I'm on a boat and, it's goin' fast and...

This weekend we had a trip on the "teplahod", or, as Colin pointed out to us as we were chanting it down the street, "big boat". 

-"TEPLAHOD!  TEPLAHOD! TEPLAHOD!"
-"You all know you're chanting 'big boat', right?"
-"TEPLAHOD!  BIG BOAT! TEPLAHOD! BIG BOAT!"

Needless to say, we were slightly excited.

We went on a three day river cruise up the Volga (the largest river in Europe, also unfortunatly the dirtiest despite what locals tell you) to the city of Samara, which is about the same size as Kazan, million and a half.  Samara is a center for Russian industry; there are plane factories, a chocolate factory, and various other industries.  The real gem of the city, howerver (at least from a touristic standpoint) is Stalin's Bunker.  More on that later.

We got onto the boat around six on Friday; we made up about 1/3 of the crowd going on the cruise, and we were the only young people.  Everyone else was middle aged or older.  That did not, however, stop anyone from having a party.  We may have partied a little too much, in my opinion.  I don't drink, so I had a very interesting time watching everyone else who did.   About five or six of us stayed sober, everyone else, less so.  I'm fairly certain that there were some Russians who didn't sleep at all that first night.  It wasn't necessarily miserable, but it wasn't exactly a gas either.  Fortunatly, that was a real low point of self-control on the trip, so it wasn't a total "booze cruize" the whole time.

On Saturday, we arrived in Samara around two and hopped on a tour bus.  We looked around downtown, saw some of the new developments, and then went to see the highlight of the tour, Stalin's Bunker.  Back in 1941 the USSR began construction of a secret bunker in Samara, where Stalin could flee in case the Nazi's took Moscow (which they never did, but they were very very close).  It goes some seven stories underground and could house a lot of personel.  So, we walked down who knows how many flights of stairs and saw all the rooms of Stalin's bunker, even the staff room with the giant map of Western Europe and the ominous desk, reminiscent of an old movie.  But here's the kicker: Stalin was never actually at the bunker.  Never went there.  Never saw it.  Didn't need it.  Acutally, some people think that maybe there was a chance that Stalin could have possibly at some time secretly visited the bunker in disguise, but there's no concrete evidence.  Hoorah? 

For me, the most interesting thing was at the monument we visited, a huge paved square with a giant tower of socialist realism in the middle.  In Russia, most weddings start at the government office, signing the papers, and the most popular day for weddings is Saturday.  After the signing at the office and before the party, Russian couples get into decorated cars (they usually have little wedding-ring flower displays strapped to the top and lots of ribbons) and go to some memorial to take pictures.  I probably saw seven brides at this memorial, all wearing almost the same dress (tight and a little too revealing on top, a tulle explosion on the bottom). They and their wedding parties walked around the square, took photos, and occasionally stopped for a cigarette break.  Ah, love.

We got back on the boat four hours later and the next afternoon, we arrived back in Kazan, and were all feeling really really grateful that we didn't live in Samara.  It just didn't have the same vibe as Kazan.

The best part of the trip was being so close together, because normally we're pretty spread out.  On the boat, we could walk down the hall and find our friends, or we could all do things spontaneoulsy together.  In that respect it was really great.  I think the cultural value of this trip was relativly low, but as a fun vacation, it was good. 

The food on the boat, by the way, was horrendous.  BUT, that was very soon forgotten because the night we got back, some of us found a Georgian restaurant.  Incredible.

That's the trip up the Volga!  Three more weeks, and "Georgian restaurant" will mean Famous Daves.

Jane

Americans Bring the Party (and Everybody Know It)

First, the story of three of the coolest people I know: Ivan, Irek, and Damir.

Through a person in our programm who randomly met these three at MacDonalds, my friend Colin and I have become close friends with three of the coolest Russians I know.  Ivan and Irek are programmers with Fujitsu, and Damir is seeking employment after being layed off (the economic crisis hit Russia very hard).  Ivan is Russian, and Irek and Damir are Tatar, so we get some awesome perspective on all aspects of life in Kazan.  Plus, these guys are just awesome.

Almost every day Colin and I, and sometimes other members our group, hang out with them around Kazan.  We go to restaurants, bars (which here are a lot more like restaurants: less drunkeness and more food), and walk around the beautiful city.  They tell us about the youth culture, take us to the hang-outs, and have generally been great friends to us.

I don't know how we got so lucky; these guys are nice, polite, intelligent, and they're athletes (Ivan and Damir were city champions for the Russian Bells, and Kazan is the sports center of Russia so that's a pretty big honor) so they don't really drink, and Damir (and I would assume Irek since he's also Tatar, though I haven't asked) was raised Muslim, so it's just not in their culture.  As a side note, the stereotypical Russian alcoholism seems to be much much less prevalent in the youth; I very rarely see young Russians drunks.  Not to say they don't exist, but it seems to me that they've learned a lesson looking at their fathers and grandfathers.

Anyway, lately we've been meeting up with our big group at a bar to hang out (even our group of young Americans doesn't drink that much, just a few beers), and one night we decided to go clubbing together.  Of course, our Russians know where to go, a club whose name translates to "4 Rooms".  So we arrived at the club and found out that the cover was 300R, about $10.  I've never been to a club, but apparently here that's expensive.  So our group, about 12 of us, started to leave.  HOWEVER, when they heard we were Americans, they let everyone in for FREE!  Why?  Americans bring the party, and everybody knows it.

The club was really cool; there were four rooms (go figure) with four different kinds of music.  As soon as we got there and started dancing, everyone joined in, and it was really fun.  REALLY really fun.  Here a few things that made it really great.  A) Our Russians are awesome, and made sure the whole night that everyone was ok. B) Russians don't dance at clubs like Americans do.  A lot more actual dancing, a lot less...ick.  C) Nobody was drunk, because who wants to dance drunk?  No one at this club apparently.

We left late (2 am or so, which Damir complained was way too early) and went home, all amazed at how much fun it was.  I think it all depends on the group, and the awesome Russians plus the fun Americans made a fantastic combination.  Tonight we're meeting up to play "futbol" (soccer), and I'm already looking forward to seeind my favorite Russians.  My only complaint is that my footies are a little swollen after dancing in heels all night.

Ivan, Irek, Damir, you guys are gems.

Jane

The Story of my Weekend

An email home:

"Here's the story of my weekend.

I didn't end up going to the dacha as planned, which turned out to be a good thing because Colin and I met some new Russian friends that we spent the weekend with.  Ivan, who is Russian, and Damir and Eerick who are Tatar.  Ivan and Eerick are programmers at some Japanese company, and Damir was laid off recently.  We spent the better part of three days hanging out with them; they're really really nice, and want to improve their English.  So it's not exactly great for my Russian skills, but I do speak Russian with them and they help me.  It's a win-win.

Yesterday (the 4th) we were going to go to the lake, but it rained all night and into the morning.  We met at 1:30 (about half of our group, plus Ivan and Damir) and decided to go to our RD Leslie's apartment.  She had brought marshmallows from home, so we made s'mores and played charades.  We followed this up with McDonalds, because hey, it's America Day.  After this Colin, Ivan, Damir and I went to a cafe to hang out.  Lots of laughs, fun conversation.  They're great, as is Colin.

That's about it for my weekend.  Masha comes home (from summer camp) tomorrow, Anatoli left (for Minsk on business) yesterday.  I'm going to try to find a camera for skype today, not sure if I'll see the guys.  I'm tapping this out between classes.  There's a computer lab in the institute.  I just had grammar and will now have practicing speech. 

I'm really starting to miss you guys.  I would be ready to come home.  But, five more weeks.  It'll fly by, I know, but I miss my folks.  Especially Wyatt, since I haven't heard a PEEP from him in almost four weeks.

I love you guys, and I'll talk to you later.
XOXO Jane"

Normal week ahead, more updates to come!

Russian Hair: I Now Have It

The other day, I looked in the mirror and sighed: it was time for a haircut, and I had some legitimate fears.  I knew that I would need to get my hair cut some time in Russia before I left, and I knew also that no matter what I did, I would probably end up with a Russian haircut.  And I was right.

I walked into the salon on the bottom floor of the Koltzo shopping center and looked around.  I wasn't even sure how to go about asking for a haircut.  Fortunately, out of the blue, the receptionist was incredibly friendly and helpful (not qualities usually found in the service industry in Russia).  I told her that I needed my hair "just a little shorter" (because I didn't know how to say "trim") and she smiled, sat me down to wait, and brought me tea.

When it was my turn, I sat down in the chair and tried to explain to the stylist (20-something, died-black hip haircut, rail thin, unsmiling) what I wanted which was, for the record, my normal style, only shorter.  How well did she listen?  Ha.

The entire process was unnerving, made worse by the fact that she was unfriendly and not particularly gentle.  She pulled, yanked, and jostled with reckless abandon.  I almost said something about her combing my ears at one point, but thought better of it.  Anyway, she lifted up a big piece off of the back of my head and CUT FOUR INCHES OFF.  That's when I knew that she didn't care what I said, and that I was getting Russian hair.

After the first cut I almost cried out, because I didn't really want a new style, but it then occurred to me that I also didn't want a big weird chunk of hair missing off the back of my head, so I let her do here thing.  And did she ever.  My bangs have never been more perfectly straight in my life.

At the end of the day, most people would probably not notice a huge change, and honestly it does look good, but after she finished, I almost started to cry.  This is what she says.  "You like it?"  I say, "Well...I'm American, and this looks very Russian to me, but it's not bad".  Her response, with a smile, "But it's lighter, isn't it??"  She got me there.

Actually, it's far from awful, and it's growing on me.  But it was a shocking experience.  Russian hair: I now have it.