Welcome to the Working Week

What a great weekend, and not just great in the context of being lonely in a weird country, but truly great. It started Thursday evening when, together with Katie, I had Tanya over for dinner. Tanya is the receptionist/manager of the university’s English department, and roughly my age. She’s one of the few people who doesn’t slow down her speech when she talks to me, nor does she ever stop to ask if I understand. Most of the time, in fact, I don’t understand what she’s saying, but she speaks in such a way, and usually concludes by cheekily smiling and squinting her eyes, that I find her hilarious. It was very nice having her over, and now I might be able to refer to her the way the rest of the department does, as “Tanichka.” Friday night I met a woman who was interested having private English lessons and had been referred to me by a colleague. I was fully prepared to charge her 500 rubles an hour for serious, structured lessons, but when she arrived, everything changed. She too was about my age, and lovely in the way that explains why Russian women are considered (if only by Russians) to be the most beautiful in the world. Instead of payment, we decided to do dual-language meetings, so we will work on her English and my Russian. After she left, Katie and I watched Sluzhebni Roman (“Office Romance”). It’s a Soviet romantic comedy about a businesswoman and her nebbishe employee, and the most enjoyable movie I’ve seen in a long time. I have a categorical problem with any movie in which a hardworking woman undergoes a makeover to get a man, but besides that, I loved it. In Hollywood, the female lead would be played by Diane Keaton and the male by Woody Allen. Hey, that sounds familiar...

Saturday began at temple and lunch with my Israeli friends. We ate ourselves silly, including breaded chicken wrapped around an egg, a strange dish that was like a cross between kotleti and chicken kiev. I taught them a song from Jessie Strongin’s Hebrew school about how “Wherever you go, there’s always someone Jewish. You’re not alone when you say you’re a Jew...” Then I asked if any of them had seen Fiddler on the Roof, because it seems to be unknown in Russia. Chaia started singing “Matchmaker” and “Wonder of Wonders.” When the other two Israeli girls and one Russian said they had never seen it, I suggested that the temple could buy and screen the film. “Why would they do that,” Chaia asked, “when it’s so anti-semitic?” Then commenced most bizarre quarrel of my life: in Russia, an American arguing with an Israeli over the anti-semitic implications of Fiddler on the Roof. Chaia contended that Tevya’s daughters’ rejection of Judaism and their perspective of the traditions paints Jews in a negative light. I understood her point, but because of the language barrier, couldn’t quite explain that the real enemy in the film/play/stories is Russia, that is the outside, modern world. It got heated. Luckily, the rabbi’s wife arrived just in time to translate Chaia’s and my ideas between Hebrew and Russian until we were able to, if not agree, at least understand each other’s points. Phew. Then Katie showed up and, after eating some cake and singing a few songs about the Messiah, we took our leave.

From the synagogue Katie and I went to the house of Tatiana Nikolaevna, the head of our department, where Katie had left some winter clothes last year. Her apartment was easily the most beautiful I’ve seen in Ekaterinburg, probably in Russia. She has three daughters, and until I saw them, I didn’t fully appreciate how beautiful Tatiana Nikolaevna is herself. Now I had eaten enough at temple to last me through the day, but you try refusing food from a Russian mother, let alone your boss. So I ate another meal, two more varieties of cake and did my part in two bottles of wine. I played with her daughters and 14-year old dog and we all had a jolly old time. Also present was her friend Marina, who promised to take me to shows of local jewelry-makers, something I had just been telling Katie I wanted to investigate. Amazing. To top it all off, when we were going to call a cab, Tatiana Nikolaevna’s husband offered to drive us home. His butt-warmer was on turbo-blast, which was pretty nauseating after six glasses of wine, but still it was nice to get a free ride. Katie went out on an errand and I used the phone card she gave me to call home. Sadly, my mom wasn’t home, but I had the most wonderful, amusing and comforting talks with my dad and Zak.

Sunday I met my student/friend Nadia for a walk in the park. The park was muddy and the benches removed for construction, but we did peek into a pet store, where they had a cat on the staff and a monkey in a cage. Disturbing. Then we went with some more of Nadia’s friends to a cafe. Actually, the weather was so pleasant that instead of a cafe we decided to buy some beers and sit outside, talking and listening to gypsy street musicians play “Hotel California.” At 4, Katie and I were invited for dinner at Dasha’s, our colleague with whom I saw Mamma Mia! on my birthday. She made such delicious food, and even more delicious was her almost two-year old daughter Sveta. The little hooliganka performs on her brother’s command in both Russian and English, always cheeky and adorable. Dasha’s husband is a really cool businessman who has travelled throughout the US and showed us his pictures from his visit to Cleveland. It wasn’t until I was standing behind him at the computer that I noticed his t-shirt was from the Rock Hall. They invited me to go with them in a month to see Chuck Berry. I didn’t even know he was still alive!

I left Dasha’s a little early, but with a good reason: I went to meet another friend/student to go to an indie rock show! After an exasperating journey, I finally made it to Nirvana Club. Masha was waiting by the door, and because she’s a music journalist for the website UralRock, she got us both in for free. The place, which is supposedly not one of the best clubs, was so fucking great to me, it felt just like home. Cheap beer and loud, live music, it looked like the Agora and felt like the Grog Shop. The kids there were dressed the same as Cleveland indie rockers, right down to the Chucks. This was very comforting. Masha knows everybody from the bartenders to the musicians and is particularly good friends with the headlining band, Moy Raketi Verx (“My Rockets are High”). All the bands were awesome, and again, not just in the ironic Russian context, but really great. Also, it was some kind of Resurrect Kurt Cobain party, so a bunch of the bands did really faithful Nirvana covers. I came home drunk, exhausted and happy, my ears ringing like they haven’t since I saw Double Murder Suicide the night before I left home. I even had a great, life-affirming conversation with the taxi driver on my way back to the apartment. After my favorite snack, a post-show bowl of cereal, I am so ready for bed. Good night.