Leaving home, arriving home

Sad Moscow airport selfie.

I put my blue paper mask on when I saw I would be seated next to a tiny old woman on the 11-hour flight from Moscow to New York. I heard that masks don’t do much to prevent getting sick, they only curb the spread of your own germs. She had all-white hair and dark eyes and was about as tall as the seat backs on the plane. I offered to help her put her jacket in the overhead bin, she made a comment about me being very tall, and then we settled in for the long haul to the epicenter of the virus in the U.S.

Her name was Inara. We talked a bit while other passengers filed past — students coming home early from a semester abroad, couples who had decided to cut their vacations short and several young people who appeared to be a part of some kind of youth missionary group, all dressed up and wearing name tags I couldn’t read all found their seats in the Airbus that only ended up being half-full (half-empty?) by takeoff.

Inara was born in the USSR, in Yerevan (today’s capital of Armenia) before moving to Moscow and then eventually to the U.S. She was visiting Moscow and had planned to stay until the end of the month, but Turkish Airlines was canceling flights left and right so she decided to return earlier. I told her I was supposed to stay in Russia longer too, but had decided to leave while it was still relatively easy to make it back to my family.

“You know, we have this saying in Russia,” she said, “‘God…’” and then I have no idea what she said after that. She used a verb I wasn’t familiar with and maybe a grammar construction I didn’t understand, but she was patient and explained that we can’t always wait for God to make decisions for us, sometimes we have to make choices for ourselves and that’s just the way it is (or something along those lines — it had been about a week since I had gotten more than four hours of sleep and the ol’ noodle was suffering.).

A few days earlier, I had been sure that I would see this pandemic through while I continued my life in Novosibirsk. But then things started going downhill real fast and I watched via social media as Boren Scholars, Peace Corps volunteers and other Fulbrighters were all called home. My university had decided to extend its two weeks of distance learning to at least a month. The first cases of the virus had been confirmed in Novosibirsk. And after an intervention-esque conversation with my mom, sister, aunt and uncle, I decided it was time to go home (if for nothing but my mother’s peace of mind.).

Well — I was, like, 80% decided. There’s an 11-hour time difference between the east coast and Novosibirsk, which meant that as I went about my day, I wasn’t getting many news updates about closing borders or death tolls nor any messages from friends and family asking if I would return to the States. And because it was all business as usual in Siberia, I felt so removed from the catastrophe. It was easy to ignore. This was what was most difficult — I’d go from feeling absolutely certain that remaining in Russia was the right choice to feeling stupid for not already leaving. It really tore me up. The uncertainty settled heavy in the pit of my stomach and I couldn’t sleep. But ultimately it came down to two things, 1) would I rather be quarantined in a city of almost 2 million people or at home in the mountains? and 2) would I be okay being 24+ hours of travel away from my family should, God forbid, anything happen to them? With my answers decided, I pulled up Aeroflot flights to JFK.

I messaged Marisa, a fellow Fulbright Russia ETA who I admire for her brilliant candidness, to ask how she had decided to leave. She listed a lot of the logistical reasons that had been rattling around my brain for days, but she also said the whole process required a lot of grieving. In was amazed that she was able to so accurately put a word to it: grief. As I packed my bags in the days leading up to my departure, I would be hit by waves of disbelief and sadness, and I was surprised by the familiarity of the feeling. Since my dad died, I’ve spent a lot of time considering the what-could-have-beens, the unrealized experiences we should have had and I mourn the loss of those experiences. It’s almost the same now — the opportunity to further develop relationships with all my students is gone, I won’t be celebrating Victory Day in a crowded Lenin Square or returning to Irkutsk to see Baikal in the summer, and my friends at the climbing gym will keep climbing new routes and I won’t be there to cheer and laugh and fall and chat.

I am lucky and loved living the life I lived with my dad in it; I am lucky and loved living in Novosibirsk with people I admire. Loss is difficult in both cases.

I am fully aware I write this at the risk of sounding self-indulgent/absorbed or dismissive. This is all very “me me me.” Perhaps your’e annoyed after reading this far or maybe you’re recalling that episode of Keeping Up With The Kardashians when Kim is distraught over losing her diamond earring in the ocean and her sister calls up from the blue water, “Kim, people are dying.”

I’m not saying coming home is absolutely comparable to losing a loved one, a reality that tens of thousands of people are coping with in this crisis. People all over the world are suffering, and my losses are few compared to most. I hope that talking about grief and loss in this way doesn’t seem like I’m diminishing the pain of lives lost — I’ll note that' it’s been five years and I’m still shattered by my dad’s death. Conversely, I left Russia a week ago and I’m doing fine now. There are different kinds of grief, but I think all are life-changing. If I had understood the gravity of the situation a week ago as I do now, maybe I would’ve been less devastated or at least less self-absorbed. Or maybe not.

For anyone curious, this is what we had to fill out on the flight (that no one collected or even glanced at!).

I’m so lucky that I had a wonderful place to return to in the U.S. and the financial capabilities/good health to make the journey safely. On Wednesday the 18th, I bought a ticket to head home on the 22nd. On Friday the 20th the State Department issued a Level 4 travel advisory, and I bumped my flight up to leave on Saturday the 21st. After 24 hours of traveling I landed at JFK at 6:30 pm on Saturday (time zones are weird) to an unsettling lack of health screenings. I didn’t see anyone get their temperature checked, not even the couple that had been sitting in the row in front and to the right of me who had spent the entire flight coughing and not covering their mouths (I couldn’t sleep on the flight because I was staring and quietly directing my fury at the pair — couldn’t they see precious Inara sitting next to me? I should’ve said something.). We filled out health surveys on the flight but no one ever collected them — that was the extent of it.

After the new travel advisory was issued, Fulbright decided to suspend all its programs and, from what I understand, even the participants who were committed to staying in their host countries had to return home.

I landed in JFK, sleep-deprived and sweaty — wearing several layers to economize suitcase space was fine in freezing Novosibirsk but considerably less ideal in a nearly 70*F New York. The last bit of Russian I’ll use for a while was a final exchange with Inara at the baggage claim (“Why did they make us fill out these papers if no one is even taking them?” she laughed, waving the health survey at me.).

And now, a full three months ahead of schedule, I’m at my mom’s kitchen table in Thornton, New Hampshire. I’ve been home with Betsy and Meg for a week and the majority of this quarantine has been spent doing yoga and taking long walks in the woods (we’re like the world’s smallest hippie commune.). I miss my students and their enthusiasm and humor. I miss my gym friends Dasha and Genya, who mean more to me than I can express and had way more faith in my climbing skills than was reasonable. I miss Olesya and Dima, who provided friendship and comfort from my very first moments in Novosibirsk. I miss seeing Siobhan everyday and discussing the Russian peculiarities that shaped our everyday experiences.

But that’s the way it is. The snow is still melting and the sky is still blue and the days will keep tumbling past us until this is over — and I’m glad I’m with my mom and sister until that time comes. I’ve been laughing so much the last few days that I really think I’m going to come out of this quarantine with some pretty sculpted abs. So in short, here’s what what I’m grateful for today: to be spending an unprecedented amount of time with my favorite funny ladies, for the internet keeping me connected to folks who live thousands of miles away, and for having the kind of love for Novosibirsk that made saying goodbye so very difficult.

Molly's Siberian Vacation Part Two!

Yesterday I started writing a blog post titled “Social distancing? Don’t know her.” Today I deleted everything I had written because, as happens during a pandemic, things have changed in the last 24 hours. 

I should start by saying that yes, I am still in Russia and yes, I’m hoping to stick around for as long as I can. That being said, we Fulbrighters received an email on Friday from the Bureau of Education and Cultural Affairs that authorized us to leave our host countries at our own discretion. As of today, several of my fellow scholars have purchased their tickets home and are leaving this week. Up until I opened that email, I had been virtually (and blessedly) untouched by the far reaches of the coronavirus. And honestly, in the three days that have passed since, things have been pretty normal. I sit in coffee shops and pretend to do work while I’m really just planning what I’ll have for dinner. The rock climbing gym is still open and I am continuing to be shamed by the eight-year-olds who climb longer/faster/harder than me. The snow is melting and the sky’s still blue and life goes on as ever. 

But then today Olesya called me (as I was wrapping up several hours of lesson planning) to tell me the university is moving to distance learning. I don’t have any lessons for the next two weeks. 

So while there aren’t any official reports of the novel coronavirus in Novosibirsk, the ragged edges of the pandemic are folding in on us. Today, universities closed. Yesterday, a woman sitting near me in the coffee shop was wearing disposable gloves. More people wearing masks, talk of elementary schools and gyms closing, flights getting canceled, so on and so forth until it all adds up to something.

If I’m here long enough to see what that something is, I feel reassured in knowing that I have so many people here and across Russia who are looking out for me. And if it happens that in a month, or a week, or tomorrow I find myself on a flight back to the goat rodeo you’ve all got going on the U.S., then I’ve got lots of quality quarantine time to look forward to with Betsy and Meg. 

So in short, I’m grateful for my own health and the privileges that allow me to social distance. I’m grateful for the precautions people are taking in Novosibirsk before it’s too late. I’m grateful for some unexpected free time and I’m grateful to have such wonderful students to miss during that free time. And I’m grateful for that overused-but-helpful Harry Potter quote -- “What’s coming will come, and we’ll meet it when it does.”

Let's take a moment to appreciate the 55mm prime lens, okay?

I’ve learned a few things while on Fulbright, but making photos while wearing wool mittens is maybe the best of them.

Here’s a quick edit from traveling (not very timely, I know — sorry!). I’ll be putting together a more refined/comprehensive set of Siberia’s Greatest Hits soonish and giving it a more permanent home on my website. So stay tuned, my dudes.

Fishermen on the Yenisei. There seems to be no distinction between summer and winter activities in Krasnoyarsk — a little further up the bank a couple was taking a dip.

Captains Club.

The view from the bridge leaving Tatyshev Park in Krasnoyarsk.

Maybe not the best photo technically but every city I visited had these beautifully crafted ice slides and I was just floored every time.

I walked up a big hill in Krasnoyarsk.

And one more tiny fisherman.

Khuzhir, the main town on Olkhon Island.

Our van was the prettiest.

I know our professors always harped on us to get our horizons straight and I would like to point out to you that this horizon is, in fact straight -- just not our van.

Teeny tiny tourists.

I just love tiny symmetrical buildings and long shadows.

Last night on Olkhon.

A little Lada on the lake.

The village of Bolshoe Goloustnoye, where I literally thought I was going to pee my pants.

Photo creds to the Chinses tourists who took this! Wherever you guys are I hope you’re doing well!!

Fine Folks: Irkutsk Edition

Bear with me folks, this is a lengthy one. But, you know, there are lots of good people out there.

Today I am grateful for:

Babushka

After saying goodbye to Stanislav and Angelina on the platform, I climbed up onto the wagon to find my place on the train. For my 20-hour ride from Krasnoyarsk to Irkutsk, I splurged and bought a kupe ticket, so instead of sleeping in an all-open wagon I would only share a room with, at most, three other women. One room, with doors that close! What luxury! When I slid open the doors to my room there was only a woman in her early 60’s there, sitting at the little table and eating sunflower seeds while she read a newspaper.

“Hello, I think this is my place.”

“What is your place number?”

“26.”

“Yes, your place is that top bunk.”

And she went back to reading her paper.

Based on this interaction I figured that the next 20 hours would pass fairly quietly. I (rather ungracefully, legs swinging) heaved myself and my backpack up onto my bunk. I was trying to decide the best approach to making my bed without toppling off the bunk when the train conductor came into ask which meal we would like for dinner (pasta with chicken or rice with sausage — tough luck for vegetarians.).

“She’s not from Russia,” my bunkmate said of me when the conductor turned to ask me which starch-meat combo I’d prefer. The conductor explained that I’m an American but can speak some Russian. The whole thing made me feel very young — sitting cross-legged on a bunk bed in a too-big turtleneck sweater while these two women talked about me. After the conductor left, the woman poked her head out from underneath my bed, asked a few of the usual questions (What am I doing in Russia? How long have I been here? Aren’t I cold?) and invited me to sit at the table with her.

Her name was Lydia. She lives in Krasnoyarsk and was heading to Irkutsk to visit her brother. Lydia had actually spent a year in West Virginia studying the American tax system (“You have a very strict system and that is a good thing,” she explained while I desperately tried to hide the fact that I absolutely do not understand our taxes) in order to implement some of our methods in Russia. She even wrote four books about the topic. She told me that I should write a book about my time in Russia, and when I showed her my journal and explained that I write about Russia every day, she beamed (“Молодец! Умница!”).

Lydia seemed proud of me for lots of little things in a way that deepened my sense of being extra young, but not in a condescending way. She kept telling me how smart I am — for studying Russian, for reading such a big book (The Goldfinch by Donna Tart), for reserving an all-women room on the train (“A young beautiful girl like you, you don’t need to be around those grandpas.”) I’m not sure what it is about receiving compliments from older Russian women, but it’s just the best. Like, I don’t care what anyone else thinks about me as long as Lydia thinks I’m smart and pretty.

Before getting on the train I panicked because I thought I didn’t bring enough food for the 20 hours. I didn’t end up eating a single bit of food that I brought myself thanks to my pal Lydia here.

At one point Lydia asked me if I was hungry, and I said not really, but still she decided that we should just have a snack while we waited for dinner. And this woman pulls an absolutely ridiculous amount of meat out of her bag (“You need to eat a lot of meat so you can be a stronger rock climber!”), a fully Russian meal complete with pickles and bread. I still wonder if she brought all that food with the plan to eat it all herself or if she knew she would share with whoever she bunked with.

We arrived in Irkutsk at 8 AM the next day. As we were leaving, the train conductor was visibly distressed when she found out I didn’t have anyone meeting me at the station and repeatedly asked Lydia to make sure I made it to my hostel in one piece. I think normally I would have been a little annoyed by this, someone thinking I can’t even order a taxi for myself, but more than anything I was moved by the fact that a total stranger seemed to genuinely care about my welfare.

When we stepped off the platform, Lydia’s brother and his wife were right there waiting for her. I liked her brother — he spoke in a way that made everything seem like an inside joke. They called a taxi service for me (I didn’t have the heart to point out that it would be much faster and easier to use my ride-sharing app), and they waited with me in the train station until the driver arrived.

I was sad to say goodbye to Lydia. She gave me a big hug and wished me luck, and stood waving from the sidewalk until my taxi had carried me all the way down the street.

Simply put, a very good friend.

Like I said, Olesya connected me with some of her political colleagues before I left on my trip, which is how I came to know Grisha. I have a hard time sleeping on trains, so I was still pretty tired when Grisha came to pick me up at my hostel.

I had decided to visit Irkutsk because I wanted to see Lake Baikal, but hadn’t thought much about what I’d like to do in the actual city. I thought visiting the local art museum would be a good place to start (also at this point Grisha was basically a stranger to me, so I figured if Grisha turned out to be some weirdo we could quickly through the museum and call it a day, not much commitment (and Grisha if you’re reading this, I don’t think you’re some weirdo.).). The art museum is where I realized what a good egg Grisha is. In each room, there was an attendant (invariably an old woman) who would answer questions and scold you for standing too close to a painting. Whenever I see these attendants I can’t help but think they much have the most boring job. In most museums I’ve visited the attendants are often either on their phones or asleep. But Grisha liked talking to these women, asking about different pieces and who were the portraits of and from which collector did they come from. And after these women answered he would turn to me to ask if I had understood, and re-explain in simpler terms if I needed it.

Лошади.

That was the best thing about Grisha — he was one of the most patient people I’ve ever met and friendly with everyone. And by friendly, I don’t mean American-Friendly, where we smile at strangers and laugh at jokes that aren’t funny. In fact, Grisha really didn’t smile much, as is characteristic to most Russians, and he always spoke quietly and slowly. But you could tell that when he was having a conversation with someone, he was really listening.

One of my last days in Irkutsk, Grisha offered to take me out to a little village on the shore of Baikal so I could see the bubbles frozen in the ice. We drove for two hours to get there, driving through the Siberian landscape that looks just like New Hampshire. There were a couple of times when we drove by fields with horses, and each time Grisha would look at them and then just say, “Лошади.” It made me think of this meme and it’s good to know it’s a universal phenomenon.

If you know me well, then you know I need to pee approximately every 20 minutes. So you can imagine my panic when we made it to the village and there were no public restrooms or even restaurants. I kept it together for about an hour while we walked around the lake, but by the time we got back to the car and were just sitting and waiting while it warmed up, I was sweating. I turned to Grisha.

“I STRONGLY need a toilet.” Sounds gross translated to English.

We drove up and down the only two roads, and nothing. There was a man smoking a cigarette on the street, and Grisha pulled up next to him to ask if there were any open restaurants open. The man asked for ten rubles ($0.16), and when I passed him the money, he said no, nothing is open this time of year. But, to my great relief, he said we could just use his toilet.

This was not my first experience using an outdoor squatty-potty in -10*F weather, but it was the first time I did so while absolutely brimming with gratitude. I stepped out of the little outhouse (which was too small for me to stand up in), feeling rejuvenated and smiling my crazy American smile. Side note: whenever I use a squatty-potty I have these intrusive visions of myself misplacing a step and one leg going right through the hole and plunging in the mess below. Using a squatty-potty covered in ice makes these visions feel all the more closer to reality.

I stood in the yard with the man while Grisha used the toilet. The man was saying something to me, but I had a really hard time understanding him. I eventually realized he was inviting us in for tea, and, not wanting to be rude, I said yes. That’s when Grisha came back, and the man told him we were going in for tea. Grisha seemed unsure, and when he looked at me, the man said that I had already agreed.

“She always agrees with everything,” Grisha laughed, and I thought he was going to add “because she usually doesn’t understand what’s going on,” but he didn’t. A good egg.

Grisha ran out to his car to get some chocolate one of his friends had recently gifted him. The man introduced me to his three cats and put some water on to boil. There were three rooms in the house — dining room, living room, bed room — with two wood stoves to heat the place (and I think could also be used for cooking?). It was an old house — he had lived there with his mother until she passed. It was pretty clear that the man was not well off; the rugs and furniture were faded and worn and I could feel the draft coming through an ill-fitted wooden door. Grisha had to carry the conversation since I couldn’t contribute much. He and the man talked about village life and how there was no work to be found. I think they talked about how people would go ice-fishing on Baikal not for fun or to sell, but just to feed themselves (as a disclaimer I’m not entirely certain I fully understood the conversation.).

I’ve had many conversations with people about poverty in Siberia. Moscow is so wealthy and developed, it almost feels like another country. Out here in central Russia, I’ve met people who only make a couple of hundred dollars a month. And this is one of the most uncomfortable parts of Fulbright — the amount of money we’re given is absolutely enormous when you consider most of us work less than 20 hours a week. Here I am, just some 22-year old kid with no relevant work experience, making two or three times as much money as the educated adults around me. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, it’s just a part of Fulbright I’m not sure many people see. This year is supposed to be an immersive experience, which it definitely is, but we also have this incredible privilege of wealth that allows us the option to expose ourselves only to the niceties of our host countries while avoiding the very real and pervasive problems our friends and colleagues face.

Grisha looking at tiny bubbles.

Maybe this isn’t the most eloquent or clearly purposed bit of this blog and I’m probably not the right person to speak on this issue. But I think about that man all the time and wonder if any of my students grew up or are now living in a similar situation.

Anyways, I’m grateful for the Man on Baikal for letting us use his toilet and sharing some tea with us, and I’m grateful for Grisha being so kind to me and to literally everyone else we came across.

The Artist and the Florist

I was in a cafe on the phone with Gabriel (the last time we talked before his deployment!) when my waitress came up to me.

“A strange question, but can I have your Instagram?”

Dasha messaged me me not long after, I think from the kitchen of the cafe. She saw the sort of photos I post on Instagram and said she also really loves photography, that she actually studied to be an art teacher. A few days later we met for coffee, joined by her husband (“Can I invite my love? He’s very funny,” she had texted me.). Dasha was only 21, but seemed older, and her husband Misha really was pretty funny.

When I mentioned that I was leaving Irkutsk the next day, Dasha told me that I have to write her when I return in June (it took maybe 48 hours in Irkutsk for me to decide that I definitely want to go back when it’s warm.). Then she reconsidered —

“Come to our house for dinner! Misha will cook something. And you can spend the night!” I didn’t love any of the hostels I stayed in Irkutsk. The day before getting coffee with Misha and Dasha, my hostel ran out of cold water (I’m not really sure how that happens when it’s -10*F outside?) and there was only scalding water that was too hot to shower or wash your hands with. So I figured staying in a real home would be a good change of pace and a nice way to end my trip.

That evening, after she had gotten our of work, Dasha met me at my hostel and we took a taxi to their home, which they had just bought not too long ago. It was basically one giant room, with the dining table in the middle, a bed in one corner and a sofa in another. Dasha’s different artworks were hung up on the walls— my favorite was a nearly-finished piece still on the easel of an old woman on a yellow background.

Dinner took a while to make because there was a lot of dancing going on. Misha pointed out that the best part of living in a house instead of an apartment is that there’s no one to yell at you for playing music too loudly. We stood in a circle while the pasta was boiling, and Misha would dance while Dasha and I copied him. And then he pointed to Dasha and we copied her, and then it was my turn to lead. We went around like this until we were sweaty and out of breath and all collapsed on the bed. We looked at the ceiling and Dasha pointed out how one of the knots in the wood looks like a cockroach. I asked them how they had met (on the internet! Take that, boomers — say what you will about millennials and technology addictions but here is the cutest couple I’ve ever met and they found each other on that wonderful world wide web.) and I told them how Gabriel and I met. They told me about their trip to Thailand and showed me their tattoos, a couple of which Dasha had done herself. I told them how I like to rock climb and they showed me a song by Russia’s most famous singer called Skalolazka (which is what you call a woman rock climber). It turned out they usually invite foreigners over for dinner when they come across them, just because it’s interesting and there aren’t too many Russian-speaking foreigners who spend much time in Irkutsk (I think the last guy they had for dinner before me was an Israeli guy named Nathan.). And, of course, they were endlessly patient every time I asked them to repeat something or as I tried to string sentences together myself.

A rushed selfie approximately one minute before the taxi arrived.

For dinner Misha made fish and pasta with a creamy sauce — it was amazing. We also had home-pickled vegetables, which is a pervasive part of Russian dining culture. Misha explained that since there were devastating famines in the Soviet Union, members of the older generation have made it a habit to preserve fruits and vegetables each year, just in case. I had brought a big purple cake for dessert, which Misha and Dasha were pretty excited about. They started chanting “Cake! Cake! Cake!” as we were slicing it.

We went to bed pretty early since Dasha had to work the next morning and I had an early flight.

“Molly, did you have any dreams last night?” That was the first thing Dasha said to me in the morning (after fifteen minutes of alarms going off and getting snoozed, not a single one of us actually getting up) and I think that gives you a pretty good idea of the kind of person she is.

When the taxi came to bring me to the airport, Dasha and Misha both walked out into the street with me to see me off. That was probably the best way I could’ve ended my trip — a belly full of kasha, hugs and cheek smooches from two new friends in a still-starry-skied Siberian suburb.

Fine folks: Krasnoyarsk Edition

Jeez Louise I’m a mess. Writing drafts out on my phone proved to be more difficult that I was willing to put up with on my travels. I tried, I failed, and I’m moving forward.

I landed in Novosibirsk this afternoon, and as happy as I am to be back and feeling at home, I’m a little sad that my solo jaunt across Siberia is over. I really had the most wonderful time. All day today, as I bought a few groceries and sat on the bus to the gym, I kept smiling to myself like a dope as I remembered moments from the last couple weeks.

I’ve never traveled by myself before, and a couple of days before I left I started to panic a little bit. I thought the combination of my introvertedness and low Russian level would prevent me from having any kind of meaningful experience. I imagined myself not talking at all for two weeks and what it would feel like to move through the Siberia I love with no one to share it with.

But of course, I was being stupid. Before leaving for Krasnoyarsk, I had too much time to sit around and overanalyze my own flawed character and forget that people everywhere are curious, kind and patient. This trip really involved an enormous cast of characters, and I’m so happy to have shared time with each of them.

So, to give an overview of my time in Krasnoyarsk and Irkutsk, I’m chronicling it here in terms of all the good people.

Today I am grateful for:

The Power Couple

The day before I left for Krasnoyarsk, I went to Olesya’s for dinner. When I told her I was traveling alone, she went right to social media to see who she could connect me with. Fortunately for me, Olesya is very involved with the Yabloko Party, and has colleagues all over Russia. This is how I came to meet Stanislav and Angelina.

We met for drinks at this cool underground bar, and at first, I was a little intimidated by the pair. Stanislav was wearing a sports jacket and Angelina was in a black button-up blouse and a nice skirt. I was still a little bedraggled from the 12-hour train ride, wearing a newly-thrifted sweater with a hole in the shoulder I had tried to patch up. But once we started talking (and they were very patient with my Russian!) I loved them both. They’re brilliant. I’ve met a lot of Russians who don’t have much interest in politics or have just disengaged, so I was glad for the opportunity to learn about the existence/limitations of free speech and freedom to assemble, about elections and opposition parties.

Stanislav and Angelina invited me to visit an art gallery with them the following day. It featured an artist from the Republic of Khakassia (which is a region right next to Krasnoyarsk), Yuri Khudonogov. I’m really not an art buff, but he used a lot of thick paint to paint a lot of different things in a lot of different ways. My favorites were his landscapes — I had never even heard of Khakassia, but his paintings made it look so inviting, a lot of steppes with yellow grass and small mountains in gray-blue. I told Angelina that I’d like to visit Khakassia, to see if that’s what it really looks like. She told me about her former classmate, who went on an excursion through the region with a shaman, and they boiled milk or something in order to feed the spirits of the land or something like that. I’d probably like to do that too.

My Banya Buddy

Amy is a freckle-faced Englishwoman who just spent the last semester in Moscow. We met at Hovel Hostel in Krasnoyarsk (which was an awesome hostel — free breakfast and good free coffee — just FYI, in case you’re ever in the area). She’s also studying Spanish, so she’ll be spending the next semester in Peru, and overall her academic life sounds rad as hell. She wore awesome green corduroy overalls and has a tattoo of a bee. In the true Trans-Siberian spirit, Amy was on her way to Irkutsk (all the way from Moscow! That’s a lot of train time), and from there she planned to fly to China for a little more exploration.

We arrived on the same train and on our second day in the city, we both found ourselves with nothing planned. Amy said she wanted to go the a banya since she had never been to one before, so that’s what we ended up doing.

For folks who don’t know, a banya is a Russian sauna. You sit in a little wooden room and pour water on hot coals and when you can’t take the heat anymore, you run out of the sauna and jump into a pool of cold water (or a lake or just roll around in the snow.). The other important part is there’s a bundle of birch branches tied together and you’re supposed to, like, just beat each other with them. I’ve never really understood this part but it always makes me giggle and maybe that’s all it’s supposed to do for me.

So anyways there we were, two sweaty gals hitting each other with sticks and just happy to be speaking English. We talked about the Royal Family (this was a few days after Megan and Harry announced they’d be stepping back), university life and when I mentioned I’d be heading to Moscow after Irkutsk, Amy gave me her members’ card to a hedgehog cafe since she wouldn’t be needing it.

The Climbing Crew

After my muscles got all loosey goosey from the banya, I decided to check out one of the local climbing gyms. It was a bouldering-only gym, so it was quite small. Being as new as I am to the sport, I’m always a little intimidated when I go to a new gym, and this was no exception. I’m not sure how to describe the climbers I saw there besides saying they were just cool. They all seemed to be wearing sleek black outfits and were all good looking and doing a lot of dynamic moves I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do. The routes weren’t marked in a way that I could recognize, and I almost left because I was so overwhelmed. But then I saw a tall guy wearing sneakers instead of climbing shoes and I figured he was an instructor, and it’d be worth a shot asking for help (the ultimatum: get help or potentially be totally embarrassed if I didn’t understand whatever he responded with and just stare at him blankly, as I tend to do.)

Luckily for me, Igor is maybe one of the friendliest people I’ve ever met. He didn’t seem at all phased when I spoke broken Russian with my thick American accent, and just pointed out an easy route with purple, slopey holds for me to try. He told me to find him again when I finished, and we’d move on from there. I finished fairly quickly, and Igor suggested I just join a session he was doing with two other girls my age. We went over to Gelya and Nastya, who are both strong, beautiful and kind. We took turns trying out the different routes Igor made up for us, and there were many words of encouragement and high fives all around, although I was only successfully able to finish two of the four routes. It felt good to cheer others on, and pretty soon a few other people had joined our little group.

As the gym was getting ready to close, we all sat on the mats, stretching and talking. Gelya explains to me that she’s actually an English teacher at one of the best language institutes in Krasnoyarsk, and then just starts speaking perfect English. I felt a little spark of pride that she didn’t feel like she needed to switch to English sooner, that she could more or less understand my Russian.

The Girl Gang

Back at the hostel after climbing, I found a group of six Europeans — four Germans, a Finnish girl and a Spanish girl — had arrived and were staying in the women’s dorm with me and Amy. They had all spent the last semester in Saint Petersburg, and decided to spend their last weeks in Russia traveling from Irkutsk all the way back to Saint Pete’s before heading home. Amy was leaving for Irkutsk the next day, but the girls invited me to hike around Stolby Nature Reserve with them the next day. And hike we did — and slip and fall and stumble up to the cliffs. When we got to the top I couldn’t believe how much the landscape looked like New Hampshire. It made me a little homesick, but I was also elated to be back in the mountains.

I think it took us three hours to get to the peaks and maybe an hour to get down. All the hikers before us had had those little portable sleds that have only enough space for your butt, so the trail was smooth from all their descents (which is why we kept slipping on the way up). But it was smooth enough that we could skid down even without the sleds. We really just threw ourselves down the mountain, shrieking and crashing and laughing. I ruined the knees of my snowpants and took a good nap when we got back to the hostel. It was a good winter’s day.

I’ve meandered into a new time zoNe

A few weeks ago I drafted a post about New Years and tacos and ugly calluses on my hand. I’ve sat down to work on it several times, but just haven’t been feelin’ it. Not that any of those things are insignificant — I spent New Years with the most wonderful family, the tacos were a tasty surprise, and the rock climbing gym (aka the cause of my ugly hands) has become quite important to me. It a lot has happened and my list of other things to write about is longer and more pressing than that list which I already drafted. And I kept saying, I’ll just finish NewYearTacoCallus* post and then I’ll write about all this other wonderful stuff. But like I said, I just wasn’t feelin’ it. So in the spirit of 2020, I’m letting it go. I’ll get around to it eventually (probably), since Russian New Year is actually pretty interesting and those tacos were actually really good.

All cozied up to sit for 12 hours. Ate an entire sleeve of crackers for dinner. Was really quite happy to be alive and surrounded strangers with a post-crackers chocolate bar to look forward to.

I’m on the move now, and have been for about a week. I’ve traveled 1,148.2 miles and am tapping out this little post on my phone (my backpack is full of sweaters and train snacks — no room for a laptop) from where I lay in my hostel. I’m listening to folks in the other room play cards and drink tea and someone two bunks down from me is snoring. It’s difficult for me to write much on a phone, so I’ll keep the next few posts short, but I really want you to know about Krasnoyarsk and Amy and the guys we met at the banya and Stanislav and Angelina and eating a mini-khachapuri and Igor the climbing instructor and how I slid down a mountain with four Germans, a Spaniard and a Finnish girl.

So my goal is this: to break down these experiences into bite-sized little stories that won’t tire my thumbs out and to hopefully share them every day. Again, writing that sentence here for the sake of accountability.

So anyways, tune back in tomorrow. There should, if all goes well, be some new content about my Trans-Siberian meanderings.

*I realize now that these words strung together like that actually sounds pretty gross. Sorry.

Radio Silence

Last night I was on a bus from Barnaul back home to Novosibirsk, a five-hour trip, in an old blue bus with seats upholstered in wacky-patterned velvet. There were six of us in this vehicle meant for 40. It was very comfortable. The best part was one passenger, a woman, was sitting up by the driver and she must have been telling some pretty funny stories because she was just laughing and laughing and laughing. Like, real, loud, unapologetic laughter that you don’t hear often on late-night public transport. And when she wasn’t laughing you could hear in her voice that she was smiling.

I listened from four rows back, snacking on mandarins and trying to measure the amount of snow covering the passing landscape to the snow that must now be blanketing New Hampshire.

I think about New Hampshire a lot. I miss New Hampshire a lot. I don’t write that as an expression of wanting to go home, but I’m grateful that I have a place to miss and to look forward to returning to in July.

It’s January 3rd and I’ve had a full week of winter break so far. I celebrated the New Year in Barnaul with a wonderful family and ate a lot and raised many glasses to 2020. I’ll write more about all of that in my next post. But the thing about spending time with such a wonderful family is it makes me miss my own wonderful family.

I just wanted to make a quick post because it’s been almost a month since my last one. I’ve been pretty consumed by 1) the end of the semester, 2) the holidays, and 3) just thinkin’ my thoughts and missin’ my people.

But, in the great words of esteemed artist Papoose, I’m back on my bullshit. I have the next 43 days off (I know, wild!!) and I plan to photograph more and write with some regularity (and while we’re at it with this resolutions thing: eat more vegetables, do more yoga, and talk to strangers on the bus who clearly have funny stories to tell).

So anyway, that’s me here and now. Thanks for checking in. :)

In the market for a teeny tiny tiara.

Last night I had trouble sleeping because I kept thinking about the trajectory of life so far and things have really been on the up and up. I wish I had paid less mind to the people who told me college would be the best years of my life (what a terrible thing to tell a young person, right?). High school was good and Syracuse was a little bit better and now here I am in Russia having never felt more brave, more loved, more in tune with the process of growing. I know, it’s corny! And here I am, putting it on the internet for anyone to judge me. See? More brave.

I am grateful for:

The views from classroom 319. 

I realized I’ve never really understood how outdoor ice rinks are constructed. Turns out sometimes it’s just a guy in a field with a hose. 

Universities in Russia actually require that students take P.E. classes. I think what these classes look like depends on the university, but here they seem to mostly involve walking, specifically Scandanavian walking, as I’m told its called. I look out the window mid-lesson and see a line of a dozen or so people all following one behind the other along little pathways patted down by other Scandanavian walkers. Each person walks with their own set of ski poles and when they’re all done walking, they regroup to do some final stretching.

A personal tour of the local USSR museum. 

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Sometimes my weekends begin with coffee in bed or reading in a cafe. This weekend began with me starting down a bust of Lenin while “Fat Bottomed Girls” by Queen blared from a record player. 

That’s right, I made my obligatory visit to the USSR Museum. It’s located in this little wooden building and you have to ring the doorbell once to be let in (if you ring twice I think you get sent to the man selling stamps in the back? Not totally sure.) The man who let me in was wearing a leather jacket and spoke to me in a slightly-confusing-but-very-endearing mix of Russian and English. There were seven or eight different sections and almost every inch of wall space was covered by old memorabilia. Every aspect of life was represented: what kind of cookbooks people used, how children studied, what soldiers wore to war, and so on. I was the only one in the museum, which meant both the people working kept popping in to explain things to me, and eventually just led me room to room. They also insisted that I get a photo of myself, and though it was uncomfortable at first, in the end I’m grateful for it. 

Tchaikovsky and the unbelievable quads of ballerinas.

Have you ever loved something so much you wished you could incorporate it into every part of your life? Because that’s how I felt about Swan Lake. Like, maybe I should start wearing a tiny tiara like Odette. And I should probably work on my posture. And instead of normally walking places I should move only in twirls and grand jetés. And If I get married and ball out on a boujie wedding my first dance will be to any of the songs of the first act and I’ll wear one of the lighter-than-air skirts worn by all the heartbroken ballerinas the prince rejected in favor of Odette. 

The theater itself, called Novat,  is really amazing (I learned about it at the USSR Museum!). It’s the biggest theater in Russia, even bigger than the Bolshoi in Moscow. It was built and opened during World War II and held collections from the Hermitage and Tsarskoye Selo as the war raged on. The Leningrad Symphony Orchestra was sent to Novosibirsk during the war as well, and they performed more than 500 concerts here.

So anyway, this is a really beautiful place with really beautiful performances. Siobhan and I are going to see Cinderella next week, and soon I’ll buy my tickets to The Nutcracker. I’m grateful to have these kinds of artistic experiences to look forward to.

Mastering The Key.

There’s a special bathroom for teachers at my university, and I have the great privilege of being allowed to use it. It’s very clean, there’s always toilet paper and a toilet seat (for some reason there aren’t always toilet seats in the student bathrooms). So I’m a big fan of this teachers’ bathroom.

Maybe part of my problem is just that the Russians have a flair for dramatic key fashioning and I’m still getting used to it.

However, my problem has been this: I am not good at using keys.

I don’t know what it is, sometimes keys are just really difficult for me. Maybe it’s because I was lucky enough to grow up in a safe neighborhood where we never locked the door, or maybe I’m still developing some final fine motor skills 22 years into this life. For the last few months, my process has been this: take the key from the teachers’ lounge, walk across the hall to our special bathroom, spend a full 3 minutes trying to unlock the door while students look on, give up, return key to the teachers’ lounge, go use the students’ bathroom.

But finally this week something clicked. I’m on a roll and have been unlocking and locking the special bathroom like it’s my job.

So far my Fulbright experience has included a few moments of intense pride and this was definitely one of them.

Yekaterinburg? More like HECK YEAHkaterinburg.

Strap in folks — I’ve spent the last three days in Yekaterinburg and I’ve got some things to say about it.

Today I am grateful for:

The enthusiasm of 150+ participants at a speaking club in Yekaterinburg.

Do you know the story of Betty and Barney Hill? The couple who claimed to have been abducted by aliens in 1961 while driving through rural New Hampshire? Because a very large group of Russians now know this story after I was asked on the spot to share something that makes my hometown unique.

If you have had literally any kind of interaction with me, you probably know that I’m not much of a talker. And from there, you can probably draw the conclusion that I’m not great a public speaker (But I’m getting better! Progress, people.). For that reason, teaching and conversation clubs are difficult for me — all that attention sort of short circuits my brain and suddenly I’m fixated on an alien abduction story or whatever else.

Girl power, amiright?

BUT I do love meeting and exchanging stories with new people of all different backgrounds. This speaking club was really amazing — it’s organized each month by the U.S. Consulate in Yekaterinburg and it’s HUGE. What I love about speaking clubs, in general, is that everyone wants to be there; typically no one is being forced by a professor or whoever else to show up. Each person shows up for themselves, and I think that that’s really admirable. This club meeting had a spectacular range of age and proficiency, and it was so wonderful to speak so many different kinds of people.

The club meeting started with four women and myself sharing about ourselves and why we’re in Russia, followed by a quick Q&A session (“What do you think of Russian men?” was a bold question but I commend the asker for not holding back.) And then came the fun part — we moved from table to table, each with 10-15 people, and we just had free conversations. We talked a lot about holidays, how Thanksgiving is similar or different to the Russian New Year; I talked about my experiences with my outing club and they, with knowing smirks, told me to look up the story of Dyatlov Pass; we talked about Black Friday and how stores in Russia will have many “Black Friday” sales throughout the year.

Dinner with diplomats.

Someone brought these Reese’s Cups and Double-Stufffed Oreos to Russia from the U.S. months in advance just for Thanksgiving and I am so grateful for that foresight.

So we went to Yekaterinburg at the invitation of the US Consul General to celebrate Thanksgiving with the few Americans who are living and working in this part of the world. You should know that Yekaterinburg’s US General ConsuI’s name is Amy Storrow and Amy Storrow is the most wonderful and welcoming woman you could hope to spend Thanksgiving with. She had a career in creative writing before joining the foreign service, and that in itself I love. We celebrated in her home, with her cat and a whole host of characters connected to the State Department. There was Anya, a Fulbright researcher who speaks the most beautiful Russian of any America I’ve ever met; Tony, the diplomatic security guy who had all sorts of good stories; Ben, the super friendly 16 year old who vaguely reminds me of a golden retriever (in a good way, obviously!); Matthew, the Public Affairs Officer who seemed so genuinely interested in our experiences living in Russia so far; Ivan (whose role at the consulate I’m actually not too sure about), who was well-dressed and laidback and most importantly an alum of Syracuse (Go Orange!) and so many other folks. t’s funny to think about spending Thanksgiving with a group of strangers, but it’s funnier to think that these folks never felt like a group of strangers to begin with.

And don’t get me wrong, I like Russian food, but I was surprised and elated that nothing we ate for dinner tasted even remotely Russian. No dill, no mayonnaise, but real homemade mac ‘n’ cheese, pecan pie, and sweet potato casserole (I literally have not seen a single sweet potato in the three months I’ve been here).

So anyway, I’m grateful to have spent my favorite holiday with a wonderful group of people but I’m even more grateful to know that such kind and brilliant people are the ones representing our country in this part of the world.

Seeing the sights, learning some history.

I couldn’t get enough of the trams. I’m not sure what it is about them, but I could stand on a street corner all day and watch them go by. We have them in Novosibirsk too, but the sheer number of trams in Yekaterinburg just floored me. They just zipped up and down the streets with occasional sparks flying from the overhead wires. After landing in Yekaterinburg at 6:30am, Siobhan and I dropped our bags off at our hotel and set off into the city as the sun was still trying to make its way up and over the horizon. I fell in love with the trams as we were walking to the Church on Spilled Blood.

The Church on Spilled Blood is a Russian Orthodox Church that was built on the site where the Romanovs were killed. If you don’t know the story of the Romanovs, you should read up or check out “The Last Czars” on Netflix. It’s a real heartachey kind of story. In short, the family was imprisoned after the February revolution and then killed in Yekaterinburg in 1918 because the Bolsheviks were afraid the White Army would come to occupy the city. Nicholas II, his wife Alexandra, and all five of their children were shot in the basement of an engineer’s house. The bodies were initially dropped in a pit near a mine (they were soon moved to a different location so they couldn’t be so easily found.). There is now a monastery at the site of this pit, with seven chapels built around the site, one for each member of the family. Each year, on the anniversary of the murders, there is an all-night service at the Church on Spilled Blood and at dawn, everyone walks four hours to the Ganina Yama Monastery.

Not breaking any bones while climbing up onto the Europe/Asia border monument.

The thing was just real slippery.

Also I guess we missed the memo about bringing ribbons — there must have been thousands tied to the fences and trees, I think for good luck.

Safe travels to and from and all around.

I’m really grateful to have been granted this time off from teaching so that I could go connect with other English learners as well as other Americans. As much as I love Novosibirsk, it was nice to see a different part of the country and experience something with fresh eyes. I’m a super anxious traveler, but getting around here is a lot easier than in the states, and I’m grateful for that, too. This trip definitely sparked a little Dan-Eldon energy in me and I’m excited to start planning my next Russia excursion.

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Ketchup and salsa are basically the same thing, right?

Today is a good day because I found a nice cafe that sells chickpea burgers and the cashier actually understood me without asking me to repeat my order. I celebrated by adding a pineapple/ginger/jasmine lemonade to my order. A good day.

In other news, today I am grateful for:

David’s visit.

David took an overnight train to arrive in Novosibirsk not-so-bright and early at 7 am on a Saturday morning (the sun doesn’t rise until almost 9am here). David is a fellow Fulbright ETA who is working at a pedagogical university in Omsk. He majored in political science and Russian but also knows a lot about finance. He is not - and this is an important and valuable characteristic - the kind of finance guy who will make you feel bad when you have to ask what it means when a company goes public or what do venture capitalists even do.

Just look at this big birdy boi and tell me you don’t get at least a little nervous.

David’s visit meant that Siobhan and I got to play tourist again. We made an encore trip to the zoo to show David the freakin’ massive birds that are somehow simultaneously both glamorous and chilling. We also got to see the two baby polar bears and their mama playing together, which I think really warmed all our little hearts in the subfreezing temperatures.

We also made a trip down to the riverbank, and I need to make a point of heading out there again soon. The river Ob moves slowly, so it freezes where it’s shallow close to the shore, and it’s extremely satisfying to throw rocks and see the perfect little rock-shaped holes they leave in the icy sheets. There’s an enormous Ferris wheel right there on the bank, and Siobhan (with her impressively good sense of geography) pointed out to David where our respective universities are located. From way up there in the clear cold dusk, Novosibirsk was really looking her best.

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We wrapped up by getting dinner at what we thought was a Mexican place but was really just a bar that had fajitas on it’s menu. There was no salsa, but the ketchup they served with our fajitas was a little extra tangy, so that was something.

I am very grateful for these two wonderful humans and just the Fulbright community in general.

My new library card.

A few weeks ago, Siobhan went on a trip with some of her students to the local library, and excitedly reported back that they have an entire little room dedicated to books written in English. She got her library card right then and there, and a week later helped me get one too. There’s a pretty good selection and the two librarians who work there are so nice (but really aren’t all librarians just the loveliest people? Thinking about it now I’m really so grateful for every librarian I’ve ever met, like please keep up the stellar work.).

Last week I read a couple dozen short stories from Hemingway — I really liked “The End of Something,” really didn’t like “Up In Michigan,” and “Big Two-Hearted River” was okay. This week I checked out Jack Kerouac’s “On The Road.” I think it’s kind of funny that I had to plant myself in Siberia before getting the motivation and interest to read some American classics. Besides the library card and new books, I’m so grateful to have the time to sit and read and not feel bad about it. I can’t think of a single book I read in full while I was at Syracuse. And not only do I have time to read these books, but I also have time to read about things like the beat generation and the iceberg theory and fall down all sorts of internet rabbit holes.

A rather glorious and patriotic portrait of myself.

I taught a class about how students prepare for college in the U.S., and one of the professors asked her students to create summaries and feedback for the lesson. I don’t have much to write about it, it’s just rad as hell but also really sweet. Again, so very grateful to be working with brilliant students.

Watching non-American films in a nice theater.

I love where I grew up and no matter where I am I will rave about central New Hampshire. I think our neck of the woods is so beautiful, just being there makes me excited to be alive and I think that’s an important quality in a landscape. But here’s my gripe with the Lakes Region — no good movie theaters. Well, maybe there are a few, but not within a reasonable driving distance of our home. The movie theater we went to growing up always showed movies long after their release dates and everything was always a little bit sticky and we would never go unless mom had reminded us nine times to wear a lot of layers because it’s always freezing inside.

There’s a movie theater in the center of Novosibirsk called Pobeda, which translates to “Victory.” I’s beautiful. It’s got a coat check. You have snack options like candy-coated popcorn or organic dried watermelon (I’m still not sure how that even works??). A week ago I found myself with no plans on a Friday night and absolutely no motivation to work on lesson plans. So, for the first time in my life, I went to see a movie by myself. I gotta say, that’s the way to do it. I suppose I just liked the freedom of being able to leave whenever I wanted without consulting anyone, in the case that I found the movie boring or I couldn’t understand it. I saw “The Frenchman,” which is a new Russian film directed by Andrei Smirnov. It’s his first film in three decades, is all black-and-white, and he used his retirement savings to finance the film. The film was, of course, all in Russian, so a lot of the details were lost on me. But I was able to more or less follow the story and stayed until the very end, which felt good.

And then just a few days ago I went to see and Xavier Dolan film called “Matthias and Maxime” (this time with friends). It’s a French film that ran with Russian subtitles but took place in Canada so there was also a lot of English. And the main character was moving to Australia. So, in short, this was the epitome of an international film, I think. It’s beautifully filmed, and if you get a chance to see it you should.

The thing about “Mathias and Maxime” is that several scenes in the beginning are set somewhere outside Montreal. “Somewhere outside Montreal,” if used quite generously, can describe the place I call home. Watching Matthias and Maxime drive through what looked like Franconia Notch to a place that could’ve been Squam Lake made me homesick. But I’m grateful for that too, to have a place I love so much that living 5,000 miles away from it is no thoughtless or easy thing (I know, what a cliché! But it’s true).

Next Time I'll Dance

I am grateful for:

The Siberian Culture Festival in Pervomayskiy Square.

Right next to the Lenin Square metro stop there’s a little park with a huge fountain that’s been shut off for the winter and you can usually find a man and his three yellow Labradors hanging out there. These details aren’t important to this story but they’re generally important to me, so I thought I’d share.

Anyways, last Sunday was gray and windy. A perfectly wonderful October day. Dozens of people gathered near the shut-off-for-the-winter fountain to dance, play games, drink tea and celebrate Siberian culture. I had my laptop and camera with me and I didn’t love the idea of setting them down somewhere unattended, so I didn’t end up dancing with everyone else (sad!). But I still had the most wonderful time watching everyone else as they learned traditional dances and played old village games. It was interesting to see how much smooching was involved in the games — like, every single game involved strangers kissing each other on the cheek.

It’s something about free and accessible community events bringing people together that really just makes me smile a lot.

A mouthful of dirt.

Another day, another adventure in sports tourism, this time spent in the woods behind my university. For three hours we were out there with the snow and birches, rappelling down ravines and climbing up again. It was some dirty business. The underside of the ravine’s lip was all loose dirt that we kicked up as we jammed our toes in, trying not to descend too quickly.

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I’ve been really high-strung these last few days, just sort of constantly nervous for no real reason. It was good today to feel the cold and my muscles moving in new ways and to find some of that loose dirt between my teeth. Talk about a grounding experience in a very literal sense.

And, of course, I’m very grateful for the funny, kind, adventurous people who are patient enough to suffer through my Russian or explain things to me in English when I totally don’t understand what I’m supposed to be doing with whichever carabiner.

“You remind me of my favorite anime character” and TWO bars of chocolate from Kazakhstan.

This is just to say that I get to work with some of the nicest students who share so much with me. I’m so grateful for their positive feedback, compliments and enthusiasm for English. I’ve also received a lot of hugs, done a just-for-fun interview and gotten coffee with a few different students.

One of my favorite parts about my teaching experience so far has been English Speaking Club. It stresses me out because I’m never sure how to plan for it since I don’t know how many students will come or what level they’ll be and I’m just generally a stressed-out-kind of person. But the wonderful thing is that our club meetings aren’t obligatory for students, they all choose to come and practice their English outside of class, and they bring all their brilliance and good energy (and patience when whatever activity I planned to do doesn’t go over very well, which sometimes happens). These gatherings are often the best part of my Tuesday’s and Thursday’s.

Also, Kiki from the anime Kiki’s Delivery Service was the character I was likened to. If anyone has a second opinion, I’d love to hear it.

Snow.

I’m grateful for the intermittent snow we’ve been having, but first this is going to be a little salty. Whenever I make a comment about how much I enjoy the cooler weather and the snow, Russians and Americans alike will say, “Oh, just wait a few months, you’ll be sick of it.” Of course I’ll be sick of it! That’s literally what’s happened every sinle year for the last 22 years! Nobody likes snow in April.

But here in this new-to-me city it looks extra beautiful, and it’s early enough in the year that some of the trees are still losing their leaves. Yellow leaves from the birches and the white snow all around — just a dreamy combination. It’s been a very cozy few days.

An additional tiny Gratitude:

It snowed yesterday morning, it all melted in the warmth of the day, and then froze again overnight. There’s a thin, glassy sheet of ice all over the sidewalk and people are walking arm-in-arm to support and catch each other. I went out to get some bread and cheese because I realized I can’t survive more than a few hours without such essentials. As I slowly made my way to the store, I passed a young man and woman smoking cigarettes outside a bar. The woman was wearing really great platform sneakers and was using the frozen sidewalk as an opportunity to teach the man to moonwalk. They stood side-by-side, scootching backward, the man concentrating on how and when to lift his heel.

So maybe snow in April will be a good thing — this leaves me plenty of time to learn to moonwalk.

Halva.

So I wrote about how I love kasha but let me tell you I am OBSESSED with halva. Like, I get a little heartache every time I think about all the time I’ve wasted in my life not eating halva. Halva is a crumbly little sweet treat that can be made from nut butter. The only kind I’ve tried has a sunflower-seed-butter base and it is delightful.

The first time I tried halva was a few weeks ago. It was the last day of our three-day trek with the tourism club, and we sat by a small river and ate the remainder of our snacks before heading back to the city. At first it looked like Alyona was just dishing out fistfuls of sand, but then someone explained to me what divine gift this actually was.

And as if this wasn’t enough, the next time I went to the grocery store I found out that halva comes in different flavors! I introduced it to Siobhan, and she likes it too. So far our kitchen table has featured pistachio halva, lemon halva, chocolate halva and pomegranate halva. Stay tuned for a definitive list of flavor rankings.

Fueled by Kasha

Today I am grateful for:

Camping trips with the hiking tourism club.

I’m not really one to spend much time thinking about regrets. In my ninth grade English classroom, there was a poster that read, “There’s no such things as shoulda coulda woulda. If you shoulda and you coulda, then you woulda.” I think about this a lot (shout out to you, Mrs. Boyd.) For the most part, there isn’t anything in my life so far that I wish I had done but didn’t. BUT the exception to this — I regret not being more involved in the Syracuse University Outing Club during undergrad. I shoulda gone on trips, I coulda gone on trips, but just never actively made time to make it out to the Adirondacks or wherever else the adventures were taking place. Maybe this is kind of a bummer way to start a blog post, reflecting on the bitter pangs of missed opportunities in the great wide somewheres.

BUT. The outing club gods have heard me! Recognized my agony and rewarded me with a second chance at gritty grimy intrepid exploits through the woods. In my last post I wrote about my half marathon with the sports tourism club of my university. This club has become a staple of my experience here in Novosibirsk. We meet twice a week for lectures about everything having to do with backpacking in all seasons. This past weekend, I was lucky enough to go on my first hiking tour. We left early on Thursday morning, sat on a bus for two hours, and then just got off in the middle of nowhere. And then we walked a lot. Through the forests and some fields and up one or two small mountains over the course of three days. I got one bad blister, a new recipe for rice porridge, and approximately four thousand burrs stuck to my hat and backpack. I spent some time thinking about KFC and an enormous amount of time trying to remember one specific line in the first verse of “You Are My Sunshine.” But for the most part I was just happy that we had perfect weather and all the leaves were perfectly yellow and wow, aren’t birch trees amazing?

Becoming a regular.

As I’m writing this now, I’m sitting in a cafe. It’s 7:07 pm, I’m drinking hot chocolate made with dark chocolate, almost every seat is occupied and someone’s toddler is walking around just lookin’ at folks drinking their beverages. There are A TON of coffee shops in Novosibirsk. Many people have told me it’s considered the coffee capital of Russia. It’s pretty dreamy.

Here’s a rough map of coffee shops in the area. So many options, it’s overwhelming and beautiful and I’m maybe always a little over-caffeinated.

So anyways, I’ve been visiting lots of different coffee shops and trying lots of different drinks. So far my favorite has been a peanut butter raf. In the process, I’ve found some favorite places, especially next to my university. The other day I stopped in at Kuzina to get some coffee before heading to class. After I ordered, the barista went ahead and wrote my name (in English!) on the paper cup without me even telling her. She held it up to show me and smiled. Maybe this seems like a small and trivial thing but it totally made day. She’s basically a stranger but still did a wonderful and kind little thing that makes me feel more at home in this city.

***BONUS GRATITUDE. *** So like I said, I’m sitting in this coffee shop, working on this blog post, both headphones in. A woman who looks about my age just came up to me, and showed me a note she had typed out on her phone. She wrote that I look just wonderful, sitting here doing my work, and she wanted to let me know she likes my style (for reference, I’m wearing a nearly ancient turtleneck, mom jeans from Target, and rubber boots. A look, for sure.). I assume she typed it out because I’m wearing headphones, the universal symbol of please-don’t-talk-to-me, and a note would be a gentler way of getting my attention. I dunno, I just think that’s so considerate. Anyways, she’s also an English teacher! She doesn’t live in Novosibirsk, which makes me sad, but is here visiting some of her students she works with online. I’m hoping she comes back soon so we can hang out more because she is so kind and funny and just made my day.

Teaching my first lessons!

Holy heck teaching is exhausting and delightful and I’m learning so much.

If you’re reading this, you probably know I am really introverted and not much of a talker and that it’s difficult for me to stand in front of a room and talk for 90 minutes. That’s why I liked journalism so much in college — most of my work was just listening to people talk about themselves. I just think that’s a nice way to spend my time. That’s not to say I don’t get to do any of that in my teaching role. I facilitate speech practice classes, so I spend several hours a day trying to get students to talk about themselves, to share their experiences and spark discussions. And let me just say, these students are brilliant. Even the first-year students have amazing English, and some students have such a genuine love for language that it’s really a joy to have a conversation with them. So far I’ve created lessons on gender roles, the senior year of high school in the United States (bringing back the ol’ prom photos), and national parks. I also lead an English-Speaking Club on Tuesdays and Thursdays, where we can talk about whatever we want. And then we take selfies at the end!

Finding a new favorite bookstore.

On my first full day in Novosibirsk, my friend Dima pointed out a bookstore in the center of the city that claims to be the largest in Siberia. It’s called Capital. I went in for the first time about a week ago and can confirm it is, indeed, massive. And marvelous. My initial reason for stopping by was to find postcards (Ian, if you’re reading this, I haven’t forgotten that I promised you some snail mail! Be patient my friend). But you know how sometimes you walk into a bookstore and suddenly get all amped up just being surrounded by all these creative works? And then you decide you need to buy four different books on handcrafts and some kind of anthology and maybe a few beauty magazines? Because I felt that real hard. Since that first visit I’ve limited myself to one graphic novel and a cookbook (mainly because a) I’m trying to be responsible and remember anything I buy here I have to lug back to the U.S. in June and b) my Russian is still pretty bad and I wouldn’t really get much out of reading anything more complex than comics and recipes.)

Kasha.

I don’t have any photos of my beloved kasha so here’s a rudimentary drawing of how kasha makes me feel!

The American equivalent of kasha is just oatmeal. Does that disappoint you? That I’m taking up space on the internet to talk about how much I love boiled grains? Well tough luck, I paid for this domain and I’ll write about my favorite boiled grains all day long.

From my understanding, traditional Russian kasha is made from buckwheat (гречка, for my Russian-learning friends out there.). But rice and oat porridges also fall under the kasha umbrella, and those are the ones I prefer. The really neat thing about kasha is you can make it either sweet or salty. Talk about a double threat. Like, buckweat and meat? BuckMeat, might we say?? Or mix in some honey and walnuts with those steamy oats? Amazing.

I’m not trying to be dramatic or anything but starting your day with sweet rice porridge with apricots mixed in is probably the pinnacle of human experience.

Twenty Two, Going To The Zoo

Dima gave me a book!

I am grateful for:

Making it to 22.

I had a birthday! I’m now just beginning my 22nd loop around our sun. What a wonderful and exciting prospect.

Since my birthday only came a few days after my arrival in Novosibirsk, I didn’t expect anyone to take note. In all honesty, celebrating my birthday makes me a little uncomfortable. I don’t really need all that attention. BUT I received so many warm wishes and gifts from people who barely know me at all. A beautifully illustrated book from Dima, a Flemish pin from Ruben, lots of goodies from Siobhan, my faculty, and even Siobhan’s boss (who literally has never met me).

Face pains.

I’m smiling a lot and it hurts. But in a good way!

Olesya!

I’m certain Olesya will come up many times through these posts. I hope Fulbrighters all over the world have someone like Olesya in their respective host countries.

Olesya met me bright and early at the airport my first morning in Novosibirsk. Later that same day she brought me grocery shopping before inviting to her apartment. We had tea and sampled traditional desserts and she went through her closet and gave me all sorts of things that I need but couldn’t fit in my suitcase to bring over (flip flops, oven mitt, mugs, sleeping bag, bowls and cups. So dreamy, right?). She just has the biggest heart, and it’s clear her students love her for this too. Also, Olesya is one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. Really just brilliant.

Olesya was a Fulbright Foreign Language Teaching Assistant in 2012. She taught Russian at a college in Indiana. She managed to visit NINETEEN states during her time in the U.S., which amazes me. Thanks to Olesya, I’ve connected and hung out with so many students and learned SO much about teaching.

My first half marathon.

This is deceiving — I did not, in fact, run a half marathon. But I did do 21 kilometers of hiking/bushwacking/climbing/jumping through the woods outside the city. I gotta say, it felt like home. But this wasn’t like most of my White Mountain adventures as this was a competition and we had to find different markers throughout the forest. I was on a team with three wonderful women from my university, including Olesya.

A trip to the zoo.

It just so happened that I had planned to meet up with some students to go to the zoo on the same Sunday that happened to be my birthday. I’ve been to a lot of zoos but I gotta say this one is pretty stellar. And absolutely massive. I think we spent almost 5 hours walking around and we still didn’t see everything. My favorites were the bears. As we were walking by the monkeys, people were throwing bananas up and over into their cages, and the monkeys did a good job of catching them. The whole scene was probably breaking lots of different rules, but I still smile when I think about it.

Several people have told me that they immediately know I’m not Russian because of my “big American smile.” I wonder what they mean by that.

5,439 Miles later

I am grateful for:

Getting some good practice in the art of sleeping on long flights but still waking up in time for the food cart. And also safely arriving in Russia.

I left Thornton, New Hampshire at 4 am on September 8, 2019. Here’s a picture my mother insisted on making when she dropped me off at the bus that would take me to Boston Logan Airport.

St. Basil’s Cathedral in Red Square.

I didn’t get to Moscow until a little after 2 pm (local time!) the next day. The really fun thing about the Fly America Act is that you get to spend a lot of quality time at different airports for your layovers. After 6 hours at JFK and 3 hours at Vienna International Airport and lots of sky-time in between, I was really over the moon to be in Moscow. But not quite excited enough to fight through my jet lag — I immediately fell asleep at the hotel and woke up at 9 pm. I then walked to the nearest store to by supplies for a cheese sandwich, walked a little bit further to Red Square, walked back to the hotel to make my sandwich, and then promptly fell asleep again. Truly a 10/10 Monday night.

So anyways, the reason I was in Moscow to begin with was for our orientation, which I really enjoyed. It was chance to meet all the other Fulbright ETAs in Russia (if any of you are reading this I hope you are ~thriving~ in your respective city) and a full three days spent at the United States Embassy to talk about teaching methodologies, what it’s like to live abroad, and person to person diplomacy.

On September 14, just before 7 am, I landed in Novosibirsk! It was a balmy 36* F.

I never know what to do with my hands.

Dorm decor and potential inspiration for a future tattoo.

Olesya, who teaches at Novosibirsk State Pedagogical University and is in charge of coordinating with the university’s Fulbright grantee, picked me up at the airport to bring me to my dorm. I’ll write more about Olesya in my next post — she’s absolutely the most wonderful human being. The last tenant of my room had left up some of their dorm decor. I love it a lot.

A damp day with Dima.

This piece is from an exhibition called “Dirty Women” (Гразные Женщины). The Artist is Olya Posuh and the title is translated to “A Woman Must Sit At Home And Make Borscht.” It’s rad as hell.

We hadn’t even made it to the dorm from the airport when Olesya connected me with one of her students who had volunteered to hang out with me the next day. Dima messaged me on VK, the Russian version of Facebook, and we agreed to meet up by the folklore museum downtown. There happened to be an art festival in the city, so we went from exhibit to exhibit, running to each building through periods of torrential downpour. We saw some really amazing pieces, everything from augmented reality to sculpture to some live music.

Dima is brilliant and very kind and a joy to be around. He spent his entire afternoon showing me around (even though he had already spent his morning working as an English tutor!), pointing out the best coffee shops and other important things. Between my jet-laggedness and introvertedness and the initial creepings of homesickness I was a little bit of a mess, but Dima truly made me feel welcome in this new city. AND he showed a wonderful, small cafe where we each got a big bowl of pho. Just a really pleasant day with a real standup guy.

Being here with a Barnaul Buddy.

Siobhan and I met earlier this summer when we both happened to be doing a language program in Barnaul (which is only a few hours’ drive from Novosibirsk). She’s also here as a Fulbright ETA, and it’s pretty wacky that we both happened to be placed in Novosibirsk. It’s also a little wacky that we both spent undergrad at universities in upstate New York and our hometowns are only about an hour apart in the States.

Siobhan ran a 5k! I joined some of the students and faculty from her university to watch the race.

I feel so lucky to be sharing this experience with a friend like Siobhan. She is smart and funny and loves memes and raccoons. We’re now living together in a wonderful apartment in the city center, and I’m grateful to have someone to come home and drink tea with each night.

The phrase, “молодец, молодец, как соленый огурец”

This is my most favorite phrase. I heard it for the first time last summer and a new friend this week brought it back to the forefront of my mind. It translates to, “Good work, good work, like a pickle.” Obviously it sounds better in Russian as it rhymes. But still, makes me smile every time.

So there’s some insight into what the start of this 10-month adventure has been like. I hope all you sky deer out there are achieving good wishes, tune in next week for more on birthdays (cheers to 22!), sports tourism, and a trip to the zoo.

Hey, a blog. Read this first!

In the winter of my junior year at university, I cracked open a bright yellow Moleskine and wrote down five things from the day I was grateful for. I can’t remember what it was exactly that prompted me to begin this practice — it might’ve been my mom rediscovering her own gratitude journal that she had kept when my siblings and I were very small. Or maybe I read something on the internet that promised me this sort of thing would make me a happier, smarter, more radiant person. Who knows.

I made these short lists in my yellow notebook each night before I went to bed. It was a nice way to feel grounded outside of the narrative I had created for myself as an I’ll-Sleep-When-I’m-Dead kind of student. It’s kind of funny how in school it sometimes seemed that we were all trying to outdo each other in our misery. Well, not funny really, but you know what I mean.

I’m happy to report that I had many happy days when choosing only five things to write in my journal was a very difficult thing to do. But there were days when every moment felt pretty rotten and there was not a single thing to be grateful for. Maybe that sounds stupid and dramatic, but I’m just laying out my facts for you. For those days, I had a special default list I would write out to remind myself that I am one lucky kid:

“Today I am grateful for: 1.My family 2. My friends 3. My health 4. My education 5. Coffee.”

No matter how bad my day was, I always had the next morning’s cup of coffee to look forward to and I think that’s a darn good last thought to have before falling asleep.

So anyway, that was a lot of rambling and not all of it was relevant to the purpose of this blog. This, of course, is not a bad-days blog. I’ve just been so overwhelmed with gratitude lately that five lines in a yellow notebook doesn’t feel like enough.

I’m currently in Russia. In Siberia, to be more specific; in Novosibirsk, to be exact. Here’s a map, if that’s helpful:

(I don’t why Koltsovo is so large here but this is the only one I could find that was labeled for noncommercial reuse. But hey, now you can impress people by telling them you know where Novosibirsk and Koltsovo are! Lucky you!)

I’m fortunate enough to be here as a Fulbright English Teaching Assistant at Novosibirsk State Pedagogical University. Just to clarify, this isn’t a job — I’m here to learn just as much as I’m here to help out in English classes. It’s more like I’m here for post-graduate studies or a yearlong internship.

So ultimately what I’m getting at is that this blog will serve as my digital gratitude journal, where I’ll share the little bits of this massive experience that make me happy. And maybe whoever is reading this can glean something from what I write (or not — no pressure.). Maybe you’re interested in visiting Siberia. Maybe you’re thinking about applying to be a Fulbright ETA. Maybe your name is Betsy Bolan and you’d just like to know I’m alive and well.

Regardless, thanks for taking the time to read this far. I hope you’re having the kind of day that fills you up with gratitude. And if you aren’t, I recommend thinking about your next cup of coffee.