side, you can see towards the center of the city - where the seats of power sit (You can't actually see the Kremlin, just look towards it). On the other side the land expands out with row upon row of apartment buildings. I've seen these спальные районы (literally "sleeping neighborhoods", but better understood as residential neighborhoods) in ever city I've visited in Russia, but this was the first time I was a little bit 'spooked' by the sight of them. The buildings just keep going and going - one square after another. It betrays the size of Moscow and the speed at which the city is growing. Cars move through the streets all night - the city indeed never sleeps.

Main building of Moscow State University - one of the
"Seven Sisters"

The other reasons for my preference to stay in St. Petersburg are political and social. Russia is the largest country on the planet. To fly from one end of the country to the other takes around nine hours - the same amount of time it takes to fly from New York to Moscow. Yet, the political and economic center of the country is located far away from Siberia for example, the piece of Russia's territory that arguably drives its economy. The political culture and system of the country is centralized in Moscow. Everything we hear in the US about Russia usually takes place in Moscow. Many in Russia dream of heading to Moscow in search of opportunities (hence the growth rate of the city). It strikes me as unfair and inefficient that one city should hold such a sway over so many people and such a vast tract of land. I say this with very little idea of what would be better for a country and specifically for Russia. Notwithstanding, it still causes me a bit of grief when people speak highly of Moscow, because there is a lot of potential in the so called "provinces". I'm drawn to those places more or less. We can't forget about people, because then it only becomes a matter of time before we are forgotten ourselves.

Yet at the same time I will not deny that Moscow does not contain beauty. I still enjoy immersing myself into the crowds that wander its streets, even though I do not feel at home among them. Other people do call this city home though and that is beautiful because it means there are stories to be heard, love and loss to be shared, and a present to live in together.

Moscow is one piece (albeit a rather big piece) of the Russia puzzle and is worth learning about and discovering. As the rain continues however, I found myself drawn more to my warm bed, than to Red Square.

Родное место: Санкт-Петербург

"Люблю тебя, Петра творенья..."

My last post concluded with the words, "I knew I was home." It's been a week since I returned, and I can safely say that the feelings of home still remain. At the present moment, I'm sitting in Smolny, the same place where I studied two years ago. I see familiar faces, say "привет" (hello) to those I know, and wander halls that once confused the hell out of me (okay, they still do - that's what happens when you turn a mansion into an educational institution). Everyone asks me if I'm studying here or teaching. I want to answer yes to each and every one of them (specifically that I'm teaching, not studying - I need a bit of a break from that), and come here every day as I did before. That however is not where my road is leading at the present moment. I still need to go further East before returning back again надолго (for awhile).

I could say that it's as if I never left, but I did leave. Just as there are familiar faces still at Smolny, there are just as many that no longer wander the halls. Replacing them are already two new classes of students. These faces are completely new to me. It's easy I think to get nostalgic about a place or a person, and I am certainly a person who gets nostalgic quite often, however it does us no good to constantly live in that nostalgia. It can keep us from living and being in the present. First coming back to Saint Petersburg and Smolny, every spot I had been before would elicit memories, both happy and sad, and pictures of the past. I would stare and remember and an urging inside me would long for a return to those times. Everything was so much better, wasn't it? That is to assume, as if the present is worse than the past. It isn't though - the present is alive and moving and open to just as many possibilities as I experienced in the past. Thus, my nostalgia is disappearing little by little.

I noticed it first on the second day of my being in the city. At first I was afraid, thinking "Oh no! This must mean I don't love St. Petersburg as much as I thought!" I walked to places where I had been, searching for something to be nostalgic about, but it became more and more difficult. I was getting worried. Walking the halls of Smolny, I wanted to feel as if I hadn't left - I wanted to remember all that had happened. I couldn't figure this out on my own though and it took a rather неприятный охраник (an unpleasant security guard) to snap me out of this state. It was the second time I came to Smolny and I had my passport ready. Theoretically, they would let me in (there is a law I believe that states that anyone with a passport can be let into state academic institutions). The security guard that morning apparently did not think I was worthy of that law and did not grant me entrance. I was mad. For one whole year I came and went from this place freely. I studied and worked here and now this guy is telling me I can't enter?! Eventually the problem was resolved with some heated discussion led by one of my former professors (my Midwestern temper just wasn't going to do the job). It hit me like a brick just then: I was taking it all for granted. I had assumed they would let me through without argument and I could continue on as before as if I had not been gone for a year. That's not how its going to work for me though. I have been gone for a year and Smolny has survived, but not the nostalgia and that's okay.

Nostalgia has its place of course. Its what drove me in my efforts to return to St. Petersburg and to Russia. Pictures of the past burned in my mind and soul like fuel in a steam engine. Sometimes the expectations about my return were unrealistic perhaps (like being met at the airport by a representative of the Russian government who would give me citizenship), but it was what I needed at the time. Now that I've arrived, I need to (and have to a certain degree) shed those thoughts and embrace the reality of what is. St. Petersburg is still just as beautiful as it was two years ago, but Russia has changed and so have I, and so have the people I knew. To expect that things will be just as they were two years ago is even more unrealistic than expecting the Russian government to grant me citizenship upon arrival (I'm still holding out though, you never know). Nostalgia like that can be harmful. I'm holding myself in a mold that I've outgrown and the same goes for the city and my friends. Thus I cast aside that mold.

When something bad happens in the past, they say you should forget it and move on. It may take some time, but it is important to move that memory to a place where it won't bother you in the present. I wonder if we do the same thing with happy memories? I've "moved on" in a sense from the happy memories I have in St. Petersburg, because I want to embrace the present and not be bound to the past. It isn't the same as forgetting as I still remember my year here with a smile, although the smile doesn't turn into sad longing. It becomes inspiration for the present. The past, whether happy or sad, can unhealthily hold me in one place. If I'm staring at a building I was in two years ago, remembering those times, I may not notice the new restaurant or museum that opened across the street. Whether I stand or move, the world is rushing past, and I want to be in that rush. Thus I keep the past where it is - in the past.

Yours,

Joey

Departure: The “Leaving behinds” and the “going forwards”

For me, the day before departure is usually surreal. I want to carry-on as if it is an ordinary day, both out of habit and out of a sense that traveling is an ordinary part of life. Yet, it is also the last day I will see many places and people for an extended amount of time (a very long time in this case). All the emotions are present: joy, fear, happiness, nervousness, sadness, anxiousness, and a sense of adventure and expectation. For the first time in a long time, I had packed everything in advance, thus leaving me with little to do but sit around and wait (twiddle my thumbs, watch TV, or patter about nervously). This isn't something I’m so keen on doing. Luckily, my nephew decided to be born on September 1^st two years ago, giving me a bit of a distraction from the waiting. Specifically, this distraction came in the form of a cake.

I volunteered to bake the birthday cake for the occasion – my final farewell so to speak. And what better of a farewell than a cake that will send the little children home with a sugar high and eat away at the enamel of our teeth. Thus was conceived the idea to reincarnate a masterpiece of a cake that was first created in May of 2013 in honor of the completion of a senior thesis (Eric Halvorson’s senior thesis as a matter of fact). To make a long story short (a year-long story in fact), Eric wrote a very large thesis and spent a lot of time on it. Therefore, the only logical cake that would coincide with his masterpiece was a cake of equal size and magnitude. The result (as created by Kelly Dumais) was a triple-layered red velvet cake with cream cheese frosting in between the layers and chocolate frosting over the whole cake. I adapted this for the birthday party by baking a two-layered red velvet sheet cake with the cream cheese and chocolate frosting.

My cake.

The inspiration.

The process of making the cake provided adequate distraction and helped pass the time as well as give me the opportunity to have frosting for lunch. The cake was delivered and the party was fun (as well as a bit noise – little kids and all).

My final day of departure was also marked by the words “Wow, I've made it.” I've waited a while for this moment and finally arriving at the edge of my wait created the mix of emotions listed above. It was only a matter of hours until I left, not days, weeks, or months. Accompanying the sudden onrush of expectation and excitement was a quick run through of my packing exploits to make sure I had everything I wanted to bring. Flights were checked, boarding passes printed, and my passport and visa checked about ten times (to ensure it had not cancelled itself at some point since I received it). There was last minute rearranging of bags as well as goodbyes and itinerary checks. After all that was finished, there was one last ritual that had to be completed – the movie. I didn't actually think about it last night while I was watching the film, but before each big flight (meaning before each time I leave for Russia for back to the US), I watch a movie. Specifically, the film fits a certain criteria – the theme having something to do with new beginnings, finding a new home, etc. The film last night was “Serenity” (a good film based on the TV show “Firefly” – I highly recommend watching the show, then seeing the movie). All was said and done around 11:30 PM. My alarm was set for 3:00 AM. One may ask why I did not lay down to sleep earlier. Well, I couldn't. Even when I did finally slide into bed, I couldn't fall asleep. I was ready to go – full of energy. Not a good combination for sleeping, however I did eventually fall into dreamland after a bit of tossing and turning.

Then came the sound of my alarm – a loud tune, ringing through the halls of my dream. Barbaric. In any case, the time had arrived and I was up. Tea and toast were the order of the day for breakfast with the added touch of eating on the front porch. 3:15 AM is a very loud time of morning in case you were wondering. Bugs were making their music, the chorus raising and raising without much hint at receding. It was beautiful. I even saw three raccoons. Lovely creatures. It was a fitting final breakfast before departure – serene and dark and quiet. The sun wasn't going to be coming up for another couple of hours, at which time we (my parents and myself) were already at the airport.

The goodbyes were said and I boarded the airplane, the first of many (I had a total of three airplanes to ride in before even leaving the US!).

Consequently, my favorite and least favorite moments of flying come at the same time – taking off and landing. I always get a bit tense at those moments. There’s a cool tradition that I've seen in Europe (and especially in Russia): when the plane lands safely, everyone claps. It’s at the same time a “Yay! We’re alive” as much as a way to thank the pilots for getting us to our destination. I like it, so I always clap when my plane lands safely. I haven’t quite figured out what I’ll do if the plane doesn't land all that safely, but let’s hope that doesn't happen really soon. J

Getting back to my adventures flying over the US and then over the Atlantic and Europe, let’s just say that all the planes landed safely, just not at the most desired of times. It all started with a sandwich in Boston. I had enough time between flights to grab something quick to eat. I stopped at a sandwich shop and saw on the menu an item with “roasted vegetables” and “herb goat cheese.” Now that’s what I need, I thought. I placed my order and waited. Now, maybe this is just me, but when I see the words “roasted vegetables,” the word “hot” comes to mind. That isn't apparently what the sandwich shop people think of when they see their own menu. I bit into my sandwich eagerly and was greeted with cold vegetables. It wasn't bad, just not what I was expecting. I finished the sandwich and told myself that if this is the worst thing of the trip, then that’s okay.

I spoke too soon.

Three hours later, I was sitting on the plane to New York and the plane was sitting on the runway in Boston. It wasn't the ideal plan that I had in mind. Bad weather between the cities kept us waiting. I thought for sure that I would miss my flight to Moscow – also not high on my wish list. Recalling to mind my trip back to the US after my year abroad, I ran through JFK to the Aeroflot terminal. I arrived sweating, dragging my luggage behind me to find out that this flight was also delayed. This was a good thing, because it gave me time to get through security and still make my flight. The bad side to this news was that I would not make my intended connecting flight from Moscow to St. Petersburg. As the Russians say “бывает” (it happens). We left New York two hours after our scheduled departure time. Greeting us on the plane though were fine accommodations as well as a warm meal. For those of you who don’t know, Aeroflot has the best airplane food. It’s a fact. The cheesecake we had for dinner (yes, you read correct – cheesecake) was superb! With a full entertainment system in each seat, I settled in for the 9 hour flight.

The rest of the trip turned out fine, as I am now in St. Petersburg writing this post. However, there were little adventures, as always! It’s funny, because I always say, “where there are Russians, there will be adventures.” Oh how true that is! Luckily this time around I had no trouble passing through passport control. That was just wonderful. Grabbing my luggage, I made my way to the Aeroflot desk to find out which flight I would take to St. Petersburg. It was 15:22 and I was registered for the 16:10 flight. Ok, let’s do it! One thing, they told me, I needed to pay for an extra piece of luggage before boarding. Oh, right. After more running, I made it to security, where I was stopped to open up one of my bags. They didn't like something they saw in the scanners. I must add that I made myself proud at this moment, because the lady asked me to open up my bag (they asked and they never touched my bags, perhaps the TSA could learn a lesson from the Russians) and said they saw something metal that could have been eye glasses. She asked me where our the glasses and I responded, “They’re right here” (pointing at my glasses on my head). She chuckled and bit and then went back into business mode and said that’s not what she meant. Eventually, we discovered that the cause of their concern was my clipboard. Then I was off running to my gate. I made it, but I was one of the last passengers to board.

Woohoo!

The rest is very simple: I arrived in St. Petersburg, saw what had to have been half the city’s police force hanging out at the airport (G 20 summit) and ordered a taxi to my apartment.

Piter rewarded me with a beautiful sunset, great weather, and of course, the city itself.

I knew I was home.

All my bags are packed...

My dear readers,

   I am proud to report that all my bags are packed! The moment came today as I balanced out the weights between book bags. The scales speak for themselves: all less than 50 lbs! And within the size requirements as well (more or less - it depends are stringent they'll be at the airport). 

 

I'll be taking 2 checked bags, a carry-on, and a personal item. It's a lot, but with a bit of tweaking, I'll rig up a quick system of maneuvering that'll allow me to race through the airport!

The excitement of this moment is only tempered by the fact that today is Thursday and I don't leave until Monday. I am (not counting today) three days ahead of schedule. That is a record for me - believe me, I NEVER pack this far in advance.

Now what do I do?

Cheers,

Joey

Update from the Front: Shoving (I mean packing!) my things together!

It is the third day since packing began in earnest. I am proud to report that I have consolidated the groups mentioned in Sunday's post into smaller units. Here is a view of what remains to be packed (or rather, "shoved") with other items. As of today, you can see much more of the table than the picture shows. That is a plus!

With everything being consolidated comes the next phase of the "operation", which is to actually pack my bags. This involves just as much shoving as the other phase, but I'm hoping everything will fit. More importantly, I'm hoping everything will fit and the bags won't weigh too much.

Here's to hoping!






And here are the bags of which I speak:

In case you are wondering, that is not a halo.

Hopefully tomorrow or Friday, I shall have a full (but not too full) complement of baggage to show you.

Until then,

Cheers!

Joey

Packing: It won’t do itself

I read a short news story today on the topic of spontaneous combustion. It seems that a large amount of goat manure had spontaneously combusted on a farm in Vermont. No injuries were reported.  How about that to fire up your morning? Well, albeit spontaneous combustion may exist in our world, there is of yet no evidence of spontaneous packing: no self-packing bags, suitcases, self-folding shirts or pants, and certainly no means of shrinking everything into carry-on size to reduce baggage charges. It is therefore the task of the traveler to pack all of her belongings by herself. This is of course easier said than done. One could argue that all I need to do is pack a shirt, some pants, undergarments, socks, shoes, and a toothbrush. That would make the packing easier, but as mentioned in my last post, I am moving to Russia. My life is transitioning with me overseas. For me personally, that requires a transition both of the mental and spiritual variety, but also of the physical kind. I am bringing clothes (warm and cold weather gear), shoes, souvenirs and mementos, gifts, teaching materials, and other miscellaneous items.

Packing is itself a very delicate exercise, one that requires exactness, planning, patience, and a good amount of pressure to shove that little package into the small space left in your backpack. With this said, the process comes with much forethought. To aid myself in packing all the above mentioned items into my baggage, I started gathering things three weeks in advance of my departure, going around the house, picking up shoes, hats, t-shirts, books – thinking of what I would want to bring with me. This process was guided by the question: “What would I like to bring with me?” The fruits of these labors were many and as such required a rather large space in which I could place them. That is where the basement came into the picture.  I commandeered part of our basement, renamed it my “Lair”, and set about organizing my belongings into separate categories. Along with this came the question: “What can I actually take with me?”

Insert evil laugh.

The categories with photographic evidence (in case you think I’m joking or that I haven’t actually organized anything yet) follow:

Clothes

While I strive for a simple lifestyle and don’t usually identify myself as a stylistic person or fashion-guru, I will be the first to admit that I love dressing nicely. Granted, this also comes with the fact that I have quite a few t-shirts and also don’t mind wearing them quite often (perhaps a bit too often, but that’s okay I think). Travelling to Russia this time, I will be the teacher as opposed to the student and thus require a “fancier” wardrobe. While I enjoy dressing nicely, I don’t have in my possession much variety in my finer clothing items. That is where the advice of the great Macklemore came in handy (if you did not catch this reference, I must take this time to introduce you to this artist. Please click here). I went to the dear old Goodwill and spent much more than Macklemore’s twenty dollars and acquired quite a few lovely shirts and some pairs of pants. Some examples are on the right.

 Being in Russia in the winter time (and moreover in southern Siberia), I will of course be in need of good cold-weather gear. Here I have my winter coat, two scarves, gloves, long underwear, and my ушанка (ushanka – winter hat) from last year. I also bought new winter boots. Will these items hold up in the Siberian cold? Well, I do hope so! I will let you know in a few months.

Gifts

One of several traditions I picked up my last time around in Russia was that of bringing gifts to people when you arrive at their home. It also extends to gifting items to friends whom you haven’t seen in a while. They don’t have to be expensive items or specifically items that you bought. What counts, is that they are from the heart and are bought or found intentionally for that person to whom you are giving the present. Here is a small sampling of the items I will be bringing with me across the ocean:

Yes, that it beer! Specifically, beer from Schell's brewery in New Ulm, Minnesota!!

Mementos/Souvenirs

For me, it is very important to build an atmosphere of “home” wherever it happens to be that I designate as “home.” This entails bringing a variety of things along with me. Perhaps another title for this category is “Decorations” as that is the function that many of these items will take.

Who doesn't need a Soviet-era champagne advertisement?

Books

If it were possible, I would bring ALL of my books with me overseas. Would I read them? Well, not certainly all of them, but I would just enjoy basking in their presence. As such, baggage fees, mobility, and practicality dictate that I shall only bring a handful of books along with me. Unlike other times when I've traveled with books, with these I took care to specifically pick out books that I would like to read and furthermore plan to read. I also have some reference books for those times when the internet just isn't doing it for me. Of course, there are also cook books to bring along – culinary adventures await with their linguistic comrades!

Teaching materials

In the midst of all the planning and packing, I have not forgotten the fact that I will be teaching. Over the summer, I've been collecting tidbits here and there to use in my lessons. A novel thing I picked up this past year was that teaching materials don’t have to come from the (oftentimes) overpriced catalogs or book stores. What appears every day and mundane to us, could in fact be a great learning tool for someone else. Teaching a foreign language is a discipline that particularly can take advantage of the “every day”. Students want to see authentic language materials, such as books, maps, brochures, advertisements, that are written for native speakers. It brings the learner into the world of that language. Hence, the assortment of items I've collected includes brochures and magazines, as well as some books.

Cooking

Russia is by no means lacking in cooking equipment, but in an effort to save some money, I am bringing along some items which I acquired over my four years of college.

Items to be shipped

Despite the fact that I have several categories of items, all of which seem quite overflowing in their own right, I do like to travel as light as possible for the given journey. Mobility in the airport and/or city is very important for me. I also will not be in need of all of these items right away. This is where the postal service makes its entrance. I’ll be making the rounds through the above listed categories, looking for items that I can ship by post to my final destination. I’m trusting a lot to luck, as the Russian post is, well how to put it….not at times the most reliable. It’ll be most exciting to guess at the estimated date of arrival of my packages. I’m always looking for the means to make ordinary travel more exciting!

As this post comes to its conclusion, I realize that once again I have avoided actually taking action to pack these items…Well, at least you got a post out of it. Now comes the question of how to pack everything and when to do it. I don’t fly out until the 2^nd of September. Theoretically, I could pack everything today and tomorrow and be ready to go by Wednesday; although that would then leave me restless and itching to go (more so than I am already!). We’ll just have to see.

I’ll send updates from the front, as we progress to the final victory of packed bags!

До скорой встречи!

Joey