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Letters from Russia (Part 4)
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These letters were written by my friend, Ken Taft (Denver, USA) who arrived to
Russia with the prospect of staying in St. Petersburg for one year as a teacher
of English language. I find them both sincere and precious as they describe so
well how it feels in the beginning as well as provide useful information for
those who have plans to move to Russia for a certain period of time.
If you find the very first letters discouraging I would like to add one simple
fact: after the first year Ken decided to stay here for the second one. His
approach is that choosing between USA and Russia for living in the nearest 5
years, Russia seems much more inspiring...
Sincerely yours,
Tatiana
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Letters from Russia
Letters from Russia (Part 2)
Letters from Russia (Part 3)
Letters from Russia (Part 4):
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Letter 13: Russian dacha and mushroom safari
Hello,
Adrenaline alley
So we left on a Friday morning in early July, heading out from the center of the city, five full
grown adults in a car that seats four comfortably. Our passenger roster consisted of Tatiana, her
brother Misha (driver) and his wife Julia, and Tatiana's husband Sergey. In the trunk we had too many
clothes and too much food. It was going to be about a five hour trip in total with occasional stops
to stretch legs and eat some roadside fare. I took my place in the backseat, happy to have a window
seat to avoid any car sickness. Russian roads are notoriously bad with potholes that could swallow
Mini Coopers in one bite. The mudflaps of the car scraped the ground at every bump because of all the
weight. There are lines painted on the pavement marking out the lanes, but no one really pays any
attention to them. It's a free for all, NASCAR style, with cars dodging in and out of lanes, driving
on the shoulder and fearlessly crossing over the center line to pass and play chicken with oncoming
semi's. I then realized the deeper meaning of Misha making the sign of the cross while passing
St. George Cathedral during our exit from the city. It was a white knuckle ride on the main highway
from St. Petersburg to Moscow that needed some divine intervention to protect us. The Russian
interstate can go from a modern, freshly paved autobahn style highway to a two lane, pot-holed,
country back road almost instantly. Semi's outnumber cars 2:1. I would hold my breath and look out
the window as Misha prepared to pull out, cross the center line and try to pass a line of slower
moving semi's before the train of other semi's coming from the other direction would crush us like
a beer can. Hopefully an oncoming car didn't have the same ideas about passing and would have us
playing a complex game of chicken where there would be no winners. Occasionally we would see a gas
station along the side of the road, but no official rest stops with toilets and running water, and
of course no McDonalds, Wendy's, Cracker Barrel, etc. (Note to self: use the toilet before getting
in the car).
Our first stop to rest seemed completely random but "au contraire" it was all part of
the plan. Dispersed along the roadside at completely random points, away from any nearby city, were
solitary people selling cucumbers, potatoes and blueberries out of buckets and wicker baskets. It
puzzled me why they chose these particular spots to sell their goods. It seemed to be such an
unlikely spot to sell produce. But Hey! WE stopped! And WE bought!
Our second stop was for pirozhkeys and tea at the "open-air" convenience store. The woman sporting
the great tan sells tea which is brewed in the metal contraption (samovar). I'm not exactly sure how
it works, but burning wood keeps it hot and it's definitely a Russian cultural icon. The pirozhkeys
were delicious little gut bombs of deep fried dough with apple, potato or cabbage filling. I'll take
one of these over a Big Mac any day. The sign on the small building in the background says "Bistro"
24 hours.
The compound
Five hours after leaving we arrived at the dacha, somewhere closer to Moscow than to St. Petersburg
near a beautiful chain of lakes. Tatiana's mother came out, then Julia's two boys ran out happy to
see their mama and eager to practice their English on me. The main house was made almost entirely
of wood, very cozy inside with a brick fireplace and a large brick oven. Yes, it had running water,
indoor toilets, a stove, refrigerator and an upstairs still under construction. It all sloped down
to the edge of the lake where there was an old row boat and an area to go swimming. Their land was
more like a compound than just a country cottage. There was a tall metal fence surrounding the entire
property and various other buildings besides the main house. There was a house I call the "bachelor
pad". It had a well stocked garage of tools and other implements, a table overlooking the lake for
cleaning fish or fixing nets, lots of gear hanging on the walls, a functioning sink and hotplate and
a small cot for sleeping. I think it's where Tatiana's father would spend a great deal of time when
he just needed to do some "man things". I stayed in an auxiliary house made of pine boards with lots
of windows overlooking the lake. Also in the compound was a greenhouse with an abundance of cucumbers,
tomatoes and dill, and the unforgettable banya where I was initiated into the world of Russian men.
I was given a complete tour of the compound by Tatiana's non-English speaker father, Yuri.
Of course, like most people, he believed I would understand him better if he spoke louder in Russian.
I knew when to nod my head at the appropriate times to feign comprehension as he explained the
intricate workings of the plumbing system. The rest of the day was spent rowing the boat, placing
nets in the lake, napping, eating lots of food and playing Russian card games that I just couldn't
get the hang of.
Mushroom safari
That evening I was invited to go mushroom picking the next morning with Yuri. It is an activity I
heard many stories about from a number of people, but didn't think I'd actually get to do it. I
thought: "It's much easier to just buy them in a store, but maybe picking them in the forest will
be interesting." Promptly at 6:30am he came to my window to wake me up. "Early bird gets the mushroom."
So after a quick breakfast of instant coffee, I donned my pair of waist high rubber boots to keep
dry in the tall wet grasses of the forest. Very unfortunately, I forgot to douse myself with mosquito
repellent. "How bad can they be anyway, right? It's just a warm, humid, swampy forest next to a lake.
No problem." So before setting off in the boat, Yuri equipped me with the necessary tools for a
mushroom safari: knife + big wicker basket (How many mushrooms are we going to pick?!). We headed
out across the lake with hand signals pointing me in the direction I was supposed to row. The
mosquitoes had sent out scouts along the shoreline to watch for possible prey and they moved in for
an attack. Now I was really starting to wish for mosquito repellent as they swarmed to the exposed
skin of my hands and face. With both hands rowing I was powerless to stop them. We made our landing
and quickly headed into the forest. I was instructed to stay within view of each other because it's
easy to get lost in this forest and also because there is safety in numbers when it comes to bears.
He showed me his very long knife he was going to use on any overly curious bear. One minute from
shore we came across a large area of flattened grass and a small excavated pit where a bear was
recently digging for something. This find quickly rid me of my doubts about there actually being any
bears around.
We started walking along the edge of the tree line where Yuri started finding mushrooms... Big ones,
about 6 inches tall with caps about 6 inches in diameter. I was expecting to see some little trolls
or gnomes with pointy shoes, funny hats and white beards darting trough the underbrush. I started
finding mushrooms also, but only the real colorful types that tend to make you wish you never ate
them. A light rain started and for the next two hours we made our way through dense foliage, open
meadows carpeted with wild strawberries and stands of endless birch. I started to develop a good
eye for the elusive Belie (white) mushroom in addition to other varieties. Somehow we filled the
basket with about 12 pounds of mushrooms. I was ready to get out of the rain into some dry clothes
and put a big breakfast in my stomach... But we weren't done. We still had to pull up the nets from
last night to see if we caught any fish. So back into the boat for another hour of rowing in circles.
Yes, we caught fish, many little ones and one big one very similar to America's Northern Pike.
I thought that it wasn't the most sporting way to catch a fish, but when we had fresh fried fish and
mushroom soup that evening, I really didn't care how they were caught.
Ken
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Letter 14: ...And then it's winter
Hello from St. Petersburg,
I hope you're all enjoying your Indian Summers. I'm sitting here trying to figure out where autumn
went. One day I'm lying in the sun on my balcony and the next day I'm trying not to fall on my ass
on the one inch thick layer of ice. The temperature dipped below freezing about a week ago and it
hasn't come back above it yet. There's a few inches of snow on the ground but the sun's been out so
it's been Ok. Unfortunately, the sun seems to be only about 10 feet off the ground all day.
Everything casts long shadows. It's a perpetual sunset all day long.
Ten months in Russia and I feel like I've seen about ten years worth of changes. Everything here is
changing so quickly. It seems like half the stores and shops occupying all the buildings weren't here
ten months ago. Variety and selection are increasing in the grocery stores. There's more ethnic
restaurants. And the police seem to be nicer to foreigners (i.e. they don't try to take our money with
so-called "fines").
I'm teaching at four different schools to groups and individuals of different levels. Every day is a new
challenge in some way. Even if I'm not in the mood, the show must go on. I now know English grammar
better than I ever wanted to. If you know the difference between "will" and "am going to" in the future
tense, you are an English teacher. All the books here are in British English, so I've had to learn to
teach phrases like: "to be keen on" (to like something), "do the washing up" (do the dishes), and my
least favorite: "let's meet at the weekend".
Two weekends ago I went to Moscow for a couple days to visit some new friends. The city reminds me a lot
of Los Angeles; too much money, too much image, and wide roadways with too many cars. The architecture
is a hodge-podge of different styles: Classical, Art Nouveau, Stalinist Era dwellings with tall windows,
ceilings, and classic European decoration on the exterior, new corporate glass towers, and then in the
middle of it all, the Kremlin, St. Basil's Church, and Red Square with Lenin's Mausoleum. Through the back
streets of the old city you'll find small onion-domed (cupola) churches dwarfed by the taller buildings
surrounding it. One afternoon we tried to go to the Art Museum (Tretyakov Gallery) but it was closed due
to a bomb scare, so we went the next day. Unlike St. Petersburg which is completely flat, Moscow has some
elevation to get a good glimpse of the layout of the city. The subway system is extensive and confusing
but the stations are like underground museums with the Communist-era architecture, mosaics, statues, and
ornate lighting. Walking through Red Square reminds me of being a child in the 70's and watching on TV
those evil communists parading their military through the square, Brezhnev's bushy eyebrows and his other
cronies on the podium planning the downfall of America, and being a bit fearful of their military might.
Now Red Square is filled with more tourists than Russians, snapping photos, and visiting the wax-like mummy
of Lenin lying in state... I haven't visited him yet, but maybe on my next trip to Moscow. I saw the first
McDonald's built in Russia. It no longer has the 2 hour long wait to get a Happy meal. Now it competes with
about 20-30 other outlets in the city as well as Pizza Hut and Colonel Sanders.
Last weekend I went with some teachers and staff to a Pioneer camp for an overnight outing of eating,
drinking, talking and walking. Pioneer camps are old communist youth camps (think boyscouts and girlscouts)
that now serve mostly as holiday retreats for anyone willing to book a room. The women in the cafeteria kitchen
are the same ones that were there in 1966, wearing the same hair nets. The breakfasts haven't changed either:
kasha (oatmeal's bastard brother), sugary hot tea, white cheese, and white bread. I guess French toast or eggs
benedict with Hollandaise sauce would be asking too much. So Saturday night we ate and drank, and ate and drank.
Then in the morning walked off our hangovers on the snow covered beach of the Gulf of Finland. It was an eerie
morning with the sun and the lake effect clouds doing battle over the water (see photo).
So, now I enter six months of winter. I might just decide to sleep through it and write all of you an email
when I wake up at the end of April.
Bye for now,
Ken
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