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.