If the Master and Margarita had a Sequel

Last night, I finally hit the halfway mark in the first full-length classic I have attempted to read in the original, Mikhail Bulgakov’s The Master and Margarita! (Well, I actually attempted The Brothers Karamazov last summer, but that turned out to be way above my level at the time.)

Portrait of Mikhail Bulgakov, graffiti from the stairwell of the Bulgakov House, photo taken December, 2010
Portrait of Mikhail Bulgakov, graffiti from the stairwell of the Bulgakov House, photo taken December, 2010

I first became enamored with the book back in 2010 when we read it in my literature class in Nizhniy Novgorod. It grabbed me from the first page with it’s deliciously creepy opening scene in 1930s Moscow where an eccentric “intourist” named Woland argues with two atheists against their claim that Jesus never existed, then predicts that one will die by getting his head cut off, which happens not an hour later when he slips on sunflower seed oil and falls in front of a tramvai.

It soon becomes clear that this foreign visitor is none other than Satan, who has come to Moscow with an eclectic entourage, including a talking black cat and a tall, skinny man in a checkered suit and a broken pince nez, to drastically change the lives of the city’s intelligentsia.  This story-line is successfully braided with the tale of a brilliant writer, “the Master,” and his lover Margarita, and the Master’s novel itself, which imagines the last days of a Jesus-based character Yeshua Ha-Notzri and his hearing before Pontius Pilate.

Although this book is extremely entertaining from a surface-level reading, it becomes even more intriguing when you delve into the layers of philosophy and criticism of Stalinist Russia that make up the meat of the novel. It is no surprise then that The Master and Margarita wasn’t published in the U.S.S.R. until 25 years after Bulgakov wrote it, and even then, 12% of it was censored!

"Manuscripts don't burn." A famous line from the novel.
“Manuscripts don’t burn.” A famous line from the novel.

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So while I won’t give any spoilers to the book (which I do recommend you read!), I will share a few reasons why I think that if The Master and Margarita had a sequel, it would be set in Elabuga. One of the reasons the novel stands alone is that Bulgakov found the sweet spot between fantasy and reality, (what literature nerds would call magical realism) to the point where the strange events that the Devil brings to Moscow seem chillingly feasible. I have found this little town in Tatarstan strangely mirrors the feel of the masterpiece. On one hand, as some have said, Elabuga is “the realest place on earth,” but at the same time, I often encounter little mysteries that make me feel like I’m in a fairy tale, sometimes wondering if Woland will step out from behind a tree and start talking to me.

Here are a few of my Elabuga experiences that have kept me on my toes:

Mystery #1: Woland’s distant cousin?

The novel opens up with the “intourist” Professor Woland, (Satan) predicting that Berlioz, head of a literature firm, will have his head cut off, and that his companion, Ivan, a poet who writes under the pseudonym Бездомный, or “homeless,” will find himself in a mental institution. While conversing, Woland gives the men his business card. I had a strange conversation in the lunchroom at my university with a guy I like to call “Woland’s distant cousin.”He even had gold crowns on his right teeth, like Woland. After finding out I was an American, he called me an “intourist,” the reference so common during Soviet times, then he used the word бездомный (homeless) in conversation. Finally, he started telling me about a Bulgarian Professor Lozanov, whom he had studied English under during the Soviet Union. The method was very intense, he said, for the first four months, you were allowed no visual aids or texts, you simply had to learn by hearing and remembering. The last five months of the the nine month program, however, you were given books. Then, he looked at me with a strange smile on his face and said,

“the thing is, it was so intense, that after that year under Lozanov, everyone in my group died except me.”

My eyes went wide, not sure if he was joking. He kept up his broad smile, his gold crowns shining, and said “yes, I’m the only survivor.” And then, to top things off, he handed me this business card:

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This professor had basically covered chapter 1: gold crowns, business card, “intourist,” бездомный, and last but not least, death/mental overload.

Intrigued by this Lozanov fellow, I googled him and found almost everything this professor said about him to be true; his nationality, his methodology, the time period. The only thing I couldn’t find was information about a whole cohort of Soviets dying after a year with him. But as a Russian friend of mine said, “maybe it was secret information, and he accidentally spilled it.”

Mystery #2: The singing opera man

Around November, I started to hear this strange noise from inside my dorm room at random times. The sound would usually go on for periods of ten to twenty minutes straight, and sounded like a cross between an old-man singing opera and a ghostly moan. In November, everything in Elabuga seemed weird to me, and I think I just subconsciously accepted it as one of the quirks of my new surroundings. I didn’t tell anybody about it for over a month, and when I finally did, I realized how crazy I sounded. I mean, really? The ghost of an old man singing opera?

The sound continued, and around mid-December I had come up with a brilliant theory: it was the call to prayer from the mosque about 3/4 of a mile away from my dorm. After all, hadn’t I heard the call to prayer once in one of my classes, seeing how two of my girls closed their eyes and began to pray. An hour after that class, while walking home, I heard the opera voice not too far from the mosque.

But none of it really made any sense. I could still hear it loudly and clearly from the inside of my dorm room, a good 15 minute walk away from the mosque. One evening a friend came over who is also Muslim and she heard the sound. “What is that!?” she asked, scared.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I hear it every day.”

“If I were you, I would be scared to go to sleep at night!” She then assured me that it was most DEFINITELY not coming from the mosque. The next week, I heard it while I was outside of the dorm, the sound more resonant than I had ever heard it. I quickly grabbed my phone and began to record the sound, crunching through the snow, trying to find where it was coming from. I couldn’t tell if if was emanating from my dorm, or from another building that surrounds the mini-courtyard.

The audio file is as far as I’ve come in my little  investigation. No Russians I have asked have any idea where the noise could be coming from, and they seem to be just as intrigued as me.

And finally: The Devil’s Tower

This place makes me want to write books.

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So it’s not exactly a “mystery,” per se, but it’s a really mysterious place, and with The Master and Margarita‘s obsession with the use of any form of the word чёрт, or “devil,” the Devil’s Tower would fit right into the narrative.

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This sign tells us that the area surrounding the Devil’s Tower was inhabited in the “Early Iron Age” (7th-8th centuries), and that at the end of the 10th century the Bulgars built a military fortress. The tower with white-stoned citadels is the only remnant of the Volga Bulgars during the pre-Mongolian period. Archaeological and  architectural research has found a building on this site that is the remains of a fortress-mosque, built no later than the 12th century.

The view from the Devil’s Tower is a breathtaking panorama of wintry Elabuga life: against the backdrop of forest green and white, today I saw the tiny figure of a man ice-fishing in the Toima River, a man and babushka strolling down the slippery street far below, and beyond, the colorful churches and buildings of Kazanskaya Street. So in spite of all the strangeness and mysteries and unpredictability of this town, well, probably because of them, I’m really starting to feel a connection to this place. Whereas last semester, I was just trying to keep my head above water, now I have time to think and reflect and actually enjoy this town that is so very Russian, yet has a personality all it’s own.

#SochiProblems: Russians Respond

We’ve all seen the pictures of the apparently disastrous conditions of the Sochi Olympics, and if we’re honest, many of us Westerners have laughed in glee at the “peach juice” that is actually contaminated water, unfinished hotel rooms and (heaven forbid!) separate bins for used toilet paper. The 320,000 person following of the Twitter account @SochiProblems, which, according to Sarah Kaufman is 100,000 more than the number of followers of the official Sochi Olympics account, highlights the fact that for some reason, Americans find it really amusing to make fun of the land of vodka, snow, and the gulag, as stereotypes would have it.

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Oh look, the Sochi ad in Elabuga fell down. Everyone point and laugh!

I in no way claim to be innocent of poking fun at the quirks of living in Russia. In fact, until I read this excellent article by Sarah Kaufman, titled “#SochiProblems is More of An Embarrassment For America Than It Is For Russia,” I hadn’t felt any contrition for the way I complained about not having a toilet seat in my dorm or using the line, “when I was in Russia,” as a transition to one-upping a friend’s horrific travel story. Kaufman makes the case that Americans’ gleeful reaction to less than ideal conditions in Sochi springs from “cultural misunderstandings borne out of sheltered ignorance,” which was a great starting point for discussion with my 5th year students. Since I discovered #SochiProblems, I have been curious to hear what Russians think about Americans’ snarky Sochi commentary as well as their broader perspective on the Olympics, so for газета (newspaper) class today, we discussed Kaufman’s article. Here’s what they had to say:

What do you think of Americans’ reactions to the conditions in Sochi?

One girl expressed surprise that Americans would make fun of their conditions; she had spent a summer in the US and had heard only positivity from an American gymnastics coach about the upcoming event. Her friend, who had also been in America, showed no surprise, expressing that it made sense journalists would find the place unsuitable; after all, they were used to better conditions. In fact, many students voiced understanding of visitors’ qualms at Russian conditions. The general sentiment of the class was gracious, essentially, “we are used to these conditions, but that doesn’t mean we think less of others if they are not.”

Are you offended?

Again, students were very gracious to the whining Americans, while still expressing some offense at their homeland being mocked by outsiders. They could all be diplomats! One girl loosely quoted Pushkin as saying “a man hates his Motherland, but he is offended if someone else says something bad about it.” Many students echoed this idea, and the same girl who quoted Pushkin told me, “you see, we can complain to each other about our terrible conditions, but if you start complaining to me about how horrible your dormitory is, then I will be a little offended.”

Another student added to this thought, expressing that Russians themselves perpetuate negative stereotypes about their country by constantly complaining about conditions and the government. On the other hand, she said, even Americans who rail on Barack Obama still tend to be patriotic. “As for us,” she continued, “we see the best route as a ticket out of here!” (Baba Olya, anyone?) The class laughed when she said this, but she made a great point: if Russians don’t talk well of their country, why should they expect others to?

Why do you think Americans are reacting like this?

One young man posited that Americans might view Russia as a threat, and as a class we discussed the possibility of lingering Cold War sentiments tainting Americans’ view of Russia. Embarrassingly for Americans, ignorance also may play a role. One student visited the United States, and when she told someone that she was from Russia, the American echoed heartily, “Oh, the U.S.S.R.!” I guess it’s hard to escape a Cold War mindset when you think it’s still going on.

Another girl came up with a metaphor that encapsulates what I think many of my fellow American -born Russophiles can attest to: “I think the journalists see it like a scavenger hunt. They look for what is bad, and then they write about it.”

“Why do you think they do this?” I asked.

“For amusement,” she answered.

I loved this metaphor, because I think it perfectly describes what many Western adventurers to Russia aim to get out of the experience. The first few times I went to Russia I was intrigued by the “wildness” of it, and things that would be inconvenient in the long run turned into exciting stories I could tell my friends. Part of the fuel that fed my fire for Russia, was the romanticizing of these conditions as somehow adventurous, definitely more interesting than life home in America. And it’s easier to sensationalize or make fun of conditions when you can pack your bags after being there for a week. So for all this talk about schadenfreude sparked by remnants of Cold War sentiment, I think that something simpler and more universally human might be involved as well: the longing for adventure and story.

Are the Olympics a good thing for your country?

Most students felt torn when answering this question. On one hand, as a student said, the Olympics are reviving sports in Russia, which since the fall of the U.S.S.R., have been comparatively weak. In Soviet times, she said, Russian athletics were much more competitive, but that recently, “sport has almost died in Russia.”

Many agreed that the Olympics were an important historic event for Russia, but that the costs might outweigh the benefits. Over $51 billion dollars was spent on the games, and one student quoted an estimate that if that money were divided equally among Russia’s 143 million, each person could buy his own apartment. I’ve quickly learned that when talking with Russian students, if you say the word government, a conversation about corruption is not far behind, and many voiced frustration with the financial corruption that permeates their society. Even if a gigantic sum of money was supposed to be distributed to the Russian people, one student argued, it wouldn’t get there, because pockets of corruption are not limited to big endeavors like the Olympics, but are everywhere.

One major thing I took away from our conversation is the need for Americans to stop basing their opinion of the Russian people on the actions of its government. I was impressed by the positive attitude my students had towards Americans in spite of the snide Twitter account. To be honest, if I were them , I would be doing my best to sarcastically shut down the opponent, but they didn’t seem to see America as an opponent. Rather, they were gracious towards journalists’ reactions to their homeland, that, as the poet Tyutchev wrote, “can’t be understood with the mind.”

Умом Россию не понять,
Аршином общим не измерить:
У ней особенная стать —
В Россию можно только верить

Ф. И. Тютчев

The Realest Day on Earth

On a bone-biting, rainy day back in October, the millennium-old Elabuga received a new tag line that I have no doubt will go down in the annals of Russian history. No sooner did Nick, one of my fellow teachers, arrive in his future residence in Kazan than his hosts dragged him off for a weekend to a little town which turned out to be a hybrid of traditional Russian and Tatar soul and mysterious Slavic eccentricity. Nick told our Thanksgiving clan that as he hiked through the countryside in freezing rain, Elabuga made an unforgettable impression on him. Then and there, Nick christened Elabuga “the realest place on earth.”

Nick’s description of Elabuga has really stuck with me, because in just a few words, it describes the town’s effects better than I could in five pages of narrative. Something about this place, with its simultaneous raw intensity and idyllic quaintness, leaves an impression on you that you can barely describe in any other way than just “real.” If I seem vague, it’s because it’s a “realness” that can’t be described, but needs to be experienced (hint hint: I’d love to have visitors!). Since our get-together in Thanksgiving, our quasi-Tatarstan кружок (circle) has used Nick’s tag line to both humorously and seriously refer to any and everything that goes down in little old Elabuga… which brings me to last Tuesday, what I like to call the realest day on earth.

For the first time in my life, I went skiing.

I know what you’re thinking: “Did she end up in the hospital? Did she run over a babushka?” Well, my friends, I’m happy to say I didn’t do either, but I will say that quite a few babushkas actually showed me up with their skiing skills, and that I did have a few head-on encounters with the snow.

The adventure started when Ksyusha, a woman from the English club, invited me to go skiing on Russian Christmas (January 7th). Feeling a little stir-crazy and missing physical exercise, I quickly agreed. We went with a motley group of high-schoolers, college-age guys who were clearly very sportivniye, and a few thirty-something women. I started out a little wobbly, but was surprised that I didn’t fall right away. I actually did considerably the first half of the forest trek, since there were few steep hills that I had to go up; it was mostly little dips that even someone with my experience could handle. We reached красная гора (Red Mountain), which boasted a beautiful view of a frozen lake and miles of field.

Here we drank tea, ate hazelnut chocolate to give us an energy boost, and took a bunch of photos. The three Russian guys, who had been shy before, even began to warm up to me, one suggesting that they should all pose around me for a picture of “three bears and an American.”

It’s good they warmed up to me, because they basically had to carry me back to our starting point. It all began when I couldn’t get my skis on. Before I knew it, I had two good-looking Russian guys trying in vain to connect my big feet to the skis. After what seemed like five minutes, they finally succeeded in hooking my feet in, and we were off.

It was right about now that I started falling. A lot. And whereas before, I was with two girls from English club and could discretely pick myself up, now I had three guys behind me, simultaneously making me nervous with their presence and ready to pick me up every time I fell. There were three especially memorable moments from our trip back. First, two babushkas were skiing right toward me; I didn’t have the talent to turn away in time, and they barely missed me. Instead of ignoring it, one of the guys starts yelling at the babushkas, telling them “it’s not your road,” and “can’t you see she’s bad at this!” Thanks for the confidence boost, buddy.

Secondly, after struggling for five minutes to get up a hill (after falling on my face as the guys tried to pull me by my ski poles, and after being instructed by a middle-aged Russian man), this babushka flies right past me and conquers the hill as if it were nothing. If I learned one thing that day, it’s that you should not underestimate the babushka.

Finally, and perhaps most embarrassing, I found myself before an even larger hill that there was no way I could climb. This time, one of the guys had to hold my hand while the other skied both our weight and pulled me by my ski pole. The awkward “ride” seemed to go on for hours. Overall though, I had a great time, and the guys were good sports about helping me get through my first time on skis. They also gave me the benefit of the doubt, noting that the skis I had rented bore the number 13. And most importantly, I didn’t hurt myself before my long-awaited trip to the land of the Britons.

My knights in shining ski gear

After our skiing adventure, I stopped at the store for food (where the security guard now knows me and told me in English “good day!”), then met Hanna at the bus stop for a snow hike to the Devil’s Tower. The Devil’s Tower, or Чёртово Городище, is one of Elabuga’s claims to fame, a mysterious lookout surviving from Volga Bulgaria that is thought to date from the 12th century. Of course, most of the tower is a reconstruction, but if I’m not mistaken, it still has some of the stones from the original.

The view is breathtaking, and it is definitely a place I’m looking forward to frequenting once the weather gets a bit warmer.

Hanna and I made sure to bring the necessities for a snow-hike in the realest place on earth. TEA!!!

A Few Things Off My Bucket List

Before I left for Russia in September, I created a short Fulbright Bucket List, in which I brainstormed things I wanted to do before I left Russia. These past two weeks, I have been able to check quite a few items off my list. Here’s a short chronicle of items on my bucket list I’ve conquered so far:

Item #4: Ice-skating without landing myself in a hospital, or worse, finding myself at the hands of a dramatic Russian dentist named Konstantine. Those of you who have followed my blog for more than a year know that last summer while studying in Vladimir, Russia, I was introduced to the Russian medical system after splitting my chin while ice skating. Ever since my fall, I have been nervous about skating again, so I determined to face my fear and make it through at least one round of skating unharmed.  When my friend Elmira and I first set foot on the ice, I was wobbly and stiff, memories of my chin slamming into the ice closer than they had been in over a year. But after about 10 minutes of holding onto the bar, I gingerly started to make my way around the circle, and after about 10 minutes of this, I felt confident enough to have a conversation while skating. Unfortunately, the site won’t let me upload the video Elmira took of me skating, but here is a picture of us after the fact:

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Item #10: Write a poem in Russian

I love poetry, and I have found it fun to play around with it in Russian, even though I probably don’t have a strong enough grasp on word nuances and connotations to be confident that I am saying what I want to say. The first time I attempted poetry in Russian was at the age of 14 in my beginner’s Russian class, where I wrote a sad poem about not getting noticed by the boy I liked (Увидеть меня ещё нельзя). Since then, I haven’t really worked at anything serious, and the last one I wrote was a parody of an Anna Akhmatova poem for one of my friends, which chronicles our memories in Vladimir. Right now, I am teaching a creative writing course at the university, and I had my students write a poem in English. Since writing poetry is especially intimidating in another language, I promised them that if they did the assignment, then I would write a poem in Russian. I decided to write a few lighthearted verses on the torture that is Russian pronunciation, since I needed some catharsis for the frustration that comes with each Russian lesson. As the Russians would say, the poem is “ещё сырое,” or still a draft, but if you read Russian, feel free to read my work in progress:

Русское Произношение

Вы знаете, мои друзья

Какой у вас язык богат

Но знайте, также, ваш язык

Причиняет мне страдать

Русское произношение-

Жестокое мучение

Мягкий ль язык не любит,

Мягкий ть он ненавидеть.

Особенно по магазинам

Когда продавцам я обращаюсь

Язык тормозит, чувствую страх

И, вот, опять, я заикаюсь.

Поэтому, я каждый день,

Когда по улице хожу

Скороговорки глупые

Я повторяю, повторяю.

Однажды я надеюсь говорить без трудностей

без проблем произносить и ни, и ти, и ли,

Но сегодня надо ждать вопрос:

“Девушка, откуда вы!?”

Item #13: Travel to a city I’ve never been to before.

This past weekend, I was so excited to be able to visit my fellow Fulbrighter Hanna, who lives in the neighboring city of Naberezhniye Chelny (try to say that five times fast). Although geographically Elabuga and N. Chelny are close (45 minutes on the bus 🙂 ), each city has a very different culture, due to the fact that whereas Elabuga is pretty much ancient, N. Chelny was built around 60 years ago when the Kamaz car plant was built. N. Chelny has less aesthetic charm than Elabuga due to both its short history and the reasons for which it was built, but despite the lack of apparent beauty, it felt great to be in a larger city again.

The best part about the weekend though, of course had nothing to do with the city, and everything to do with who I spent it with. Can I just say that it was a breath of fresh air to be able to interact with another American, to have deep conversations about anything and everything without having to modify our speech, to share stories and find commonalities in our experiences, and perhaps most importantly of all, to be able to share the moment when we saw this Halloween costume of one of Hanna’s students:

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I definitely decided to come on a good weekend, since Hanna was hosting a Halloween party for her students. They spoke excellent English, and we had a wonderful evening eating, toasting each other, playing mafia, and watching a “horror” movie that was hard not to laugh through.

Hanna created an elaborate slug costume, which we learned (and will never forget) is called слизняк in Russian. I didn't have a costume so a student lent me a spare pair of devil's horns.
Hanna created an elaborate slug costume, which we learned (and will never forget) is called слизняк in Russian. I didn’t have a costume so a student lent me a spare pair of devil’s horns.

Here is a picture of the spread of cakes, pies, and salads that the students treated us to:

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…which brings me to the next thing on my list.

Item# 6: try one of the foods I have avoided thus far while in Russia

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This, my friends, is known as “Herring Under Fur Coat.” This dish is a mouth-boggling layered salad of herring and onion, potatoes, eggs, mayonnaise and beets. I have nothing against beets, or eggs, or potatoes, but I feel that just about anything is ruined if you add salty fish with crunchy onions. I also don’t hate mayonnaise, but everything in moderation, right? And by the pink glow of the salad, you can tell that moderation was the last thing from this salad maker’s mind. I came, I ate, and I will do my best to never do such a thing again.

I also forced myself to try one of these, but I couldn’t finish it:

Bread, butter with what I think was horseradish, pickles and fish.
Bread, butter with what I think was horseradish, pickles and fish.

Note: my goal is not to bash Russian food, since as a whole, I actually prefer Russian food to American. I love the dairy products here, the breads, the cakes and most of the salads, but I still have yet to understand the Russian obsession with both fish and mayonnaise. And of course, one of my favorite aspects of Russian meals is the absolute necessity of tea. Here is a picture of a beautiful pot of tea Hanna and I ordered while we snagged internet at a local cafe.

"Огородны чай," tea with mint, apple, cinnamon and strawberry.
“Огородны чай,” tea with mint, apple, cinnamon and strawberry.

Now that I’m back in Elabuga, I already miss Hanna, but there will be certainly more visits to come, since the bus only takes 45 minutes from her stop to my stop! Let the adventures continue.

Not Much Time for Sleep!

It’s amazing how much can happen in a week here! Here’s a quick update on what has been going on in Tatarstan.

Weekend in Kazan

Last weekend, I was invited to Kazan(the largest city in Tatarstan) by the daughter of a teacher at the Institute, who works there as an English teacher and completed her master’s degree in TESOL in the states. Kamila and I hit it off right away, and Iwehad a wonderful weekend exploring the city, drinking tea, and discussing all things language related. Kamila took me to Театр Юного Зрителя, (The Theater of the Young Spectator,) where we saw a comedy called, “Здравствуйте, Я Ваша Тётя” (“Hello, I’m Your Aunt.”) This play was reminiscent of Mrs. Doubtfire: Set in late 19th or early 20th century England, two love-struck young men ask their friend to dress up like a woman so that they can invite two girls over without a chaperone. What results is a hilarious and disastrous chain of events.

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The next day, Camilla took me to the museum of Soviet Life, which showcased realia from the institution of the U.S.S.R. until its dissolution. Let’s just say the star of the show was Lenin. Here are some pictures from the museum:

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“The Truth About American Diplomats”

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From a Soviet textbook: “Our Motherland, the U.S.S.R.”

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I learned that chewing gum was a status symbol in the Soviet Union, because it was so hard to come by.

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“Soviet Woman”

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“Soviet Pioneer Uniform”

After we left the museum, it was time for me to return to Kazan, and other than the irritated GPS that yelled at you if you made a wrong turn and the driver deciding it was a good idea to race through the breakdown lane on occasion, the trip back was uneventful.

Overcoming My Fear

One of the girls I met at the local English Club, Elmira, has been kindly helping me with my Russian once or twice a week. One day, we stopped by a store to get some water, and she noticed right away how nervous I got when I approached the store workers. “Why do you get so scared?” she said. “Then you stutter and they can’t understand you! They’re just people, just like you.”

It’s true, although I’ve studied Russian for quite a few years and can carry on conversation fairly easily with people I know, there always seems to be a barrier when I approach people in stores or cafes. My heart starts beating quickly and my tongue decides to have a seizure. I asked Elmira then, if we could go out one day and just go up to as many people as possible in an attempt to overcome my fear. She agreed, and on Tuesday, we went to the market for an adventure.

First, I went to a market to try to find a hat and gloves, and I managed to talk to the woman without too much trouble. Next, she took me to a fast food place which served a Tatarstani treat.

“You have Big Mac, we have сосиска в тесте (fried dough covered hot dogs). You haven’t been to Tatarstan until you’ve tried one.” She told me what to say, and when I ordered, the woman actually smiled at me and asked me where I was from, then started to make conversation. So not everyone is scary. We went to a few more stores, and my fear started to dissipate. I still get nervous and I know it will be a process, but I am so thankful that Elmira took the time to help me fight my fear.

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Eating сосиска в тесте in front of Elabuga’s “Big Ben”

Explaining America to Russian History Students

The next day, I had another opportunity to use my Russian, as I was invited into a history class to share about my country. In true Russian style, I wasn’t told exactly what I needed to prepare until the morning of, which resulted in lots of frantic Googling and Wikipedia searches. I may be American, but I am not an encyclopedia!

After presenting on the symbolism in our flag and great seal, students asked me questions about my country. Questions ranged from the American economic system to family relationships, and I did my best to answer them as truthfully as I could with my non-native handle of Russian. Some questions, such as those about American family relationships and why I decided to come to Russia, were easy to answer in Russian because they were not sensitive issues. However, I found that when asked questions about Americans’ view of President Obama and President Putin, it was hard to answer both diplomatically and truthfully. Concerning President Obama, I brought up that his approval ratings had dropped since he became president, and that a large percentage of Americans were not satisfied with how he acted concerning Syria.

And whn they asked me about Putin, and I felt a little cornered. The history teacher asked me, “so, what do Americans think about Putin? Because, you see, we love our President.” So really, what was I supposed to say to that? I said something to the effect of that Americans respect Putin, but of course there will always be tension between the two countries because we are both powerful and want to hold the number one spot. Then to dispel the tension, I tried to bring in some humor, fumbling for words to try to explain the funny memes we have on Facebook that portray Putin as a strong, “most interesting man in the world” type. I didn’t do very well at explaining this, and when this article came out the next day reporting on my presentation, it said that “Americans consider Putin a ‘superhero.'” Ok, so not exactly what I wanted to say; sorry America! Also, in the article, they put in some things that I never said, for example, that all American homes have an American flag. So here’s the link if you’d like to put it into an online translator and read it, but don’t take everything as my definitive view 🙂

http://kpfu.ru/main_page?p_cid=61095&p_sub=6207

Overall, it was a great experience to answer students’ questions about America. People in Elabuga are very enthusiastic about meeting an American, because unlike in larger cities, for many, I am the first American they have ever met. The local news will be interviewing me on Monday as well, so I will make sure to keep you up to date on that.

Girls Night Out

Finally, my week ended with some girls from my advanced class inviting me out to a café. Most of them are only a year younger than me, so it feels a little strange to be their teacher. It was great to be able to hang out with them outside of the classroom in a more relaxed environment. They were determined to speak English the whole time, which didn’t seem difficult, since their English is already excellent. After pizza, coffee, and desert, we strolled around the city, at which one point, two college guys started to follow us in their car. While walking down the sidewalk, they put their car in reverse and went backwards, trying to talk to us, for at least 10 minutes. They were persistent and would not give up, but we felt safe, since there were about 10 of us. Russian guys seem to be much more forward than American guys. But can you blame them? Look how beautiful all the girls in my class are:

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