Breaking through the rules....

One of my favorite lessons for my Russian students was on rules and customs from around the world. There was this great exercise where students look at a list of strange rules from around the world, and try to guess which 3 were incorrect. No one ever guessed correctly, except for perhaps "One should never tip a taxi driver in New York." Obviously that's false, even for a Russian to see.

But a funny little custom that I never quite believed was one about Switzerland: "In Switzerland, you should not mow your lawn on Sundays, it's against the law." I knew the book said it was true, but I never really believed it. Come on, I thought, everyone has to mow their lawns sometime, and the weekend is the best time to do yardwork. How could that be? Then one evening my boyfriend got up from his computer in a shock, as if he had forgotten something. He insisted he had to cut the wood for his architecture project, right then, before it got too late. "I can't do it tomorrow," he explained, "because it's Sunday." As if he had been a recording from the textbook. I shook my head in disbelief.

This incident, however, made me reflect on previous experiences. For example, one day the puppies at the house where I work encountered someone else's dog, and started barking furiously. Although it only lasted for a few minutes, it was a few minutes too many for the neighbor who came over and insisted that the noise must stop. Although I apologized, he explained "We all want peace and quiet, madame, (much to my dismay I was not considered a "mademoiselle"), and we all should have it."

I suppose this somehow reflects on Swiss people and how they have a reputation for being rather....inflexible. But on the other hand, it does make logical sense to have laws like that, since everyone lives rather close together in this tiny country, with the only breathing room out on the mountains, far from anyone's house. And it is nice to know that if someone is having a loud, noisy, party, you don't have to feel guilty knocking on their door and demanding them to stop, because you probably won't even be the first neighbor to do so. All of this is logical, and reasonable.....maybe too much so for my comfort, but then again I think about all of my crazy Swiss friends, who despite all the rules and customs are quite illogical at times. I guess it's ok to break the rules...I turned to my boyfriend and asked if Sunday was the only time you should be quiet. "Well, no noise past 10 o' clock, and usually not around noon on all days." Noon??? "Well, you shouldn't," he hedged.

Living in Switzerland, a whole new perspective

Sometimes in life we do the right thing, and let logic and reason work out what is the best way to go. But if we always followed our mind, we would never leave room for risk, or adventure. I guess that's why I decided to move to Switzerland, not for money, or for a career changing job, but to follow my heart. Plus as a country, Switzerland isn't half bad, and I can think of worse places to move to.

So although I have been to this country countless times before, I believe this time will merit some blog posts, because living in a place is very different from visiting as a tourist. What little I know about Swiss life and culture will hopefully be expanded upon, which I hope to share with you, dear reader, as I au pair in a Swiss family and make new Swiss friends. Wish me luck!

Oslo in the summertime

There are some things in life that shape how we understand things: the media, books, friends and family....how we view the world can be shaped by outside sources and can be formed in really warped ways. I for instance, had always associated Sweden with ABBA....my image of the country was based on what I knew, thanks to Ikea, ABBA, and ....Ikea.

Although it's very important, in my opinion, to push these preconceived misconceptions asside, I have to admit it can be really difficult. As little as I knew about Oslo, or Norway for that matter, there was always one thing that shaped the city in my mind, and it all came back to my college days, where I spent many a evening in the library attempting to study as I listened to music. One song often came on my iPod, because it was a monotonous, heavy rythm, which fit in perfectly with my political science readings. A song titled, "Oslo in the Summertime," written by the lead singer of one of my alltime favorite eccentric bands, Of Montreal. His image of his time spent in this city was placed in the lyrics of the song, talking of the hot, slow summer days where the sun never sets and everyone "is away on holiday." I wondered what kind of place this Oslo would truly be.

Oslo turned out to be a new and improved city from whatever it was before. As evidence from the construction sites scattered across the city, the new architecture wowed everyone of us, especially the architecture student in our group. We were all glued to the extremely reflective and enticing Opera house, a completely glass structure overlooking the sea with a modern style that made it scream out "photograph me, I'm gorgeous!" The sunshine along with 5 marching bands outside made it even better, with light being bounced from the building to the brass instruments, blinding everyone in sight. I suppose the Norwegians had to invest all of their money somewhere.

The city itself was much nicer than everyone claimed it would be, and the gardens were spacious with plenty of interesting stone sculptures to check out. With such nice weather, we were tripping over tourists right and left, but it didn't matter too much, because we had some locals, friends from Fredi's travels, showing us around their favorite haunts, and explaining the sights. As we wandered across the wealthy "Beverly Hills" of Oslo, we became even more aware of how well off Norway seemed to be. "It hasn't always been this way," explained our guide Julia, "Norway had its tough times too. But now that we have all of that oil, we are doing quite well."

Fortunately the splendors appear to be shared with everyone, unlike many oil countries, where only a few benefit. Julia and Ingvild explained that every student in Norway is given a stipend to help them pay for their living expenses as they study. In other words, they get paid to go to college. "I think in a way that makes us more independent from our parents," explained Ingvild. "We don't have to live at home, and we don't have to ask them for money. We can take care of ourselves much earlier." An interesting concept, which would seem bizarre in many countries, especially in Europe. And no student loans? That would make almost any American student crazy with jealousy.

It was important for us to spend some time in the capitol, and ask our questions to the locals. A burning question that had been on the tip of my tongue was finally answered. The difference between Norwegians and Swedes? According to many of my sources, the stereotype goes, that Norwegians are more connected to nature, and are more down to earth. This is probably due to their significantly smaller population, and smaller cities. I could definitely believe it when I looked at my friends, who although seemed very stylish, I could imagine them backpacking their way through a forest, enjoying the dirt and bugs and all. And of course, they had, and enjoyed every moment of it, something in their looks far off in the distance, away from their trendy and modern Oslo.

In the breadbasket of Norway

One of the best aspects of being a traveler is that you can make friendships just about anywhere. It's easy to make friends with a big smile and open heart, and even easier to keep in touch with them these days, thanks to skype and facebook. I tend to keep contact information for everyone I meet if I can, because you never know when it might come in handy. Like one day, when I searched through my contacts, looking for a friend to visit in Oslo, Norway. I came across two very unlikely candidates: an old classmate from elementary school, and a Polish friend of mine that I hosted in Budapest, over a year ago. I immediately contacted both of them, and was fortunate in that they both positively responded, Kramar taking it even a step further, inviting my 3 friends and I to stay on his farm for 2 nights.

I felt extremely fortunate the night that we all came together with our friends in Oslo, catching up on old times, and recounting new adventures. Kramar drove us all back to his farm (well, his collective housing that was a farm in the recent past) and we began a new adventure in the only aerable part of Norway, with rolling hayfields and corn rows. During the next few days he had us exploring the countryside, as well as the island fortress where he worked.

We learned that Norway didn't grow just any corn: the corn we picked was so delicious, we swore we'd never tasted anything so sweet. As we cooked, cleaned, and meandered around Kramar's house, we experienced the simple joys of living in the countryside: picking our own vegetables, grilling them over a barbecue as Kramar played the guitar and we sat outside watching the stars slowly appear in the sky. It was an exciting moment for all of us, Kramar included, since we were all foreigners, appreciating a new lifestyle in a new land. It seemed silly, but at that moment, we were all so happy to see time pass us by, without caring to measure it. All we needed was each other and a little bit of conversation to make the moment worthwhile. And I thank my lucky stars every day that I have friends like Kramar, that after one selfless act on my part, will always return the favor, years later.

Gothenburg, the proud, and the lipstick

During our travels up north in Lapland, we came across a lone Austrian traveler, on an adventure. His mission was to travel to every capitol city in Europe (except for Moscow and Minsk, of course, because why would anyone want to go there?). At first everyone seemed rather impressed at this feat, accomplished by car, over a period of a few months.

I'll admit I was of another opinion, considering the capitols I've visited over the years. As impressive as these cities can be, they tend to be very false representatives of the countries themselves. Considering how different Moscow is from Russia, among other examples, it made me wonder: how can we truly appreciate a country for what it is? Do we need to run off to the countryside and speak with farmers, or is it the metropolitan area where we mingle with the city dwellers, understanding the nightlife and vibe of a place? or perhaps a little bit of both?

I still stand by my opinion that it is impossible to comprehend a nation while traveling on a holiday, and perhaps as a foreigner it's difficult in general to totally understand what it is that makes a country. Yet, in this writer's humble opinion, there are efficient ways to better understand a place, while avoiding the crowd of tourists. First, go to city number two, or a somewhat smaller city in the country you are visiting; and secondly, seek out the locals.

We were extremely lucky in that Fredi's family happened to live near Gothenburg, the second largest city in Sweden. Not only did they let us stay with them, but we got some quality family time and delicious moosemeat out of the deal. It was our chance to learn about Sweden, from the locals, and appreciate what life was like there.

Finally, we went into the city, to check it out, and what a pleasant surprise it was. Neat and tidy, with a cute old city center, this city was also more of a practical, liveable city, compared to Stockholm. As we toured by boat, ducking under the bridges, since the water level was incredibly high, our guide pointed out interesting sites. The port was sizeable, and well used for sure, but the more interesting landmark was of course the volvo headquarters skyscraper, fondly known as "the Lipstick." Like the Volvo itself, "the Lipstick" was not the most fashionable of buildings, or the prettiest, but one could definitely call it memorable. It's a city like Gothenburg, with its unique and memorable places, as simple and nontouristic as can be, that give you the true feeling of being there, in the moment.

Kiruna, gateway to the north

The thing I love most about Californian history, is how quickly it became a state, full of glistening cities and people everywhere. In 1849 when some lucky miner found gold, everyone ran to Cali, hoping for similar luck, bringing with them hope, strength, and determination. Despite the tough weather conditions at times, the miners were determined, and when many of them failed in their conquest, they abandoned the towns that were only called home for a short time. Now these mining towns are unihabited, and slightly haunting, with only the memories remaining.

When we arrived in Kiruna, the story was similar: a mining town, created only at the beginning of the 20th century, once the mining was deemed feasible. However, with such harsh conditions, it's impressive all the same how those determined miners decided to establish themselves in Sweden's northernmost city. Of course when compared with the Sami people who had been living there for 6000 years, I suppose it's not as amazing.

The city itself, however, is not abandoned. Although small, it is rather cheery in those dreary rainy days, with adorable little shops, and a delicious cafe. We were surprised when we went out on a Saturday night, and the "city" was buzzing with life, all of the bars filled to the max with locals catching up with a beer or drink. It was surprising to see so much life, so many concerts and bars for such a seemingly small mining town. However that was Saturday. The next day, when we awoke, we saw the other side to Kiruna. In desperate search of a late breakfast, we came across the supermarket, the only open source of food on that desolate Sunday. The streets seemed vacant, as the bars cleaned up the rest of the festivities from the night before. And all was silent, as if it were a ghost town, silently waiting for Saturday to arrive once more.

Northern Scandinavia - Lapland, the Arctic Circle

I've not so secretly always wanted to go to the Arctic Circle. There's something quite strange, or eerie about a place that can be so far north, the trees are stunted and the land is a rocky place with few plants growing. This has been a year of extremes for me: living in one of the coldest countries, traveling the longest by land, going the furthest east...And then a final superlative for my students: to travel to the furthest north in Europe: Nordkapp. Now that's extreme.

As we drove our rental car (once we found it, which is another adventure you can ask me about), one desire came to my mind, stronger than any other. "Hey Fredi," I called out, "When are we going to see a reindeer?" It didn't take long for him to find not only one, but 12! reindeer. The rest of us were so in awe that we stopped the car just to take photos of the nonchalant animals. Little did we realize that it was only the beginning. After the 100th we stopped paying attention. Although there were reindeer and some trees, it was hard to picture Santa setting up shop there, in that sparsely treed place. Santa would need some special importing power to get a good Christmas tree up and running.

The thing that struck us the most at Nordkapp though, was the incredible colors. If ever there were a place to see bright blue sea, spongy green moss, and the clearest sky ever seen, it would be here. As we woke up one morning at 6 AM (the sun was already well overhead, and blinding of course), we hiked to the true point and looked out over the sea. Never will I forget how clear and how crisp every inch of the landscape was, so bright that you truly had to shield your eyes. And the water, though calm and clear, was still ominously mysterious, with its seaweed slowly lapping against the cliffs. As we looked off to the distance it was as if we had found the edge of the world. the Edge of Europe at least.

Going North - Scandinavian tour

And so my adventures in Russia came to an end. Despite the mishaps and challenges, I think moving to Russia was one of the most rewarding experiences I have yet come across in life. When you are forced to deal with difficult situations, one must rise above, or else sink. When you learn to swim, you feel so much more accomplished in the end, to know that the struggle was worthwhile.

As a little treat, I indulged in one of my lifelong fantasies: to explore and discover Scandinavia. Home to reindeer, vikings, and ridiculous prices, it was a perfect adventure to end all adventures before heading home. And so the five of us: a Serbian, Swede, French, Japanese, and American piled into a rental car and went as far north as we could, to see the edge of our world: the Northernmost point of Europe - Nordkapp.

A final voyage in Russia: St Petersburg

It's true that in life, we often go for the things that are harder to reach. It seems to be the same in traveling. Every person you meet tends to tell you of all of the impressive places they have been, but if you ask them about the next state or country over from where they live, they'll shrug their shoulders. "It's too close," I've often heard. "I'd rather go somewhere further away, more exotic," is another common phrase. I'll admit, even I had the same problem with St Petersburg. "It's right there," I always excused myself. "I'll go there next weekend." Next weekend became next month, until I was down to my last days in Russia. Then the excuses wore thin. It was time to go.

Before I left, I had an arsenal of advice and information from many of my Russian friends and even a lot of my foreign friends too. Everyone had only positive things to say about this city, aside from the horrible weather in winter. Everyone said that people were extremely friendly there, the buildings were beautiful, and the scenery was great. I just brushed it off, assuming they were exaggerating. You know how Russians are.

But it turns out, I was wrong. The instant I got off the bus at 5 in the morning, and walked onto the empty streets, I was in a state of shock. St Petersburg truly was a beautiful city. And it really is. This is how Peter the Great envisioned his city. Although he built it on a swamp, and watched many people die as they struggled to build structures that wouldn't sink into the earth, he was a determined man. He insisted on having that port to connect Russia to Europe, and make his country truly "civilized."

So St Petersburg is a city close to Europe in a way. Unlike the hodge podge architecture of Moscow, everything seems to have a plan, and the palaces that are strewn about here and there are only of elegant taste. The streets even seemed to be "perfect," including my favorite street, which was designed to be perfectly proportional, with buildings the same height as the width of the street. And with perfect timing, in the evening, around 1 AM, on schedule, all of the bridges draw up to let ships pass through, as if run by some magic clock.

Even the people in St Petersburg are truly friendly. As I struggled with a ticket machine in the metro, a policeman and a ticket seller stopped to help me, and even gave me change, and said very pleasantly in Russian, "have a nice day." Before I could recover from my shock of such a nice interaction, they had already walked away. Even people in the metro were calmer, slower, more polite. I didn't get pushed over once!!!

Of course, for me, the most incredible aspect of St Petersburg is Peterhoff, a large palace located a 40 min drive away from the city on the Gulf of Finland. Inspired by Versailles, Peter the Great was determined to build a palace just as aweinspiring. Never in my life have I seen so many impressive gold plated statues, or glittering marble. To top off the spectacular gardens with flowers of all colors of the rainbow are the impressive fountains, which are placed in every direction so that you constantly discovered a new one. With all of that water shooting up into the air, you didn't need more fanfare than that! Even Louis XIV would have been jealous.

And Louis would have been even more jealous of the view overlooking the sea. After having been deprived of the ocean for all of 9 months, aside from a day trip to the Mediterranean in May, I rejoiced at the opportunity to breathe in some refreshing salty sea air. It was cold, no doubt, and the sun had disappeared ages ago. But it was still a gorgeous view, with my back to the finery and palaces, looking out towards the sea. I suppose I can't blame Peter for wanting that so badly. Who doesn't want the chance to feel free from the land, to travel wherever you please?

Holiday season

This post in response to a friend who accused me of being lazy....I suppose it's true.

However, it seems that we were meant to be lazy in August. I can't think of a lazier month of the year, when everyone in Europe is on holiday, and all of the shops are closed in Italy, France, among others. Even in Moscow life seems to be a little calmer than normal, and the metro at times seems to be emptier (although someone still bumped into me the other day so hard that the book I was reading went flying and it was a miracle that it didn't get trampled on). Everyone seems much happier now, too, now that the heatwave has temporarily lifted, and the cool breeze and flighty rain showers make it pleasant to walk around the city again.

I've had many travelers visit me these past few weeks, and they all seem to think that Moscow is "so nice" and "so pretty" and has "wonderful weather." It makes me laugh when I tell them about the "wonderful weather" in winter, when it was well below "comfortable temperatures." Nevertheless, despite the insane increase in tourist groups, and the large percentage of Moscovites on holiday, Moscow still feels relatively the same. The metro still gets crowded at rush hour, people are still running from one place to another, the homeless still beg in the underground passages, including that poor young soldier in a wheelchair who wanders from metro car to metro car, begging with his forlorn gaze.

I guess the tourists miss out on that, since he only 'works' on my line, which doesn't pass by the Red Square. Outside of that massive Red Square and Kremlin area, tourists seem to be a rarity. They prefer hiding away in a place that seems comfortably 'touristy,' with plenty of tourguides, maps, and other foreigners willing to take your photo. Even many of the people I have hosted at my flat are afraid to go exploring far from the Kremlin alone.

It's no surprise that many Moscovites seem rather surprised to meet a foreigner in this city, even though the Red Square is swarming with them. You would have to be rather brave to face the metro alone, right? No, it's just the same as the subway in New York, all you have to do is fight for your way around, and eventually you will get where you want to go.

For my grandmother on her birthday - Kostroma

Ever since I was little, I've always adored my grandmother's paintings. I used to wander around the house, admiring the different pastels and blending of colors that just swirled into images right before your eyes. It is her artwork that gave me the appreciation that I have for classic art, and especially for impressionism, so much so that my year in Nancy, France included many visits to the art museum. To this day I always associate France, especially Paris, and the River Seine, with those impressionistic colors, just like the ones my grandma uses.

When my friend Sarah convinced me to go on this random trip to Kostroma, never did I imagine that what I love about France with all of its lovely colors would burst out right before me. Admittedly Kostroma is a tiny city, with surprisingly few churches and monasteries, compared to the other Gold Ring towns. But in a way it was refreshing to see new things. We spent time visiting a wood museum with old wooden houses from the 19th century. We even visited the house of Snigouritchka, the daughter of snow, and Santa's granddaughter, who helps him deliver gifts to children every year. Even in the summer heat, inside her house we smiled with glee at the Christmas trees and ornaments, almost as excited as the little children on our tour when we met Snigouritchka herself!

I suppose what really struck me was the second day of our trip, when we decided to visit the countryside at a moose farm. I thought of my grandparents, and how much they would have loved the beautiful countryside, tucked far from any city, with wildflowers and birds everywhere you looked. It truly reminded me of that Monet painting of people walking down a hill of wildflowers. I wish I could remember the name.

Finally Sarah and I settled down on the sandy river bank, along the Volga. It was a wide but peaceful river, and colors were so stunning, that if you looked to the distance at the monastery, you could almost imagine that you were on the bank of the Seine, appreciating the Ile de la Cite. Everything was so calm and peaceful, with gardens and flowers everywhere we turned. Our friend Dima explained that Kostroma had been transformed in the past few years, turning from a rundown city to a masterpiece. I guess I really wanted to buy that tiny pastel painting I saw at an outdoor market, it seemed to represent Kostroma perfectly, and I could picture it next to my grandma's paintings, to show her what I had seen! Only to discover that she had already been there!! I guess I may never catch up to my adventurous grandparents, but I sure will try!

Suzdal

Suzdal is arguably the most popular city in the Gold Ring, although for a long time I had no idea why. Every description of the town seemed to be similar to any of the other towns I had been to in the region, and I wondered what could make this city any more spectacular than Vladimir, Pereslavl Zelsky. Just more churches and wooden houses right?

Well, in a way yes. But then again, when we arrived, I realized rather quickly why people told me that you need more than just a day to visit Suzdal. What I thought would be a charming little town ended up being a sort of Disneyland for adults who really love churches, countryside, and wooden houses. I was so overwhelmed by the sheer mass of things to see, that I seriously regretted the fact that we had only slept 4 hours the night before.

Despite the sheer mass of things to see, Suzdal still holds the "little country town" charm, with delightful streams full of luscious lily pads and plenty of tiny wood bridges. Everywhere you walked there were horse drawn carriages and musicians, and of course the expected hoards of tourists who came to celebrate mid-summer. I could imagine that Suzdal is lovely in the winter, but I think in the end everyone in our group declared that summer was by far its most beautiful season. The flowers were even more in bloom here, and the grass was growing as if there was no tomorrow. We laughed as a group of swimmers attempted over and over again to retrieve the rope swing from over the river.

The breeze was almost as sweet as the mead we drank, "myedovoukha," which was hommade and tased just like the honey had been harvested that day. Suzdal is an absolute must see, because no matter what age you are, you can feel the magic, as you are transported back in time to some ancient, simpler, happier way of life.

Back to Vladimir

It’s precious rare that as a traveler you get the chance to visit a place a second time, especially if you’re as flighty as I am. I tend to be of the sentiment that once you’ve been there, you’ve at least seen the most of what you need to see, so why go back and waste precious time? Rather, you should be covering new territory!

Of course this mentality is fundamentally backward, because if you think about it, a city for example, is never the same; it’s always changing, just like the seasons. Which brings up an even better point: if you visit a place in the winter, will it look the same in the summer? If you’re in California where seasons don’t exist too much, the answer is probably “no,” but in Russia, there is absolutely a difference. As much as Moscow blossomed into a glorious green natural city this summer, I knew that outside of Moscow must be even better of a transformation, so my travel buddy Luke and I ventured off to Vladimir for a SECOND time, to see what we could see. And Luke had two revelations, just in time to send him off home to England.

And of course, as predicted, after 6 months, the transformation was even more acute, since the last time we had laid eyes on the place it had been buried in snow, and we had missed out on the slow thaw of spring. As happy as I was to see our friends again, I was even more thrilled when we ran off to tiny little Bogolyubovo, with the most perfect churn in Russia.

Diana’s friend explained to us that the church was created around an icon. As the workers tried to drag the large icon to a far off church outside of Vladimir, they soon tired of their work, and after 5 miles or so dropped the icon and rested. They looked around and decided, “To heck with that! We’ll just build a church here!” and so they did. And despite all of the swarms of mosquitoes and tourists, it was still just as peaceful as I remembered it. We swam in the river as it started to rain, but it didn’t dampen our spirits, or our fire, thankfully. “This is what makes Russia so perfect,” reveled Luke, as we sat on the river bank grilling sausages. “Russians are so in tune with nature, it’s their religion.” I laughed as Diana aptly built up the fire, our little elven friend who wouldn’t have surprised me if she had told me that she had been born in the nature.

This was even more evident when we made it to her parents’ summer home, and saw what a magical garden her mother and her had created. As Diana had promised, we experienced “shashlik” at her family’s summer home, or “dacha” and even had a chance to spend time in the ever popular banya. I’m not sure what could be more Russian than barbequing meat over a wood fire, or drinking homemade apple juice with fresh veggies, but Diana’s family, as expected was perfectly hospitable, and we talked and laughed until the fire burned down, and her father stopped playing folk songs on his guitar. “I think that’s what makes the Russian way of life so perfect,” pondered Luke discovering his second revelation. “Everything is done with good food, good company, and good music.” This is the secret to a good life, it seemed to us, both with bellies full, encouraging the words to a Beatles song that Diana’s father tried to play, mumbling along to the lyrics he obviously didn’t know. We were so exhausted, but it didn’t matter, because everything else was balanced and whole. We felt at peace with the natural world, breathing it in as we watched the sun already start to rise.

Summertime in Moscow

Perhaps nothing can be more refreshing than to experience a true summer after a true winter. I will admit that the wimpy Californian in me used to take summer for granted, as that time when it was "hot" versus "chilly." But here in Moscow, it's a completely different transformation. The bleak city turns into a lively place, and the color green just explodes from every direction, as the trees shoot out leaves in what seems like a matter of days.

The explosion of flowers and colors does wonder for not only the aesthetics of Moscow as a city, but also for the people who live here. Everyone throws off their black and brown fur coats and transforms their wardrobe into a wild and colorful array of clothing with different colored prints and patterns. People smile more, and seem to have awoken from some sort of hibernation. But above all is the combination of happy Moscovites and their love for the outdoors in the various parks around the city.

I was invited for my first "shashlik" (from the georgian word for shish kebab) in the park, and was shocked to see how apt my Russian friends were at setting up a picnic. They immediately went into picnic mode, throwing down blankets, setting up a barbecue, passing around beer. We sat around for hours, just talking and enjoying the sun, like everyone else around us. There was no running around, no checking of watches, as we laughed around the delicious food we ate as we listened to Russian pop music, as always. As we walked home, I admired all of the other families and friends who were doing exactly the same thing, and I felt rather glad for that moment, that I lived in Moscow.

Lake Baikal

I could think of no better way to end a Siberian adventure than to make it Lake Baikal. It is by far, one of the most spectacular things I have seen in my life.

But first I had to go to Irkutsk. Although it was an interesting city, after my amazing adventures in Krasnoyarsk and Ekaterinburg, I wasn't as thrilled by its messy and chaotic state. You could tell that the locals weren't big fans of tourists either, since they must get too many in the summer, with the way they talked to me in a huffy, irritated tone. I still enjoyed the river, crowded with ice fisherman who sat there with their poles all day long, waiting for something to happen in the frozen water.

But Baikal was everything I had hoped for, and more. when the train cleared a pass, my new friend Alex pointed out the mountains and my jaw literally dropped. They were even bigger than the ones in Krasnoyarsk, but in front of them was a HUGE lake, which was frozen solid, three meters thick. I was dazed as we trudged across, faintly reminded of a time when I had tried to cross the salt flats in the Badlands, California with my cousins. We were kids and thought that maybe if we walked far enough, we would get to the other side. But of course history repeats itself, and I'm pretty sure that after a few hours of walking I hadn't even made it halfway! But it was only the corner of the lake anyway. In parts, according a guy who worked at the hostel, the lake was 50 miles across. So much for that idea.

Baikal was refreshing in a way because of the youth hostel where we decided to spend the night. It was decidedly outdoorsy, especially with the people who came in and out, with their cross country skis or climbing gear. Jena, who was our know all on the lake and worked there, was obviously a big fan of the outdoors, and showed us hours upon hours of photos of downhill skiing adventures, kayaking trips, and biking expeditions in nearby Mongolia. "If only you had come in summer," he smiled at me wistfully, showing me all of the cool activities I was missing out on. All but one.

That evening we headed out to the Russian "banya," their version of a steamroom sauna, which felt great after a freezing day of walking outside. As soon as we got as hot as we could manage, we grabbed our towels and ran for the nearby hole in the lake, neatly cut out from the ice. I plunged myself into the freezing water, and as I went under I looked up and could see the moon and the stars shining above my head. I had to get out fast, but I walked a little slower to admire the best stars I had seen in a long time, as my friends made a mad dash for the warmth of the sauna. I thought of all the people I had met on my trip, and all of the beautiful things I had seen. Moscow seemed so different now, like a different world, but 26 hours later I was on a plane, heading back to my "reality," away from those stars. Away from a different side of Russia, so different from anything else I had ever seen.

Where are them bears!??

I know people have different opinions about Siberia. Even in Moscow the stereotypes were comical, if anything: big trees, too much snow, wild people, wild animals. Bears even! My student Staz told me that if I went to Krasnoyarsk, no matter what I did, I was NOT to go wandering in the woods, where there were....dangerous animals!

As soon as I left Ekaterinburg to head even further into Siberia, I wondered what awaited me in Krasnoyarsk. For the first evening hours of my 38 hour train ride from Ekaterinburg to Krasnoyarsk, my neighbors at first took on a more sinister, grizzly look in my less than plushy platzcart wagon. Nobody spoke much at first, but once you got them going, there was no stopping the conversation. Turned out my neighbor on the train was my neighbor in Moscow too, living only one metro stop away from me. We joked about California (Schwarzenegger came up inevitably) and soon our group of 4 had a running joke going about how the governator now lived in a tiny village in Siberia with the bears (medved, as I soon became familiar with this new word). Eventually a lady further down in the compartment came by and yelled at us to keep quiet, and we all drifted off to sleep.

When I did make it to Krasnoyarsk, I was surprised again. I had been expecting some tiny, rugged town, far from everything, as my friend from this town had explained to me before I left Moscow. But as I walked around the streets it became more obvious to me that this wasn't the sort of place a bear would enjoy strolling around in. It was, dare I say, modern. The buildings looked clean and bright, and the streets were so well groomed I wondered for a moment if I was back in some cute tiny roadstop town in the US. I'm sorry to say the only bear I found in Krasnoyarsk was in my coffee cup, just a fancy motif created by the barrista out of cream.

But that isn't the charm of Krasnoyarsk. Sure the main street is well kept with cute music blasting away, and there are plenty of fountains, not to mention a nice looking university. What was incredible was the mountains. Right across the river, you could see why people head to Krasnoyarsk for skiing, I might as well have been in the Swiss Alps.

Of course one of the top things on my list to do was to go to the Stolby National Park, which I had only heard rave reviews about. Managing to convince a couchsurfer and his friend to join me on the quest, we headed out, for the several hour climb to the top of a mountain, where rock columns loomed above it all, just begging to be climbed. As I picked my way through the boulders and ice patches, I managed to reach the top, just in time to catch my breath, as I looked around and saw for the first time, true Siberian wilderness. Ok, so maybe there was a bear or two out there somewhere, but that didn't matter. For as far as the eye could see, was pure forest, and it was beautiful.

Ekaterinburg, not quite Europe, but not quite Asia

During my transiberian experience, I decided to somewhat randomly choose stopping points along the way, to catch my breath, and of course experience a bit of that good old Russian culture. Ekaterinburg seemed to be a logical decision, although I honestly knew very little about the city, and nobody seemed to have exciting things to say about it. I showed up with low expectations, and ended up hopping off the train into a pleasantly exciting city. Of course there was that burning question in my mind, that I hadn't managed to discern from my neighbor on the train with my horrible Russian. As we shopped in what could have been any supermarket in the US, I asked my friend, hardly containing myself: "Are we in Europe or Asia??" He shrugged and said, "Well, the border is technically 14 kilometers west from here....so I guess we're in Asia." He laughed, somewhat embarrassed by my sudden outbreak of glee in the supermarket, jumping up and down. I'm in Asia, for the first time!! And yet, looking at my friend Alex, with his red head, I could tell, that this wasn't quite the Asia I had read about in books...

Although Ekaterinburg is as industrial as people complain it to be, there's still a surprising bit of charm to it. Firstly, if you ignore all of the crazy city construction and modern charmless buildings, you come across some gorgeous architecture, and some really incredible history, that you never would have expected.

What really amazed me, was that for once, I went to a museum, and actually loved it! Inside, I wandered alone in the historical science museum, discovering more and more about the ancient peoples of the Ural Mountains, when all of the sudden, I came across an incredible sight: there, alone in its own special room, stood a towering impressive monolith. An ancient wooden idol, carved by humans over 3000 years ago, the oldest wooden carving ever discovered in the world. I stared in awe, completely amazed that such ancient things could be so beautiful.

If that wasn't impressive enough, I made my way over to the most modern church I had seen in Russia....built only a handful of years ago, it was to memorialize the family of Nicolai II, the last of the czars, who was murdered....in Ekaterinburg. When my friend Alex took me to the place where the family's bodies were thrown into a mining shaft, far out of the city limits, I was awestruck. There, in a peaceful, brand new monastery, were tiny churches, each one for a family member that was killed by the Red army during the revolution. Sadly, nobody could officially announce the deaths of the family and discover exactly what had happened to them until the fall of the Soviet Union, and they weren't memorialized until the 1990s. As I stood in the silence of the forest, staring at the place where they found the bones of the children, I felt sad, humbled, and forever overcome with the power of history. This is Russia, I thought, as the sun set, and Orthodox choir sang their somber mass. I looked at the forest beyond, realizing I had much further to go.

The Simple Joys of traveling by train

I remember my father telling me once about one of his fond memories as a kid traveling through Europe with his family by train. He had that look in his eyes as he smiled, retelling his feelings as the train slowly rocked him back and forth to sleep, the quiet but steady noise of the wheels on the tracks. A lullaby of sorts. This is what I imagined when I first decided to travel by train - a relaxing, scenic way to appreciate the vast Russia without really doing much of anything except being lulled to sleep in my cozy bunk. What could be a better way to avoid the hectic life in Moscow than to sit on a train for 28 hours at a time? As usual I should have known better!

Life on the train(s) had its ups and its downs, its quiet moments, and its happy moments, but most of all, the one thing I noticed more than anything else, was how chaotic life could be when you put 80 people in a compartment for who knows how many hours? Just when you think you can silently observe what is going on from a distance, you soon find out that you are swept into what becomes your new life in a new community.

Although my Russian was awful, from the first hour I sat down on the train, I instantly cracked out my textbooks, dictionary, and notepad and pen. Soon I found that what was entertaining for my neighbors became my free Russian lessons, taught by native speakers who...didn't speak any English. My first evening became an adventure running through a town with some guys from Azerbaijan looking for crystal before the train took off again, and I could already tell that my vacation wasn't going to be so boring after all.

The best part of riding third class is that it is a great equalizer. No matter whether someone was from Mongolia or a college student heading off to university for the first time, everyone seemed to work together. If someone had something funny to say, everyone was allowed to be in on the joke. People spoke freely to their neighbors, who joined in on conversations which could last for 10 hours. Everyone agreed on when it was time to go to bed, time to eat lunch, and time to take a nap. If someone needed help putting their luggage up, everyone helped. And when I cut my foot on a piece of glass, to my embarrassment and surprise immediately I was hoisted up to my bunk, with my foot sticking out into the aisle as it was inspected and argued over by 4 of my neighbors as the woman in charge of our car poured alcohol over it. I guess there are benefits to being a single girl traveling alone after all, everyone worries about you.

Each time the train stopped I managed to jump off and try to imagine what the cities looked like on the other side of the train station. People kept getting on and off of the train at different stops, so sometimes your friends would disappear as you slept, leaving you in the middle of the night. Sometimes passengers would get off at a stopover for 20 minutes to visit with family or friends that lived there. One of my older neighbors stepped off the train for the first time at Novosibirsk late at night which surprised me, almost as much as when I saw her talking to a young guy, much younger than her. I was pretty confused until she later explained that it had been her son who had met her at the train station for those precious 20 minutes to visit. As we left she smiled wistfully out the window and then went to sleep.

Although there were crazy times on the train, and plenty of improvement on my Russian conversation skills, I did get an opportunity to watch the scenery go by. There were some moments during the day where I stared for hours out at the vast countryside which turned to glorious mountains, and then to plains. I could really appreciate the change in scenery even with the huge cover of snow over everything. At least it was sunny and just a little below freezing, and we were plenty cozy on the train. Sometimes I couldn't help but keep my eyes wide open at night, as the moon shone over the forest, reflecting off of the pristine snow. I watched until I was lulled to sleep by the quiet chugging of the wheels on the tracks, and the gentle swaying of the train back and forth, as I kept moving further and further away from what I knew, to something completely new and exciting.

Siberiwhat?

Well, I have been instructed to write about my Siberian experience by my grandmother, and I am definitely not one to let her down. :-)

I went into the school office one day to ask for a few weeks off in March. I asked politely enough, and when the girl at timetabling asked out of curiosity where I was headed I smiled whimsically. For the 100th time I said, "I'm going to Siberia." IN MARCH? Every head in the room turned around, asking me the same question I'd heard already, echoing in my head: WHY? The looks got more shocked when I told them that I was going to Lake Baikal, about the same distance from Moscow as California is to somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean. Worse, by train - THIRD CLASS. And of course to top off the perfect madness of it all, I was a single foreign woman, traveling alone with what we could call pathetic Russian language skills.

And yet I went anyways, and of course, as I always, I wouldn't have it any other way. When you travel alone it's much easier to see things from a wider angle, where no traveling companion can distract you from what is happening in front of you. Instead you become so much more part of your surroundings, that instead of being some outsider, you get to participate in a world that is foreign from what you know and understand.

Vladimir and Bogolyubova

I don't think I need to remind you, dear reader, that Moscow is a big city. Although no one knows for sure, some people estimate there are at least 13 million people living in the metropolitan area, and some estimates are higher. As thrilling as city life is, sometimes it can be overwhelming. Everywhere you turn there is chaos, noise, people, cars.

Although many people love the city life, I have to admit sometimes I just want to run off somewhere where there is nature, and I can get away from the traffic and chaos of the Metro that I ride at least several hours every day. Which is part of the reason why my friend Luke and I found ourselves in Vladimir on a Monday morning, with our gear, unsure of what would happen next. Don't worry, we weren't ditching school, it just happened to be a holiday.

What followed was a pleasant surprise: as usual, with my low expectations, I was amazed at how beautiful Vladimir was. Like many of the other small towns outside of Moscow, the wealth of history is incredible, and the architecture can be breathtaking. When the town is tiny, with modest buildings that are only a few stories tall, the churches always stand out on the horizon, to impose themselves on the newcomer. As we drove by each town on our 3 hour bus trip, it was hard to decide which church we liked best. Each time we were sure that "that one was the prettiest," another one would show up on the side of the road, and we'd have to rethink our decision.

But by that evening, we had our answer. We knew quite well that there was one church better than the rest. Above all, Luke was determined to go to Bogolyubova. "Bugah what?" I had to ask a dozen times at least, the name was so ridiculous and impossible to pronounce. The town was so tiny, even in comparison to Vladimir. But nothing was as tiny as the church. It was probably the most humble four square church I had seen in Russia thus far, perched on its tippie toes on the corner of a frozen lake. It was so modest, so simple, yet as the sun began to set as the backdrop to a silent flurry of snow over this silent lake, we knew. What this church lacked in size in grandeur, it made up in natural beauty. The serenity and and simplicity of what was outside was 100 times more potent than anything could have been created by man. "If there was a time to believe in God, it would be now," murmered my new friend Diana, as we stood in awe, watching the sun set. All I could say was, "I love Russia. What a beautiful country."

Perhaps one of the best surprises was the people we met in Vladimir. Full of energy, our new acquaintances quickly became our friends, as eager and energetic to see their hometown through our tourist eyes. I realized, not for the first time, that as usual the stereotypes were wrong. Russians aren't always cranky and serious, like the ones that push me around on the metro every morning. In fact, these people we hardly knew eagerly shared their town with us, and invited us to dinner and to stay in their house! As we sat listening to Tchaikovsky on a record player in an old Soviet style apartment, I couldn't help but smile. This is the Russia you dream of, full of laughter, philosophical conversations, and Tchaikovsky. And that's when I knew that my adventures outside of Moscow could be some of the most rewarding experiences, bringing me closer to understanding a Russia outside of that big ever consuming universe that is Moscow.

The bill battle and Women's Day

I often wonder what it was like to be a woman in the past, even a few generations ago. We've advanced so much in modern days to try to make gender equality a reality. In America everyone seems to be so proud of how much power women have now, in the working world, and just about everywhere outside of the house. Although I'm proud of how much freedom I have as a woman, especially in America, I can't help but get confused at times over little things like paying the bill at a restaurant. It's true that back home I know that all of my guy friends are virtually broke and I always pay my way when we go out. But it's funny how much discussion has been brought up by this sore subject in Russia. "Men always should pay for a bill," stated my Russian girlfriends, "it's their job!" But I couldn't help but laugh in pity for my British and American guy friends who bemoaned their new task. "I don't want to pay for her, it's too expensive as it is in Moscow!!!!" And it's true, Moscow is REALLY expensive, especially if you want to have a nice dinner in the city center.

Coming from a girl who has always been raised to be independent and self-sufficient, it's no surprise that I'm somewhat shocked at times by the somewhat "old-fashioned" gender roles you see around Moscow. boyfriends can be very affectionate towards their loved ones, helping them over patches of ice, tying their ice skates for them, holding them close for warmth. It's no surprise that in Moscow "Women's day" is a huge hit.

It lands on the 8th of March, for International Women's day, which is conveniently a few days after the celebration of spring. Everywhere you walked that day you saw people dressed up in their best, and men waiting impatiently at every metro station with flowers in their hands. Even I got gifts from my students, and my housemate's flowers filled up our kitchen. As nice as it was, I couldn't help but wonder, what is the purpose of this day? Does it truly advance women in any way, or is it just a chance for men to "have an excuse to express their love to women," as my friend explained to me. I suppose it can't be a bad idea at least. I'll still pay for my half of the bill anyways.

The Beginning of Spring

When I woke up on March 1st, I could tell something was changing. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, the snow was slightly melting...oh, and best of all, my students all had smiles on their faces. In Russia, it was the first day of spring, and there was no arguing about the science of it. To be honest I think it's more that people want it to be spring here, and the desire to feel like you have conquered winter, once and for all. I just went with it, since I admittedly liked that sense of waking from hibernation, to open my eyes wide and see the world bright and new, just as I left it so many months ago. It's almost like waking from some strange dark, snowy dream. Only to see more snow. But at least it's sunny.

And of course, leave it to the Russians to celebrate. Everyone loves Maslenitsa week: "butter week" in Russian, to celebrate the beginning of spring. The purpose of the week is simple: eat lots of pancakes, which in Russia look like delicious crepes, that you can add anything to, from dried fruit to condensed milk, to sour cream, to salmon. On the last day of this week there are big celebrations in virtually every park, where there is music, concerts, people in bright colors, and of course, lots and lots of pancakes. In the end they burn a scarecrow, as a final goodbye to winter. And no, this is not a celebration run by the church, its roots run much deeper, from ancient times.

My friends and I were pleasantly amused at the huge collage of a bright sun at the Maslenitsa celebration behind St Basil's Cathedral. The sun was a lit up with flickering lights, with a huge smile on its face. We sort of bounced to the cheery music thinking happy thoughts about the spring, but by 20 minutes later we realized it was still cold!!!! As we ran off to the nearest warm place, we thought of how silly the whole thing was. It's a lie! there's still snow everywhere, and it's still below freezing. But nobody around us seemed to notice, they were so happy, and could you really blame them?

Sometimes I wonder how paranoid some people are here about getting sick. The more I talk to my students, the more they seem to confirm my suspicions: most Muscovites hate the idea of being ill. It all started when I met a girl at a bar who explained that she was on sick leave. "Wait, you're not working because you're sick, yet you're out at a bar," I mused, "You must be really ill!" "No, you don't get it," she laughed."My work gives me two weeks off for sick leave, regardless of how I feel. Last week I felt horrible, but now I feel fine, so I might as well enjoy myself, right?" Wow, that's a concept if I ever heard one, I wonder if it's more because the office doesn't want germs around rather than the company wants its employees to recuperate.

I've also heard from my lovely accounting students how many precautions you have to take with a newborn baby. After childbirth, you must stay in the hospital for over a week for observation. What? I remember my mother's story of how quickly she went in and out of the hospital when she had me, it only took one afternoon!

So you can only imagine my surprise when I went to the doctor's office. It was probably for the silliest reason imaginable: I'd punctured my finger with a piece of plastic from a thumbtack, and after a few days it had gotten infected. Not wanting to repeat the miserable situation I'd had on Reunion Island (I won't go into details), I decided to use my newfound Russian health insurance (all expenses paid by the company) to experience my first visit to a Russian medical facility.

At first it was confusing, as I entered the building, using whatever Russian I had to explain that I had an appointment with the doctor. As the receptionist snapped at me, the lady at the coat room smiled and helped me with my jacket and gave me the blue footies to put on, so I wouldn't track mud around the office upstairs. As I made it up the stairs, I was surprised: instead of seeing the typical colorful, cheerful waiting room I was used to back in the states, all I saw was a long pale corridor, that stretched for miles, with a scattering of couches from one end to the other. I signed my paperwork (fortunately the Russians don't believe in piles of medical forms, with 100 questions because I probably would have accidentally checked the boxes in Russian that say I'm allergic to everything and that I have 100 things wrong with me). Despite my perfectly clean tracks, along with everyone else's, the place seemed, well grim, with no personality, no warmth. I wondered if maybe I'd been sent to the wrong doctor's office.

Fortunately for me, my doctor could muster up a few words in English, and his drawing skills were impeccable. As he and his assistant took me into the operating room, I eyed the operating table with dismay. Why did I have to lie down under bright lights....for a finger? But the doctor was friendly, and asked me what my parents thought of my adventures in Moscow. He must be a father, I thought.

The good news was by the end of my "operation" I didn't need any medication, and I came to the realization that I had only waited 30 minutes: compared to my doctor at Kaiser, that was nothing! I walked back to the coat room, and impressed the lady with my few words of Russian: Spaceebo ee dasveh danya!

Going for a Moscow drive

Sometimes when you live in a huge city it's hard to picture the whole place pieced together. Sure you can stare at the map in the metro all you want, but it doesn't become real since you climb deep down into one station only to magically appear in another. The idea of walking places becomes preposterous since, even though it would probably take you only 10 minutes to get there, you're more than likely to get lost along the way. I'm somewhat ashamed to say that only now have I figured out how to walk to the school near Red Square from a different station than "Okhotniy Riad."

The best way to finally make sense of it all is to either: a- walk from one end of the city to another, which might take you 5 hours (not such a viable option when it's a cozy 3.2 degrees Farenheit outside). Or, option b- find a friend who not only has a car, but comes up with the crazy idea of using said car to travel around said city (aka Moscow). Option b didn't occur to me until my friend Igor casually invited me to go on a "drive" with him and his friend Tanya.

Moscow is a rather imposing city by day, and even more so by night. Everywhere you turn there are bright neon lights: on bridges, on buildings, on billboards, and on the few sky scrapers that Moscow has. The lights dazzle you from either side of the Moscow River, which winds its way through the city. Regardless of where you're driving, you always feel like you're going in circles, because you actually are! As many times as people have explained to me the circle pattern of Moscow, I still never quite get used to the fact that roads never stop here, and you can keep going in a loop forever if you want. Of course there are the spokes to this wheel, which run straight, but you have to choose the right one or else you will be lost forever.

The buildings themselves are quite impressive. There's not really a skyline, like in New York, since most buildings are on the shorter side. There are the 7 sisters, 7 uniformly imposing towers from the Soviet era, which circle somewhat around the "White House," (The USSR's response to the US's by being bigger and taller of course). But admittedly when you go to the part of town with the true sky scrapers, which didn't exist 12 years ago, you truly see the modern, flashy side of Moscow. The architecture is incredible, with every shape and size imaginable, and some pretty creative buildings too. There's one sky scraper where you can see a pulsing red light in the upper right corner: the beating heart of a large giant. Igor pointed out his favorite building: an every which way stack of blocks that blink lights that slowly change colors. We stopped and admired it from the bottom, right off the side of the large highway.

As we drove by, Igor pointed out interesting monuments, buildings, and parks, as I soaked in all of this newfound knowledge. Then he pointed out something that I would have never noticed, as obvious as it was: so many of the buildings we were driving past, regardless of style or age were....empty. "There's another apartment building. I guess buildings, really. Nobody lives there." He definitely had meant buildings, because the place was huge and Igor was right, no-one home. "A lot of Moscow is like that," explained Tanya, and when I asked why, Igor shrugged. He told me it was because the terrain in Moscow is swamp like, and the soil incredibly unstable. "Nobody can live there, it's too dangerous, but they can't afford to demolish it." Really? I wondered. Maybe there are economic reasons too, although the whole thing confused me to begin with, since I could see everywhere I turned more cranes building newer and taller skyscapers. As we finally made it to Sparrow Hills to look down on the city, Tanya and I admired the architecture as we danced away the cold. Igor took out his lovely SLR digital camera, aimed towards the city below, and...."Ah man, my batteries are dead!" More like frozen! We all laughed, glad to have an excuse to run back to the warm car we had left behind.

Buying vegetables has never been more exciting!

I'll admit...when I first got to Moscow, I was too afraid to talk to people. If they asked me for directions, I shrugged, at restaurants I just pointed, and at the grocery store I just handed them money. It was terrifying to think of even uttering a word in this crazy language they call Russian, which is often muttered at such a speed it's hard to tell whether someone is angry or happy.

So I cheated. In Moscow, like most modern cities, globalization has taken over, and super markets and department stores reign supreme, where you can find anything you want at Auchaun (a popular French super market that's about the size of Wallmart), or at least at the 24 hour mini-mart on every corner, including mine. It's great, you go in, you stare at the words for a while on the labels, fortunately the numbers are legible to even a naive American who can sort of divide approximately by 30 (the average conversion of a 30 rubles is 1 US dollar...or it was).

But ever since I started taking my Russian lessons, I've become a little braver, and have decided it's time to experience the true Russian market - Soviet style.

Back in Soviet days people had to wait in line for their rations, which were often handed to them by the clerks. It seems to me that the old style grocery store accommodates this well: you have to ask for everything. There are no aisles, there's not much you can just grab yourself in this large square store. When you walk inside, you feel like you're in a different era, with wooden floors and rickety old windows that probably have seen better days. And yet everything is neat and tidy inside because you have to politely ask one of the many grocers to grab you those tomatoes, or grab you that bag of flour. And if this isn't perfect practice for speaking Russian, I don't know what is. Today I asked for my two tomatoes (два помидоры, pronounced "dvah pohmeedooreeh") and was pleased when I understood how much they cost without looking at a cash register screen: 50 рублей.

I decided to use my newfound confidence to check out a "kiosk." In order to explain what a kiosk is, all you need to imagine is a box with a panel of doors/windows on one side, tempting you with anything from shampoo to purses to fruits to electronics. The one I found happens to sell my absolute favorite: лаваш (lavash), a bread that has made it into Russian culture, compliments of Georgia. With my poor Russian the baker deduced that I must be from either England or America. "Aha!" he grinned when I admitted I was American. "what, er, shtart?" "извините?" I replied. I gave him an apologetic smile. "Shtart, er, New Jersey, New York, California!" "California," I replied and he smiled. "Da....Arnold Schwarzenegger!" I laughed all the way home. California may be well known for its nice beaches and beautiful cities, but nobody will ever forget us, thanks to dear old Arnold.

Sometimes, as an outsider it's really easy to understand a situation. You're outside the bubble, and everything seems so clear to you, because you're not clouded by your own thoughts or personal frustrations. Sometimes it's easier to generalize and simplify what could actually be a very complex situation. In my case, when I look at Russia, I'm not sure what to say about its problems with racism. Sure, I hate racism, I hate when people dislike each other based on wealth, religion, or social status. But I also know that I don't completely understand all sides of the story, and any opinion I make is based on what little naive knowledge I have of this huge, confusing country.

This afternoon a suicide bomber killed over 35 people in Domodedevo Airport, in Moscow, and injured hundreds. It's a sad thing, and I don't know really what to say, except that it's hard to blame any group of people, for something that one person did. Let us all hope that someday this world will become a better place, where everyone sees the harm and pointlessness in violence.

The Russian secrets

It seems that all Russians have a special skill. Yes, I am stereotyping, and no I'm not ashamed to do so. But I do think it's true, there's something about those Russians...I noticed the first time I saw someone deal with a patch of ice on the sidewalk, how they effortlessly glided through. Or those people that can pick their way through the snow, without getting anything wet or dirty. HOW Do they do that???

The trick is to go to a skate park, preferably on a week night, and watch what happens. I did just that, and was amazed to find the answer. THEY CAN SKATE! Well, some of them can, at least. It's a special crowd of people that come to the park at night, when the ice is destroyed, bumpy, and horrible, but the entrance is free and there aren't hundreds of tiny children and other dangerous obstacles. At night you can make your way around the ice as hockey players do stops, spins, and jumps. There's even that girl on one part of the path that practices her figure skating routine, even though there are plenty of people skating by, and the ice is really bad. With so much space, teenagers race each other, laughing across the ice as they glide pass whichever skaters happen to be in their way.

Namely a silly American, bobbing around, trying not to make too much of a fool of myself. As people sped by, making figures and spinning, I was trying to will myself to move just a little bit faster, a little more risky from my usual glacial speed of...well, a little faster than zero. In a distant corner I secretly tried to practice going backwards, with just a tiny bit of improvement with each step. Then I realized it wasn't so secret as some skater "dude" smiled as he skated backwards effortlessly, as if he was born to move in the reverse direction on two blades.

It's such a magical experience to skate outside, and double that by the fact that you're surrounded by Christmas lights, trees, and few people. The best part was watching a gathering of people by the entrance. At first I was trying to figure out where the music was coming from, and for what reason. Then I realized there was a group of elderly people, dancing about, waltzing, hopping, spinning, on, hold your breath....a huge patch of SNOW. They looked so happy, dancing outside, on a snow covered dance floor, swinging their hearts out, thinking of the old days. It's hard to put in words what they were feeling, or what sort of dances they were doing, but it reminded me of some sort of trendy dancing from another decade that wasn't mine.

I slowed down to watch. I watched them as I took off my skates, getting ready to put on my boots and make my way to class, where I would show off my new skates to my students.

Arbat - for my "Poppa"

This blog is dedicated to my grandfather, who along with my grandmother visited Moscow a couple of decades ago, and absolutely adored the city. Before I left California I was shown photos, told stories, and given advice from my grandparents, who are my experts on traveling, since they've been so many places that I still haven't caught up to them. My grandma told me of all the lovely art museums, and national treasures, which made Poppa roll his eyes. Instead he told me, with great insistence, that if I really wanted to go see something interesting in Moscow, it had to be the "Arbat." "What is it?" I asked, since I had no clue about geography of the city, nor had I really read up on any travel guides. Just go there, he said, because after their trip he had read many books about this infamous place where all of these important people spent their time. So as much as I searched and searched for a postcard of Arbat, I couldn't find one anywhere. So Poppa, this is the next best thing. I hope it will do.

I have been to the Arbat many times. As it turns out, the first time I went to Arbat street was by accident with a friend, as we wandered around town rather lost. We poked around different souvenir shops, and walked up and down the cobble stoned pedestrian only street, and then left. It was only later, when I intentionally went to see the street did I realize that I had already been there.

Arbat street is so famous because, according to Rough Guides, "Arbat once stood for Bohemian Moscow...Narrow and cobbled with a tramline down the middle, it was the heart of a quarter where writers, actors and scientists frequented the same shops and cafes." This describes a scene in Dr Zhivago, the film, where Yuri steps on a tram, and sees Lara for the first time.... sadly I have never read the novel, so I don't know if the story really takes place on Arbat, but it wouldn't be surprising if it did.

Today Arbat street is well suited for tourists, with plenty of souvenir shops, cafes, and restaurants, such as the ever popular Hard Rock Cafe. It's a shame that there aren't as many cafes with artists hanging about, and it doesn't seem to be the place for the Bohemian life anymore.Although I'm not one for shopping, nor do I usually go to Hard Rock Cafes, I have to admit the street still has a little charm to it, since it seems to be one of the few places where cars simply cannot drive. As you walk down the cobblestones, you may not run into a lot of locals, or a lot of people in general, but it's rather peaceful and clean, and if you squint your eyes just the slightest bit, as the lights start to dim, you can almost imagine a tram car chugging along, with Doctor Zhivago, peering at Lara, the love of his life, as he hops off the tram and wanders into a cafe to write endless poetry about life, freedom, and all things that only true art can explain.

Winter camp with BKC

Yet another facet to this large "school/company" of foreign languages: a camp for kids during the holidays! As strange as it sounded to work at a "winter camp," teaching English to kids for a week, I signed up anyway, figuring at least I would get a breath of fresh air and have some time to do some winter activities. Best of all, I would accumulate more vacation time by working during our break, which I could use later on. The seven of us teachers packed our bags, and headed out to the "Sanatorium," a building on camp property used for the elderly who need to rest and receive treatments.

As the name suggests, the building is a little creepy, and rather run down, with low lights and dark hallways. The elevators were turned off, a new program I can only guess to get us into shape as we trekked up to the 8th floor every day, sometimes twice in a row in my case, when I forgot my keys downstairs....During the camp the electricity often shut down, as the generator failed again, and again and again. Fortunately this usually happened during daylight hours. Unfortunately the photo copy machine suffered greatly without power, and we'd have to hope that the electricity would somehow start running before our classes....The food in the cafeteria was plentiful, thank goodness, with plenty of Russian style salads, covered in mayonnaise, plenty of hot dogs, and meat, including liver and tongue....but we never starved that's for sure, having unlimited access to food and no responsibilities to clean up the dishes after ourselves.

The rest of "BKC Country," as the camp is fondly called, is actually a very nice resort, with a river (rather frozen), trails great for cross country skiing, sledding, and a frozen basketball court which worked well enough as an ice skating rink. In the afternoon after lunch we would run outside, excited to try out a sport before our afternoon classes started up. We must have seemed rather ridiculous to all of the Russians around us as we struggled to ice skate, or screamed like little children as we sledded down the steep hill. I guess these things don't matter too much. We had our fun, especially as a group one evening in the "banya," a sauna like building next to the river. We became very daring, as we darted from the boiling banya room to river, plunging into the square hole of water cut out from the ice! The next day we went back to investigate our snow angels that we had made in our bathing suits in the snow. For teachers, we felt pretty hard core!

When we weren't outside (for those 1 or 2 hours a day), we were indoors, teaching kids about space and the solar system. I'd like to say that I am an expert teacher who knows exactly what to do when it comes to dealing with children or teens for that matter, but then again, who am I kidding? As the week progressed, I learned as quickly as I could what Russian kids and teens like, and what they absolutely will refuse to do. I couldn't blame them, they were at camp after all, who wants to sit in a freezing cold, dark classroom the size of a closet for an hour and a half learning about the solar system in English? But as teachers, we were also determined to make the classes as fun as possible, setting up running games in the hallway, art projects, various games of pictionary. I spent my evenings in the teacher's room with my coworkers, coming up with as many challenges, games, or ideas that we could think of. Anything to keep the kids on task, anything to draw their attention and make them actually enjoy the class. I felt like we spent so many hours lesson planning, all for a week at camp!

By the end of the week what started out as chaos turned to a loose order, a step up, and I got those hugs at the end of the week. There were smiles when we said goodbye, and plenty of thank yous. I wasn't going to win any popularity contests, but at least I wasn't hated. And best of all, I actually liked these kids. You could tell that they are good students at school, and they know their English, even if all they really wanted to do was play with their cell phones and iPods and speak Russian. But in the end, they won me over, with laughs and smiles. This is why I love teaching.