Sure Shot

A few mini-adventures to relate:

Fellow Fulbrightnitsa Katherine came from Tiumen.  We spent the time - what else - eating, drinking and seeing the major sites of Ekaterinburg.  I have a local friend who majored in tourism (a popular department throughout Russia) who gave us a historico-cultural tour of the city.  We learned so much, including that the Russian word for factory "zavod" comes from the fact that early factories had to be near the water, in Russian that's "za vodou."  Cool!  We also had my colleague's family over for dinner, which was my first time entertaining a whole family (mother, father, 14-year old son and 2-year old daughter).  It was a great success, especially when I won the little girl over by pretending I had a sleeping gnome in my teapot.  On Katherine's last day, we saw the new computer-animated movie "Monsters Versus Aliens" in 3-D.  It was an awesome experience, and refreshing to see a movie in Russian and understand everything.

Yesterday I had the day off so I went to the local Natural History Museum.  It was full of rocks, prehistoric skeletons and taxidermied animals.  It turns out there's a huge variety of owls in this region, including one called the Ural Owl.  Usually I'm scared of those action-posed dead animals, but this museum was just so rinky-dink, it was hard to feel any way but bemused.

Tonight I went to see the women's basketball team take on the Novosibirsk team.  First of all, we kicked ass!  Second of all, at half-time, a stranger with an American accent remarked on the fact that my friend and I were speaking English.  He didn't look like a missionary, so I asked where he was from.  Chicago!  Imagine meeting another midwesterner there at the Palace of Sport.  He's visiting his cousin who plays on the Ekaterinburg team.  So we chatted for a minute about Lebron and our favorite musicians from each other's cities (his-Bone Thugs, mine-R.Kelly).  I gotta say, it just about made my day.

Well that's just about it for now.  A week from today my dear sweet Jessie will be here, direct from Boston.  I'll try to post again before that, because once she's here I'll be too busy having the best time of my Russian life.

One love.

Gangsta Like Me

Today I went on the best cultural excursion!  (Side note: Russians use the word “excursion” to mean just about any outing; where we say “field trip,” “tour,” “visit,” anything, they say “excursion.”)  You may know that one of Ekaterinburg’s claims to fame is being home to the largest organized crime circuit in Russia.  As it turns out, all the men who made it so, along with their families, are buried in one place.  The “Mafia Cemetery” is a must-see for anyone with a macabre gangster fascination, or anyone who likes gaudy decorated tombstones.  I went today with my friend Liz, a Fulbright research fellow based in Petersburg.  Actually, we tried to go yesterday, walked all over the city trying to find transport to this neighborhood, only to discover today that the busses we needed stop right by Liz’ interim apartment.  We were very un-Russian (read: emotional) when we found the bus, and even worse when we saw the cemetery through the window and started clapping.

I’m no expert on the Russian mob, and it’s not as if I know these guys’ names.  So what makes this place so fascinating?  The gangsters spared no expense on their eternal resting places, and some of them really dropped a pretty kopeck.  The trend in modern Russian cemeteries is to have the departed’s likeness laser-printed on the tombstone.  Sometimes the man’s face juts out, hewn in the living rock.  Now imagine that done for a guy who looks, quite deliberately, like Tony Soprano or Michael Corleone.  Many of the men had life-size memorials, showing off their leather jackets and BMW keys.  They did the same for their wives, who are displayed in high heels and tight dresses, apparently on the dance floor.  One particularly prominent gangster built a stunning angel-like monument of his wife, after he whacked her for suspected infidelity.  Some times the men were depicted doing their favorite activites, like boxing or book-keeping.

What’s more, the cemetery was huge!  It looked small from the bus, but extended for kilometers into the forest.  There was no order to older or newer graves, though they were all post-Revolution.  The graveyard was immaculate, with well-plowed paths between all the sections.  We saw no grave-diggers or groundskeepers, but there were a few dogs keeping watch and keeping warm on the plots.  There were foot-trodden paths to most graves, and most of them were decorated with day-glo silk flowers.  One grave had been visited very recently: lying on the marble slab were a becrumbed-plastic plate and a shot glass with the remnants of drink.

Luckily, no mourners were visiting today.  Serious people would have ruined our schadenfreudy fun.

One Big Holiday

Congratulations on the holidays!!

Today two holidays are being celebrated in Russia.  One is so-called International Women's Day, a vestigial Soviet celebration of the female sex.  Russians honor it by "congratulating" the women in their lives with chocolate and flowers.

It's also Purim.  Well, technically, Purim starts tomorrow night, but today I went to a concert organized by the local Jewish Culture organization.  There's a funny phenomenon I've seen at all Russian concerts (not that I've seen Dima Bilan or Alla Pugachova, but at these dinky ones): the song-to-speech ratio is at best 1:1.  Politicians, organizers, veterans, they give these interminable speeches (they're no less boring when you understand what they're saying), then they call dozens of people on stage to present them with gifts and certificates.  Sometimes they make jokes about how boring the speeches are, but that's as good as it gets.  I guess there's no Russian equivalent for "Less talk, more rock!"

Actually, one interesting notion came out of the speeches.  Whereas I alternate between considering myself a Jewish American and an American Jew, most of the practicing Jews I've met here barely consider themselves Russian at all.  So even though today was actually Women's Day and not Purim, I wasn't "congratulating" anyone on the Russian holiday.  But many of the speakers acknowledged it, and one finally illuminated the whole issue: what is Purim if not a celebration of a strong women?

The concert portion of the concert was equally cheesy.  The worst part was a young man in a silver sharkskin suit singing and embarrassingly dancing to Hebrew songs.  I thought he was making a complete caricature of himself, but the crowd loved it.  His CDs sold like blini, and some old babushki even gave him the flowers they'd received for Women's Day.  The best parts were, as always, the children.  The local Hillel group put on an adorable Purimspiel, featuring the most beautiful local Jewesses.  But the show was stolen by a 6- or 7-year old bespectacled red-headed boy who sang and danced in an otherwise all-girl ensemble.  He had the confidence of star, unaware that he had the appearance of a nerd.  He performed with such soul, I wish I knew Yiddish to describe it.  Apparently I was not the only one so taken with him; when they introduced each performer, the audience went crazy.  Later I saw him in the theater and said "Well done."  He said thanks but didn't even smile, like a big shot.

Also, a discovery.  In the States, we have two varieties of hamentashen (for my goyish readers, that's the delicious fruit-filled Purim treat).  There's a cakey kind and a cookie kind.  Well, in Russia they have a third variety: bready.  It wasn't quite as tasty as I would've liked, and no Mom, they didn't have apricot ones, but it was still spiritually satisfying to eat the wicked Hamen's three-cornered hat.  Sacrelicious.

Happy days, everyone.  Congratulations on being/knowing wonderful women and chag sameach.

Osip: Epilogue

After a magical day and a half, Osip found a new and permanent home.  He moved in with my dear friend Aigul and her roommates.  I'm very glad to have gotten him adopted by friends, so I can still visit him and watch him grow.  Plus, they kept his name, which probably no one else would have done.  I already miss him terribly, but I'm not trying to stay in Russia forever, nor do I care to deal with the red tape of exporting a pet.  So, on to bigger and better beasts!

Osip

Here he is, little Osip.  Ain't he sweet?

eKATerinburg

I don't know if this will ultimately prove good or bad, but today in my apartment building I FOUND A KITTEN!  I came home after class and was trying to take my usual afternoon nap, but I couldn't fall asleep because of a mewling I heard in the hallway.  Knowing how vulnerable I am to the lure of "stray cats," I tried to ignore it, but it didn't stop.  Ultimately I gave in, opened my door, and found a tiny white and gray tabby M-head (pictures to follow).  I picked it up and it purred in my arms.  None of my neighbors claimed it, and they said it had been howling all night.  So I brought it inside, fed it some chicken and milk, watched it pee on my bathroom rug and decided to keep it, at least for a little while.

My maternal instincts are surging.  Hopefully I'll be able to find a home for it before June, but, also hopefully, no sooner.  I ran downstairs and bought it some cat food and kitty litter.  Don't yet know if it's a boy or a girl, so I can't yet choose a name.  I do know, it's a good hunter, clever (already figured out the litter box) and "loves the love."  It's purring and marching on my lap as we speak.  It hasn't cried since I brought it in, except to get my attention for some affection.  It follows me from room to room, unless enjoined in battle with a bottlecap, shoelace or one of the many enemy cats that live in the mirrors. It's also very clean and a good eater!  

I finally did get my nap, but this time, instead of being interrupted by a screaming kitten in the hall, it was serenaded by purrs from a sleeping kitten on my cheap.  Wish me "neither fluff nor feather!"