Fun with no sun (Yaroslavl 08)

The Centr concert:


Megan had for some reason bought a cd of a rap group from Moscow named Centr earlier in her stay. We then found out they were coming to Yaroslavl and decided to go to the concert. Before the concert they were playing American rap music, so Jaime, Megan and I sang along loudly and drew stares from the Russians around us. We ended up hanging out with the opening act, a local group from Yaroslavl off-stage, and traded numbers with them at the end of the night, but never did end up hanging out with them.

But then on the train ride back from Moscow, Jaime turned around and shouted “No way!” We looked back and saw that it was one of the guys from the Yaro rap group, so we went over and said hey. He was riding third class like us so his group could clearly be doing better. He did have a different groupie on his arm than the one we saw at the show so apparently there are still some perks when you’re struggling to make it.


http://picasaweb.google.com/alpert.david/CentrConcert#

The Communist Rally:

After buying the tickets for the circus we left the building and noticed a small rally going on across the street. We went to check it out and it turned out to be a communist rally in honor of the October Revolution of 1917 (that actually took place on Nov. 7 ) that thrust the Bolsheviks into power. The rally was a little underwhelming in number, but more than made up for it in spirit. We got free flags, but Jaime was charged 3 rubles (12 cents) by a dirty capitalist for a communist newspaper.


http://picasaweb.google.com/alpert.david/CommunistRally#


Nadia's goodbye:

Nadia was the in-country CCS director for 8 years. At the end of my first week she announced that she’d be leaving her post at the end of October to move to Atlanta with her fiancée. On her last Friday, we had a little goodbye party. Her replacement you’ll see in these pictures as well. Her name is Nathalia.




Soccer game:

We went to a soccer game between the Yaroslavl Sheeneek and the Kazan Rubeen one Saturday afternoon. It was freezing, as always, but still really fun. Sheeneek is similar to the word for tire in Russian, and since 1957 the team has been sponsored by the tire factory in Yaroslavl.

There's a picture in this album, the only picture of any of us volunteers, with a man we befriended named Nik. We were walking around the stadium to join the crazy Yaro fans when Nik stopped us after hearing our English. After a few weeks of people staring at us whenever we spoke English, we were able to anticipate when those stares were going to result in a conversation. So Nik approached us and in his own broken English he informed us that his daughter was studying English and asked us to talk to her on the phone.

He handed me the phone with his daughter on the other end and we talked briefly. She told me to ask her a question, and I asked her about the weather. She said it was fine. I disagreed and told her it was quite chilly. Clearly finding me disagreeable, she asked to talk to her dad again.

Megan then talked to her for a while later while Nik told us about his life. Turns out he was a member of the 109th Airborne Division with the Soviet army and served in Afghanistan from 1982-1985.

http://picasaweb.google.com/alpert.david/TheSoccerGame#


Circus:

Last Saturday night, as a last hurrah for Liz and Virginia (a middle-aged British volunteer who came here for two weeks) we went to the circus. It was a ton of fun. I was disappointed to miss out on kangaroos and bears riding motorcycles which apparently were in the last circus.



The Halloween Party

The night before Halloween we were the special guests at an English language school’s Halloween party. It was fun, if a little strange, due to the fact it was more a cultural lesson on Halloween in America as opposed to an actual Halloween party. We mainly judged contests. The teacher also corrected her students on the pronunciation of “witches,” inexplicably telling them it was witch-ers instead of the right way they had been pronouncing it.

http://picasaweb.google.com/alpert.david/HalloweenPartyAtStudioYes#

Random pics:

Finally, here are other random pictures from my 7 weeks in Russia.

Second trip to Moscow

Second Weekend in Moscow

Traveling alone was a rollercoaster- I had the biggest thrills and the lowest dips, usually one following the other. It first struck me on my Halloween train to Moscow that I was going to a foreign city in a foreign country with a foreign language where I could count the number of friends I had on no fingers. Granted I can read Russian, but the only times I can understand what I’m reading is when the words are English cognates, or when it miraculously fits with my toddler-level vocabulary. On the train I was more exhilarated than anything else by the prospect of flying completely solo for four days.

The first day did not disappoint. I set out with a destination (Cathedral of Christ the Savior) hazily in mind and encouraged myself to take any detour along the way that seemed even remotely interesting. Then after getting to the cathedral and touring the ground floor for a little while, I went to the underground museum. I sat there for over an hour and spent some time thinking about and jotting down my own thoughts on religion, something I’ve been meaning to do for a long time.

I was completely and absolutely free like I have felt at no other time in my life. This gap year has already removed (at least temporarily) all the old burdens of school and work. But taking a break from my CCS program also ridded me of the responsibility to prepare for each volunteer placement, and even more importantly of any ties or accountability to any other human being. I was completely alone. And it felt in a strange way, totally liberating.

I woke up every morning and could do anything I wanted. Hell, I didn’t even have to wake up if I didn’t want to. (Now it’s starting to sound more like college). But the feeling of absolute freedom was a lot bigger than sleep. Each day was one hundred percent mine.

But then the sun went down on my first day and all the tourist attractions closed. And I didn’t know what do with myself, with all those heaps and heaps of freedom. I ended up back on Arbat Street where my hostel was, for all my Angelenos think of 3rd street promenade with the artists and performers from the Santa Monia Pier. I saw a large crowd gathered around one performer and went up to watch with them. It turned out to be a comedian. After a few jokes, he had the crowd laughing hysterically. The only words I had understood were “McDonalds” and “cheeseburger.” I walked away. I was completely alone. And it felt depressingly lonely.

But there was no use wallowing in it. I had dinner at Hard Rock Café, (worst burger I’ve had in a long time), and then went out to find the bar, Propaganda, I had gone to the week before with Jaime and Megan. On the way out of the metro, I stopped a group of girls for directions. Luckily some of them spoke English. Unluckily, they did not know how to get to Propaganda. So instead they said I could go with them. After trying a few different clubs we ended up at one called Sorry Babushka for the night.

Now some of you may have received some misinformation (from friends, family, possibly your very own ears) that I am one of the top 5 worst singers ever to walk this earth. But I’ll have you know that when the mic was shoved in my face after the mc caught me signing Foreigner- Cold as Ice with him, there were no bottles thrown at me. The main problem was that the rapper chose to give me the microphone right after the chorus ended, just in time for the second verse to start. And I did not know anything but the chorus. But I winged it fine (read the music was loud enough so that nobody had to hear me) and my time in the spotlight at Sorry Babushka ended without incident or applause.

We left the club around 2:30 and then headed to T.G.I. Friday’s, one of their favorite places to grab a late-night bite. I’m pretty sure it was my first time eating at a Friday’s. Pretty strange to go to such a quintessentially American restaurant for the first time and see Russian on the menu. Thankfully the menu was also in English, and the chicken tenders did not disappoint.

I met up with the girls and one of their boyfriends again on Monday afternoon. The boyfriend raps, and I got to listen to a few of his songs. The lyrics were good, but his English pronunciation was a little off mark. He told me that people thought his song “God of the stage” was instead “God of the sex,” which is different but I guess works too. It was pretty cool to talk American music with a Muscovite my age.

They showed me around the city, we stopped at a café for a late lunch and went ice skating. It was probably the second time I’ve ice skated in the last 10 years, but I made it out only falling once and didn’t embarrass myself.

I spent Tuesday, a national holiday for the Day of Union, at the Victory Park dedicated to the Great Patriotic War (WWII). And then I went back to Hard Rock to pick up my credit card, which might have been sort of, kind of misplaced for the weekend, and caught my train back to Yaroslavl. The rollercoaster of elation at my freedom, and depression at my loneliness continued throughout the weekend so I was very ready to get back to a more even-keeled Yaroslavl. Still a fun, successful trip.

First weekend in Moscow

First Weekend in Moscow

My first weekend in Moscow also marked my first “real” hostel experience. (In St. Petes Jaime and I just shared a double that was pretty similar to our hotel room in Yaroslavl). My first weekend when I went with the three other volunteers (Megan, Liz and Jaime), we stayed at the biggest hostel in town, appropriately named Hostel Godzilla. There were multiple co-ed dorms of 8 on each floor, meaning that on some busier weekends 30-40 people share two bathrooms and one shower. Luckily, the hostel wasn’t too busy. We still were able to meet some interesting people.

In no particular order- we met a New Zealand couple in their 20s who had just finished traveling through Europe and were leaving on the long Trans-Siberian railway. Basically you sit on a train for six straight days and watch as barren Siberia passes outside the window. Then you get off for a break for a couple days and get back on to finish in any number of places such as Beijing or Vladivostok. (Russians say they don’t get the appeal of the trek. I agree with the Russians).

Staying in our dorm was a world traveler from Vancouver who frequently goes on long trips to a number of places for up to two years, living and working in different places. He named India as the toughest place to live in because of the dirty squalor and the profound cultural differences. He also mentioned that he hasn’t known any foreigner to stay longer than a month and escape without getting sick. Also in our dorm was a group of middle-aged Belarusians one of whom had an impressive collection of beer labels from around the world. Unfortunately one of the Belarusians both snored like a walrus and reeked like he ran into bed straight from an hour on the treadmill.

Finally there was the gay Cuban dancer who now makes his home in Moscow. I practiced some of my rusty Spanish with him, and he offered to get Jaime and I work visas, not twenty minutes after meeting us. I was intrigued but decided I better save any shady business deals for my second trip to Moscow.

We spent our first full day in Red Square and got to go see Lenin’s Mausoleum, where Vladimir Illyich Lenin’.s body has laid embalmed in state since his death in 1924. This is the case despite the explicitly expressed desire by Lenin before his death, and his widow afterwards, to be given a proper burial with his mother in St. Petersburg. (Pretty loud and clear example of the power of the state over the individual during the Soviet-era, especially when propaganda purposes could be served).

Before entering the mausoleum we had to first wait in a long line in order to get in another line to check cameras, purses, phones and bags. I decided to be productive while I was in line and give my mother a call. We were talking for a while when the line started moving, I talked distracted on the phone, people started pushing and shoving ahead of me and I found myself stuck on one side of the crowd control fence, with Liz, Megan and Jaime on the other. I pointed them out to the guard and tried to explain that they were my friends, he yelled “Nyet!” at me, I yelled back at him, and then with no hesitation he gave me a slight lovetap on my upper thigh with his flat nightstick. I was absolutely furious, but all I could do was stand and stew there until they let more people in.

As for the mausoleum itself, it was beyond impressive. First we walked past graves of men who contributed significantly to the Soviet cause, and then we were led into the actual mausoleum. It’s very well designed to impart upon the viewer the austerity and solemnity of it all. The interior of the building is all floor-to-ceiling black linoleum, sparsely lit with expressionless guards posted at every turn to point you (silently) in the right direction in case you have trouble following a slow, large crowd of people.

And then finally after quite a few turns as you progress slowly underground, there’s V. I. Lenin himself. He’s dressed in a smart suit, tucked into bed so only his torso and up is showing, all in a see-through glass case that the tour makes a lap around. My first reaction was the predictable feeling that “this can’t be real. He can’t be real.”

It was hard to fathom first that here lay the body of a man who once thought and breathed and lived as simply as any other person. And even more, this man was so important in the course of history, sparking a revolution and changing the fate of nations.

On the way out we passed by more guards whose job it is to just stand there. This might honestly be one of the most boring jobs in the world. At least the guards at Buckingham Palace get to stand out in daylight, and have people try to distract or entertain them, but these guys spend their shifts in dark corners underground and unacknowledged, serving a man and a cause that was swept from this country 17 years before. We then headed back outside and walked past the graves of Soviet heroes and former premiers including Andropov, Chernenko, Brezhnev and good ol’ mass-murdering Joe Stalin. (Nikita Khrushchev is buried in a less respected cemetery elsewhere in Moscow, because he was forced from office by a coup).

Other highlights from my first weekend in Moscow:
• In Red Square (Krasnaya Ploschad)
o Walked around the majestic St. Basil’s, practically every inch of which was painted in a dizzying array of colors which for some reason reminded me of Willy Wonka and his chocolate factory
o Walked through G.U.M., (pronounced goom and stands for State Dept Store) which has upscale stores like Louis Vutton, Dior, Zara and my favorite- a gigantic chocolate store.
• In the Kremlin Jaime and I walked around Cathedral Square and hustled through the Armoury museum, the treasure trove of the tsars.
• Went to Gorky Park and rode a roller coaster in the amusement park there
• Ate a delicious dinner at a Georgian restaurant
• Upon the recommendation of a Londoner staying at our hostel, went to a bar/club behind the old KGB headquarters appropriately named Propaganda. Taking his advice, we approached the bouncers speaking English. Here’s the actual transcript of our conversation.
Bouncer has just bounced the two guys in front of us. He says something to us in Russian somewhere along the lines of, “You can’t get in/ We’re full/ You’re underdressed/Leave.”
Me (in English): What?
Bouncer (also in English): Where are you from?
Me: Los Angeles.
Bouncer: USA Today?
Me: Los Angeles Times.
Bouncer: Go ahead.

• On Sunday we went to Ismalovsky Park which has an amazing swap meet, open air market. Spent the entirety of the morning, walking around and enjoying the atmosphere. I bought one fur hat.
• Jaime and I separated from Megan and Liz to check out VDNKh, the old Soviet propaganda mall, which is now just a boring old, regular mall.
• We also squeezed in a visit to the Museum of Contemporary History which might’ve been more enjoyable if there was more English. I still was fascinated by the little bits of propaganda that remain almost 20 years after the fall of the Iron Curtain.
o The one example that stuck with me was from the exhibit on World War II (the Great Patriotic War to Russians), that spoke about how the victory of the Red Army over the Nazis was due in part to Stalin, the bravery of the Red Army and the spirit of the Soviet worker back home.
• Finally before leaving, Jaime and I, after a mix-up, ended up with a whole rotisserie chicken wrapped for some reason in a tortilla and no utensils. So we did what any two sensible young men would do. We sat underneath the statue of Lenin at our train station and between chilling gusts of wind, ate the entire chicken with our hands.