Strolling Through the Park One Day

It seems that every visitor to Kiev gets to meet the mayor.  Or at least every visitor as lucky as me.  Today we went to meet Ina, a local journalist who studied at the University of Missouri with our fellow ETA Katherine.  Ina wanted to take us to the New Botanical Gardens, much better, she assured us, than those crappy old Botanical Gardens by our former hotel.  Indeed, the gardens were beautiful, even on the last day of August when almost nothing is in bloom.  They include gorgeous fountains, an incredible view of the city, an onsite church and vast, varied rose gardens (sorry Little Prince, a whole garden is even more beautiful than your single rose).  But the best part was when Ina pointed out an unassuming man in a leather jacket, strolling through the gardens like any Joe Schmoe, or in Russian, Yosef Shmosef.  She told us he was Leonid Chernovetsky, the mayor of Kiev, and proceeded to chase after him like the star journalist she is.  When we caught up to him, I said in Russian that I love the city.  Ina translated it into Ukrainian, though to my ear it sounded very similar.  Uncle Lyova, as I now call him, replied unenthusiastically that he loves it too.  Then we all got to take a picture with him, but not with any physical contact, because that might have breached security.  Later, we were waiting for the bus when we saw him drive off in his Benz, followed by equally posh security vehicles.  

The evening was bittersweet because our dear friend Emily sold out and left for Moscow.  We made her a wonderful farewell dinner with plenty of food, booze and shokoladni tort.  If she feels half as satiated as I do, she’ll be asleep before she gets out of city limits.  I helped her into the train and befriended a five-year old girl in her cabin.  It’s good to know that there are some people whose language abilities equal my own, even if the girl did use one or two words I don’t know.  Anyway, I made her promise to play games with Emily the whole way, and she seemed agreeable.  Then we all made faces from the platform: me and my friends, and the little girl’s babushka.  The train took off just as we were running out of appropriate pantomimes.  

Tonight, I’m too full and tired for much of anything.  Maybe a half-hour of Ukrainian sitcoms, then a couple pages of Don Quixote.  Tomorrow, I’ll try to finally get to St Sophia, only the most famous church in Kiev.  That will be my final responsibility as a tourist, and I’ll be free to go to silly places like the Museum of Kiev in Miniature.  Just in case I run into Uncle Lyova again, I want to be able to tell him I saw it all.

Going Native

Well, faithful readers, you may have noticed many references to cats and dogs sprinkled throughout my posts.  The truth is, I don’t even mention all the animals that stir my emotions.  There are so many strays here, I'm torn between wanting to befriend them and not wanting their fleas.  Yesterday I saw an old lady on her way home from the market stand outside our pad, as four kitties lined up and she fed them all chunks of fresh fish.  She told me their names and most striking character traits.  This is something I’ve noticed: people adopt stray animals and care for them without inviting them into their homes.  Interesting compromise, eh?

My cultural excursion yesterday was to the Ukrainian National Art Museum.   It is very beautiful and engrossing, especially if you like eastern orthodox iconography, which indeed I do.  I like to challenge myself to identify the different saints and apostles.  I’m fairly good with the really recognizable ones, St. George for example, but then I’m pretty hopeless with, sadly, the female saints.  Also, anyone know what the Old Testament Trinity is?  They were all over that museum, and seem to have something to do with fish...

So the museum is organized both chronologically and thematically.  That is to say, it begins with the oldest religious art, then moves through more modern and then old non-religious art.  For a museum that took under two hours to traverse, they have a very impressive avant-garde collection, including some Rodchenko, Archpenko and many others whose names I had never heard.  In fact, my favorite pieces in the whole museum were by two artists with whom I was unfamiliar.  One had a name like Zhvuk and the other, hanging right next to it, had a longer, and hence now forgotten name.  There were whole galleries by single artists and others that showcased groups.  I also really enjoyed paintings by Taras Shchevchenko, who seems to be Ukraine’s Pushkin.  Not to mention paintings of Shchevchenko by all kinds of different artists that were sprinkled throughout the museum.  All in all, a great time.

That evening, we went back to the nearby market, which seems to be a daily habit.  It was a chilly day, which gave me a perfect excuse to make lentil soup.  It came out great, but in that huge market, I couldn’t find celery.  Maybe it was because I talked shit about celery the day before...  Anyway, we’ve been jamming on these red lentils that maybe taste the same but just look so exotic.  At night we drank wine and watched It Happened One Night.  It’s no Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but still great.  Then I managed to sleep almost 12 hours.  Today it looks like it’s gonna be another lazy, chilly day, with lentil soup leftovers, old movies and a trip to the market.  I’m starting to feel like my friend Ailey’s tshirt, “Don’t go loco, hug a local!”

Ends Justify Means

When I first understood that my visa would not be ready in time for me to go with the group to Moscow, I was pretty upset.  Though not by myself, I would have to spend an extra week in Kiev, waiting for the embassy to process my request.  Eventually, however, it became clear that the situation would actually be, how can I put it?  Amazing.  For one thing, there are plenty of places I hadn’t yet gone in Kiev that I now have time to visit, especially since the orientation is over.  Furthermore, our group of refugees is great.  We all get along brilliantly and, more importantly, have similar taste in food.  Which brings me to my last point: they hooked us up with the chronic apartment!  It is honestly nicer than any place I have ever lived, and I don’t mean by Eastern European standards.  It’s located in a frankly bougie neighborhood, and right around the corner from a great farmer’s market.  We have a beautiful kitchen, cable tv with dvd and vcr, two huge bedrooms, two full bathrooms, one of which has a washing machine and a hot tub.  Right now there’s four girls here, so I, being a hardcore snorer, slept on a pull-out couch, the most comfortable one of my life.

So yesterday, after waving goodbye to the Moscow-bound train, we came back here and cooked a great dinner.  It felt so good to be able to shop for food, knowing that we had a kitchen to come home to.  There was a slight glitch when we realized the oven didn’t work, so we had fried instead of baked eggplant, along with rice and a sort of ratatouille, washed down with three bottles of wine.  Good times.

Today, I went with Mike, who is staying in the apartment below us, to the Bulgakov museum.  Often, these authors’-house-museums are rather uninspired and the tours dull, but this was an incredible time.  The museum, housed in Bulgakov’s apartment, blends his life with that of the Turbines, the characters of his first novel White Guard.  It surprised me that they chose to base it on this lesser-known work, rather than his masterpieces Heart of a Dog or Master and Margarita.  I think it’s because White Guard attests to Bulgakov’s belief in the importance of family love and is saturated with the spirit of Kiev.  But what really made the museum enjoyable was the tour-guide, who was so passionate and animated that I understood her meaning even when I didn’t know the words.  I’m usually bored by the end of museum tours, but this time I was disappointed to leave so soon.

Now I’m back in my gorgeous, luxurious apartment.  I can’t even tell you how much I love Kiev, which makes me embarrassed that I talked shit about it last week.  Forgive me, Kiev!  I’ll never bad-mouth you again!   Tonight we’re going to take it easy.  We’ll just make another delicious dinner and watch a silly movie, like Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  Tomorrow, I’ll do some more sightseeing, and who knows?  Maybe I’ll start learning Ukrainian...  I already know that medved, the Russian word for “bear” is in Ukrainian vedmed.  So the John Lurie picture we all love so well, instead of being “Preved Medved” is “Preved Vedmed.”

So keep reading.  This week may inspire the happiest posts of the whole year...

Lavradical

Checked out the Lavra today, a beautiful huge monastery complex built over catacombs.  The caves were creepy as what, especially when the really devout Christians kept kissing the glass tombs.  Everyone around us had bought these long candles, which I assumed were for some kind of ritual, but were in fact to light the way through the dark caves.  Luckily, it was crowded enough to be both bright and claustrophobic.  We also had the opportunity to check out part of a Russian Orthodox church service.  Church Slavonic melodies are so beautiful, and every inch of this church was covered in elaborate decoration.  I'm also quite a fan of the incense smell, probably because to me it's exotic and not connected with any sort of forced worship.  Incidentally, there are no pews in Orthodox churches; you stand the whole time.  And we thought synagogue was tough!  I took plenty of pictures at the monastery, including, of course, portraits of the Lavra cats.

Tonight half the group leaves for Moscow and the rest of us move into our apartment.  I've heard it's really nice, like jacuzzi nice.  Since we are done with our orientation, be sure to check back for more silly stories.

A Bad Day Gets Better

I know my last post was less than cheerful, but Kiev fully redeemed itself by the time I crawled into bed.  I decided that the only thing that would improve my mood, and justify a second shower, was to say nuts to my fear and go for a run.  Still, I was cautious.  I went without my iPod and simply did a couple laps around the block of our hotel.  I got some puzzled looks, some dirty looks, and a bunch of laughs.  Worse, people, both in cars and on foot, not only don’t get out of your way, some actually move to get in your way.  I took a surprisingly good attitude and let these moving obstacles add to my workout, for example by speeding up to pass and running in place when I was blocked.  There was one doorman outside a hotel who smiled and waved to me on my first lap, and cracked up when I saluted him on my second.  As for not having my iPod, I endeavored to play the Clash’s entire “London Calling” album in my head.  That was a whole other kind of exercise.  Maybe next time I’ll try “Thriller.”  When I got back, I took that second shower, this time to wash off real sweat, not imaginary bugs.

Fresh and clean-clean, I joined some girls for a screening of an shockingly engrossing educational series called “Connect with English.”  It’s like “Live from Moscow,” only with an enormous cast.  Somewhere between my sarcastic Mystery Science Theater comments, I actually got really into it.  And I came in in the middle; the other girls have already watched dozens of these 15-minute episodes.

I was pretty much ready to call it a night, but I got intercepted on my way to bed.  I was already in my pajamas when I was invited to go to the park and listen to Oklahoma Matt play his banjo.  Not being the type to turn down a free banjo recital, I changed back into my clothes and headed out.  To make a long story short, we all got waste-faced in the park until...what time?  I don’t know, I was too blind to read my watch.  I do remember talking to some security guards at the end of our adventure, one of whom I tried to tackle when he called my mom a prostitutka.  Of course I couldn’t have hurt him, but my friends, though in hysterics, were lucid enough to pull me away from that situation and back to the hotel.  So this morning I feel a little wobbly from all that woobly juice, but it’s better than being resenting Kiev.  Today, the only thing I’ll drink is delicious European orange Fanta.

Ants in my Pants. Literally.

Right at this very moment, I'm feeling a little frustrated with Kiev.  First of all, the pollution is wreaking havoc with my skin and I can't find my preferred dermatological products.  Then, I joined some friends for a picnic in the park, but was immediately covered with bugs, the feeling of which I just can't lose.  Finally, I really feel like going for a run, but there's no gym in the hotel and I'm too scared to jog around the city.   Obviously, I don't know my way around, but even if I just ran around the same block, there are so many people and stray dogs, I would constantly be excusing myself.  And of course, since it is so bustling, it wouldn't be prudent to put on my iPod, so it would be up to me to keep a steady rhythm, and who can trust her?  Her who?  Her me.  There is one boy with whom I could go running, but he's playing basketball now, so I highly doubt he'll want to run with me later.  Anyway, he's a former track star, meaning he probably goes much faster and farther than me.  So, just to recap, right now I'm feeling acne-ridden, bug-infested and fat.  I guess it's not really all Kiev's fault, but I've got no one else to blame.

Well friends, I guess I'll go take a second shower to wash off these imaginary insects.  Speaking of which, there was a fire a few days ago in Cafe Kafka...

Say goodbye, it's Independence Day

A fabulous weekend in the city.  On Saturday, a bunch of kids arranged to go to the World War II museum here in Kiev.  As much fun as that sounded, I blew it off and went to the beach.  We, three cute boys and I, got off the metro at the “Hydropark” stop.  To get to the beach, we had to walk through a Soviet-era amusement park.  There were rides, games, shwarma stands and people trying to make money by having tourists take photographs with their animals (snakes, horses...).  The park was bordered by woods, and I came upon a woman and her daughter feeding dog food to two tiny wild puppies, while their wolf-like mother supervised.  It was a display of true kindness that these women buy dog food specifically to distribute to strays.  Finally, we made it to the beach. Although it was littered with cigarette butts and beer bottles, it was still beautiful.  The beach is on one bank of the Dnieper River, affording an incredible panoramic view of Kiev.  I was snapping photos of the giant monument “The Mother of All Russia,” which is, ironically, the site of the WWII museum where everybody had gone.  I swam, sunbathed, read, ate shashlik (shish kabob), drank beer and just chilled the f out.  It was great having such a relaxed day; I really needed it.  The best part was when I sat down and talked with a woman who had brought her beautiful one-year old cat on a leash to the beach.  The worst part was when I was ordering my lunch and felt something furry on my back, turned around to find a fat old man standing a few inches away, who accidentally tickled me with his chest hair.  Gnarly.

In the evening we went out for pizza (really cheap and surprisingly good), then met up with some Muscovites from our hotel.  Together we went down by St Sophia’s cathedral for a spectacular fireworks display, the opening Independence Day festivities.  We goofed off for a while in Independence Square, just drinking beer and appreciating the Saturday night fashions.  Then we came back to the hotel and watched What About Bob.  A perfect end to a perfect day.

Today was Independence Day proper, so we got up at the crack of nine to eat breakfast and head down to the main thoroughfare for the parade.  When I heard about the parade, I pictured, if not floats, at least a marching band.  Instead, it was a display of military prowess, featuring tanks, missile-launchers and aircrafts.  Not exactly the Fourth of July.  It was more like a reminder to the world that Ukraine can, if pushed, defend itself.  Actually, this was even more interesting because it really highlighted the differences between this culture and mine.  Plus, it was incredible to be in Kiev for this holiday.  I now realize how proud Ukrainians are of their country.  This is another key cultural difference...

Now it’s the early afternoon.  Some kids are getting ready to go to the monastery at Lavra for a concert and some light spelunking.  I might skip it, though.  I’ve had just about all the fun I can stand for one weekend.

Workin for the Weekend

My first weekend in Kiev is off to a great start.  Yesterday was our last day of teacher training and after receiving an enthusiastic round of applause, our instructor produced a bottle of vodka.  I’m still too scared to drink straight vodka (inspired by my mom, who has never had a beer, I’m ok with my limitations), but he was kind enough to also bring grape juice and pistachios, both of which helped get it down.

So I was already a little tipsy at around 4 pm when Sasha, my dear friend from Bard, arrived at the hotel.  She was here visiting her grandparents, as she has done every summer since her family emigrated from Ukraine.  We went to Independence Square, had a drink and talked about do’s and don’t’s for living in the former Soviet Union.  My friend Jason (he did arrive, though not on my flight), assessed it very well, “It’s nice to hang out with someone who is both fully American and fully Ukrainian.”

In the early evening, we were invited to a Fulbright program director’s apartment for a cocktail party.  This was an event both lavish and comfortable.  His apartment is gorgeous, furnished with old Orthodox artwork and modern conveniences.  The food and drink were delicious and plentiful.  But the best part was a private concert held in his living room.  It was an American company, I forget their name, that organizes international tours for anyone who wants to sing.  Everywhere they go, they learn the regional folk music, and then perform it along with an early American repertoire.  The singers were of varying ages and backgrounds but, let me tell you, they blew us all away.  Especially amazing was a Ukrainian girl, a student of their contact here, who sang even the English songs with so much soul, I could tell, as we say in my family, “She’s been here before.”  I went to congratulate her after the concert and was so moved I ended up kissing her as fondly as if she were my kin.

After the evening, we tried, for hours, to find a club and dance.  Discos are not my scene, and from the get-go I had a bad attitude about the prospect.  But I did want to hang out with everyone and sample the local night life.  So I went along, if begrudgingly, on what turned out to be a wild goose chase.  Ultimately, we peeked into a bunch of different clubs and every time decided they were too expensive ($20 cover for girls, $30 for boys) and, as I had predicted, nasty.  I guess some of the kids who had more energy than I did eventually find a place to dance, which I’m sorry I missed, but maybe tonight I’ll take a disco nap and try again.  Really though, I had a great time walking all around the city, seeing everybody in their Friday night finery.  I could tell this city has a great night life, even if I was only watching from the sidelines.

Today, the top priority is the beach.  There’s supposed to be a good one by Lavra, so maybe I’ll check out the monastery too.  But if it’s too crowded there, I have the luxury of an extra week here with nothing to do, so I might save most of my sightseeing for then.  Tomorrow is Independence Day, which sounds like a nationwide party.  We are really lucky to be here for that, and even luckier to have the following morning free, implicitly to nurse what I’m sure will be a memorable hangover.  So that’s my plan.  Check back in to see how it actually turns out.

Stuck in the Middle with Ukraine

One of the program directors today pulled a couple of us out of class Soviet-style, saying “Grab your things and come with me.”  It turns out that the Russian consulate here is unable to process our visas in less than ten business days.  This means that we will be stuck in Kiev until September 4 at “4 or 5 pm.”  That’s about a week longer than the group was meant to stay and in fact most kids are leaving Kiev next Friday and going to Moscow.  The unvisa-ed rest of us are getting an apartment for a week.  What does this mean in practical terms?  We will have plenty of time for sight-seeing, and yet I still won’t get to Odessa because I can’t leave Kiev.  But, as a friendly Russian told us, “Odessa is nice but it’s full of Jews.”

The Fulbright administrators are being extremely helpful -- they’re not gonna just abandon us -- but it’s still a sticky situation.  So if anybody knows any hot spots in Kiev that are off the beaten path, please let me know, because I suddenly have another week  here.

Bear Surprise!

August 20

So we hang out in this place Cafe Kafka because it has free wireless but it keeps cutting out.  Thus, I apologize to anyone who’s been trying to iChat with me.

Anyway today we started our teacher training.  Our mantra is “Engage, study, activate!”  It’s very helpful, which has to be hard for them to accomplish since we’re all going to different schools that will expect different things of us.  But what we have in common is a background of language learning and not teaching.  The teacher began today by teaching us how to say “Hi, how are you?  I’m fine, thanks.  My name is ---.  What’s your name?  I am from ---.  Where are you from?” in TURKISH!  It was really just an exercise in teaching language to beginners, and it was very effective!  We also had a lesson on American perceptions of Russians (gloomy, solemn) and Russian perceptions of Americans (naive, insincerely peppy).  I thought it was a big generalization but sure enough, a housekeeper asked where I come from because she noticed I am so cheerful.  Ain’t that a kick in the pants?  By Friday we all have to teach lessons on American culture.  Mine will be about rock ‘n roll and the British invasion.  Back in the USSR baby!

After class, we went to a flea market around St Andrew’s Rise.  The market sold mostly Russian/Ukrainian tchochkees, the likes of which you can find anywhere, or else that was my rationale for not yet buying souvenirs.  I did however buy a pin featuring the “Preved Medved,” a cartoon by John Lurie, one of my favorite contemporary artists, that is inexplicably huge in Russia.  So I’m wearing it with esoteric pride.  Russians and Ukrainians think this drawing is funny, but I know his whole career is brilliant!  If you don’t know John Lurie, I strongly recommend his tv show “Fishing with John,” and the Jim Jarmusch films in which he appears, “Stranger than Paradise” (about Cleveland!) and “Down by Law.”  We also took silly pictures with a statue of Mikhail Bulgakov, begging the question, who’s the master and where’s the margarita?

Thoroughly satisfied by the kitschy market, we checked out St Andrews.  It is an incredibly beautiful cathedral which my camera failed to capture in all its glory.  I almost felt bad snapping pictures in there, especially when I interrupted a young priest’s prayers.  But then I remembered that they would hate me, not for taking photos, but for being Jewish.  So that alleviated my guilt.  Remember, Jewish guilt and Christian guilt are very different things.  For dinner we got shwarma and my favorite orange Fanta.  The shwarma wasn’t the best and someone told me that Fanta is, like Volkswagon, a product of the Third Reich.  But what can I say?  You gotta eat.

Now the day is over so I’ll go back to the hotel and relax with a movie.  I’m thinking John Wayne in “True Grit,” because being abroad makes me feel, if not patriotic, at least proud to be an Americanka.  Until next time, remember the wise words of John Lurie, “Of course, animals have souls.”

Kiev's Outdoor Museum

Oh my oh my.  What a beautiful city this Kiev is.  It's an incredible mixture of ancient, Soviet and modern architecture, almost all of which is beautiful.  I can't wait to really explore, go to cathedrals and museums like the Bulgakov House.  Plus, Ukrainian isn't that hard to understand, except they do have some different letters in their alphabet, like "i" which might be pronounced "o."  Today we went to a very cheesy "Outdoor Museum," which is kind of like an American "colonial village."  That's where I took the picture of the windmill (or is it a giant?).  It was kind of silly, but very nice that Fulbright takes us on fun, non-business excursions.  They also cancelled our orientation session for the morning after Independence Day, so that night we can party fairly hearty.  

Down the street from our hotel is a cafe called Kafka which offers free internet if you buy any old thing on the menu.  Thus, I am on my second Heineken.  I'm no lush, I'm just working through the jet lag.  Else I'd have been asleep by 4 pm.  Also, during this orientation we have to take care of our own lunches and dinners, but we don't have access to a kitchen or even a fridge, so I'll probably be here plenty.  Incidentally, in Ukrainian, blini are called "mlintsi."  Who knew?

Well that's about all I got.  I miss my home, family, friends and cat (just the one, not Aboogaty), but, in the wise words of Degrassi, "I know I can make it through."

Travelling

8.17 

Pre-Departure Thoughts: Cleveland airport

Feeling anxious, but emotionally exhausted.  It was hard saying goodbye, especially to Mom, who has been crying like it’s a Terms of Endearment marathon.  Why do we cry on such a happy occasion?  I guess because of how much we will surely miss each other.  Also, this still feels so uncertain, so many blanks yet to be filled in.  Truth be told, I blubbered like a baby after I said goodbye to Dad and Zak, all by myself going through airport security.  Broke just like a little girl.  I will feel relieved when 1) I land in Kiev and get my luggage and 2) arrive in Yekaterinburg two weeks later.  For now, I just have to get through every leg of this journey with my cry-induced headache.

En Route Thoughts: Somewhere over the Atlantic

I’m more than half-way done with the longest part of my flight, going from Detroit to Amsterdam.  I’m tired as hell but my ass is somehow painfully numb, and anyway it’s only about 10 pm on my time.  So there’s about three hours left before we land, and I guess I’ll try to get some sleep, because hey, I’ve got no finger nails left anyway.

This plane is enormous--double-decker with three sections in every row.  My seat number is 60-H, if you can believe it.  I’ll be happy when we land in Amsterdam, but still mighty anxious because A) I’ll have a three-hour layover before my flight to Kiev and B) I’ll go on not knowing where my luggage is.  Speaking of which, in the Cleveland airport we discovered that one of my brand new suitcases already has a balled tire.  How’s that for a fortuitous start?  Actually, I’m trying not to read too much into that, but it does not bode well.

Well I guess that’s all for now.  Maybe I’ll write some more in the Amsterdam airport, if I can find a plug and charge this baby up.  My real plan is to eat the richest most delicious meal I’ve ever had in an airport and watch AD or some movie until my flight.  Incidentally, I just watched Before the Devil Knows You’re Dead, a great flick, kind of like  Fargo but not funny.  My feelings for Phillip Seymour Hoffman vacillate between fear and awe.  Right now it’s the former.  I also started listening to the audiobook biography I got of Phil Spector, whose real first name was Harvey and whose parents were Russian Jews!  So I guess between multimedia options and reading Don Quixote, I’ll have plenty  with which to entertain myself.

Ok all you cool cats and chickadees, stay tuned for more rock n roll!

8.18

En Route Thoughts: Amsterdam airport

It is a rainy morning in the Netherlands.  I arrived safely here with just under three hours to kill, so I took my time wandering about this labyrinthine airport looking for something yummy to eat.  I settled for a passable ham and cheese sandwich and the strongest cup of coffee I’ve had since, well, the last time I was in Europe.

The airport is such a wonderful place to watch people, especially a non-American airport.  I’ve been experimenting with passing myself off as other nationalities, like saying “Scusi” or “Pardonnez-moi” when I need to get by.  But I don’t think I’ve been too successful, because inevitably I trip or misstep and emit a revealing “Oy vey.”  I also haven’t the nerve to say “Ausch du blift” (sp?) to people who help me, even though I say it to Zak all the time.  Also, it occurs to me that it is mostly Americans who dress for comfort when travelling.  Everyone else seems to be dressed normal, if not a little on the nice side.  I am consistently amazed by women who travel in skirts and heels, not to mention European men for whom it is socially acceptable to wear scarves and capri pants. It makes me in my sweats and Bard t-shirt feel like a shlub, which, I guess, is what I am. I’m also incurring dirty looks for charging my computer in a wall socket and/or sitting on the floor while I type.  I guess everyone’s just concerned about my ovaries freezing.

Now here’s what concerns me.  Another Fulbrighter from Ohio was supposed to be flying with me starting in Detroit.  I have yet to see him.  Jason, my friend, did you miss your flight?  Or am I days early?  Also, can toothpaste go bad?  I have a travel-sized Crest that tastes strangely of almonds/formaldehyde.

Now, I would like to take this opportunity to say that I resent airports where you can just about connect to the internet, and then after two or three pages it asks for a credit card number.  Just so you know, Mom, I tried to email you, but the Amsterdam airport wouldn’t let me!  Anyway, my next stop is Kiev and hopefully there will be reliable free internet access in the hotel.  If not, that’s why the good lord invented phone cards...

To conclude, I would like to quote a philosophy I just picked up from Don Quixote: “Learn, Sancho, that one man is not more than another unless he achieves more than another.  All those storms that fall upon us are signs that soon the weather will be fair and that things will go smoothly, for it is not possible for evil or good to last forever.  Hence we may infer that as our misfortunes have lasted so long, good fortunes must be near.”

That’s the thing about Don Quixote.  He’s mad, and yet, there’s method in’t.  Anyway, that quote cheers me up on this rainy and aggravating day.  Sally forth!

Off and running

Is this all there is?  Apparently.

Welcome to my blog.  This is meant to be the public journal (as opposed to my Laura Palmer-style secret diary) of my year in Ekaterinburg.  Right now I am in my bedroom in Beachwood, Ohio, doing what I can to prepare for my departure in just under two weeks.  That preparation so far includes burning a lot of cd's and movies on to my computer and thinking about how poorly I speak Russian.  I did start packing, but my sweaters alone took up a whole suitcase.  And I left out all my junky favorite ones!  I'm trying to turn my wardrobe from child-like to lady-like.  As if!

So let's leave this first post as an open invitation.  If anyone has advice about living abroad, teaching English, blogging or anything else, give it here.  Help a Buckeye out.