Last Bit of Moscow

The night before I left, my host mom came home kind of late and asked me to start some pasta while she walked the dog. She made a salad when she got back and then went to change her clothes before dinner. I was thinking, "Pasta and salad? This is not a normal Ludmila Petrovna meal." When she got back, she went to the cupboard and got something out: a giant bucket of KFC chicken! :-D She said that she wanted to enjoy something special with me before I went back to America. (Usually she cooks some sort of meat herself, but buying meat already cooked is definitely special.)

Then we sat and talked for a really long time. We mostly talked about my time in Moscow. What did I like? What didn't I like? What do I remember suprising me the most when I got here? Did I like staying with her? And so on. She's really great. I love her.

The next day when my taxi came, she was so sweet. A hug, a kiss, a tear, and her telling me to come back soon really made it difficult not to just start bawling.

I'm going to miss her so much! I'm going to miss all of Moscow so much! It really started to feel like home. I was sitting in my room packing and I closed my eyes, picturing myself back home. I pictured myself opening my suitcase, putting things away in my closet, putting books on the shelves, making my bed--and then I realized that I was picturing myself back in my room at Ludmila Petrovna's! The one I was sitting in, packing my stuff up in! That's how much I really felt at home there. I really, really am going to miss it.

Right now I'm sitting in an internet place in Bologna, Italy, during my 24-hour layover. I really don't know how I feel about going back to America. I was so excited about it for so long, but when the time came to leave Moscow, I really didn't want to go. Now I'm in this middleground, this waiting place, and I'm really confused. I don't know where I belong anymore. America? Or Russia? Maybe it will come to me once I'm actually back home. Or at least I hope so...

Things I Eat in Russia

In America, I hate Diet Coke. Seriously, I think it's the worst-tasting diet beverage in the world. However, in Russia, it's called Coca-Cola Light. This is not, I repeat not, the same thing. It's amazing. But why in the world does this all-American drink taste better in Russia than it does in the United States??? The only reason I can come up with, is that there must be some FDA-unapproved ingredient(s) in it. It's really sad that I'm probably getting cancer from drinking it, but that's not going to stop me. Mmmmmmmm carcinogens. :-D We definitely need more in our Diet Coke in America. :-D

I also have come to love cabbage in Russia. Before it was just that thing you make coleslaw with, and add to Ham and Cabbage so it's not just Ham. However, after having it probably dozens of ways in the last 9 months, I have really come to appreciate its flavor and wide variety of uses. I'm going to post some recipes at some point. I just have to translate them from A) Russian to English, and B) the metric system to our weird cup and spoon system. :-) Be patient. They will come in time.

On Russian Men...

Okay, so the post isn't really about Russian men, but rather Stalin and his terrific reign, which just happened to have ridiculously detrimental effects on household life in Russia, among many other things. Unless otherwise noted, everything in this post is based on information given in my courses this year.

The year is 1928. It has taken Stalin 4 years to cunningly pit his rivals against each other and wind up as the last man still standing, but he's done it. And now that he's the single most powerful man in the country, he probably is thinking it would be best if those annoying "opposers" just didn't exist in the future. (Or, ya know, that's how I like to justify it.) So, he starts eliminating the opposition. However, this post is less about political oppression.

Then World War Two rolls around. Stalin decides that when facing the Germans and their tanks, sophisticated bombers, etc., it would be best just to have some men with some guns. I guess they also had some planes, but not very many. So, as I'm sure you already know, people were dying in droves. They had to resort to unconventional tactics. Pilots were flying in to tanks (what else are you supposed to combat tanks with when you have no heavy artillery?). The Russians would also try and fly their planes really close to the Germans' tails in order to chop them off. Sometimes the pilot would successfully chop it off without damaging his propeller, and only the German plane would go down. But, of course, sometimes they would go down together.

By the end of Stain's reign some 40 million Soviet people had perished (that's a conservative estimate), a fraction of which were women. The men who were left were not... well, they weren't exactly the cream of the crop. The ones left that didn't go to war were really old, really young, or sickly. However, the men coming back from the war were, in general, worse. You can imagine after fighting a war that they certainly weren't adequately prepared for, they didn't come back bright and chipper. They were hardened from the horrible living and fighting conditions they experienced. They no longer knew how to interact with people. They came back to their homes to find wives, mothers, fathers, brother, sisters, children, and even pets missing. (Why did I add pets specifically? When rations were small or non-existent, Spot and Fluffy were really tasty.) The relatives that were left were then subject to the veteran's extreme nature. Men also came back from the war and didn't have jobs anymore. Most were so young when they went away that they didn't even have a job from before that they could've lost. Some were trained in a couple weeks for easy jobs and stayed in them, but some went on to take classes at night to achieve a more sophisticated specialty. Many were so scarred from their experiences, they couldn't work at all.

Unfortunately, a lot were permanently mentally damaged by their wartime activities. They would randomly have fits of rage and violence. Wives put up with it because they knew it was the effect of the war, and that if they left they probably wouldn't get another husband because of the shortage of men. But then daughters saw their mothers acting this way, without knowing why, and thought that this was normal behavior between a husband and wife. And so the downhill spiral starts. Already generations of Russian women have seen their mothers doing anything to make their fathers happy—even taking beating after beating. Now a man can get away with pretty much anything and his wife or girlfriend won't leave him. But ya gotta have a husband! Even if he's not so great...

I do have to say this: I am by no means saying that all Russian men are bad. There are certainly a lot of them that qualify as great fathers and husbands. And I don't mean to imply that Russian women are stupid for staying with them either. It's just an interesting and scary cultural phenomenon that, like most of the other bad ones, was started by the extreme decisions of Stalin. The whole situation really interests me. And I hope it has been interesting for you, too! :-)

MAIL

To whom this may concern:

If you were thinking about sending me a package, STOP RIGHT THERE. Don't send it. You've missed your chance. I'm going to be home in 4 weeks, and your package is going to take longer than that to get here. Send it to one of my parents and they'll make sure I get it. Or you can give it to me when you see me! It's sooner than you think!

Please send mail no later than MAY 1ST. That will give it a good two weeks to get here. Or, again, you can send it to one of my parents.

And if you weren't planning on doing either of those things, well, then you can just completely ignore this. :-D

26 days until America!!!

Changes...

Today, for the first time, I saw a car and it startled me. Well, that's not true. Cars quite often startle me in Russia, but it's for reasons like how dirty they are, how small they are, how old they are, how generally funny-looking they are, etc. But, this time the car I saw was... American. Not only was it American, but it was an Avalanche. Huge, black, gas-guzzling, and shaped like a sneaker. It reminded me of home. I don't even like them in America. But here it just stood out. I take it as a sign that I'm probably going slightly insane from being away from home so long. *Sigh.* I miss America and its wasteful consumerism. Although, Russia is definitely giving us a run for our money.

Now, if you know me even slightly, you'll probably have caught on to the fact that I'm kind of a germ freak. I don't like touching doorknobs, telephones, ATMs, and don't even get me started on bathrooms... However, when living in Russia, this kind of all goes out the window. It has to...or you die. In a place where bathrooms might not have a toilet seat, hot water, soap, toilet paper, or the ability to flush whatever tissues you have in your bag after you use them, you kind of forget why you aren't supposed to touch the doorknob on the way out. Also, standing on the metro has become easier, but contact with the grimy bars at one time or another is almost always required. Really, though, the only thing I still don't like to touch is the handrail on the metro escalators. I know it's a really weird thing to not want to touch considering the same people touch them that touch the rest of the metro, but they're made out of this rubbery material that always feels sticky (probably like escalators in America, I just don't remember). And I just can't take it; they feel dirty. Although, if you think that this is a significant improvement for a major germaphobe like me, I have started doing some really weird things that I never used to do in America. The most disturbing to me, specifically, would have to be that every time I eat a piece of fruit (ie. apple, pear) I wash it. With soap. I know, I'm a seriously troubled person.

Also, my perception of fashion has changed. Not that I can't look at Americans and see that they are obviously fashionable, but just that when I look at Russians, I don't place them on the same fashion scale. I have developed this weird sense of fashion, to the point where I — despite all efforts — have actually caught myself liking it. Okay, I shouldn't say 'it' as if I like what Russians wear in general, but I occasionally think, "Oh, that looks nice/pretty/cute." Then, almost immediately afterward, I usually feel like I have to smack myself. One time I was standing on the metro in front of this girl, about my age, who was wearing one of those necklaces that has like 4 or 5 different length chains of the same necklace. It was silver-colored with these blue and purple hexagonal gems, each a little smaller than a dime, set in the necklace: so if the gem was facing out it was blue or purple with a silver edge, but if it was facing in, it was just silver. She also had little dangly earrings with a longish chain with a gem at the bottom. I kept looking at her necklace (which is kind of conspicuous when you're standing in front of someone sitting on the metro...with your knees almost touching), but I thought it was really pretty. I even thought to myself, "I would wear something like that." Then, almost immediately afterward, I realized where I had seen jewelry like that before: it was almost exactly like the jewelry from Pretty, Pretty Princess (or maybe just some random kids jewelry we had when I was little) except silver and not pink! It even looked like plastic! I think I could've died. Luckily, she stood up to leave just then, so I took her spot and sat hanging my head in shame. And things like this are starting to happen way too often...

Well, I have a presentation in about 36 hours that I haven't really started yet... But next time I promise a very interesting discussion about the men and women of Russia. We had a great time talking about it in Speech Practice... :-)