Some more pictures

A couple of weeks ago, I visited a local poet with the Klassens. His name is Dmitri Koro. He has an archaelogical dig going on in his backyard at the moment, but it is all hush-hush, so don't tell anyone!

It turns out Dmitri is also a fan of Leonard Cohen!

Dmitri explains to his American guest how one can objectively evaluate poetry. He said poetry is like music. You just know when a violinist doesn't quite hit the right note. Apparently, the same principle holds for poetry.

Farewell, dear Tomsk!

Today is my last day in Tomsk. I have enjoyed my stay here in Siberia. I improved my Russian, met new friends, felt what it is like to both break someone's heart and be heart broken, and learnt a lot about myself in the process. I am especially indebted to the Klassens for allowing me to stay with them for the final week of the program. Fr. Alexander and Matushka Elena are extraordinary people, and I am grateful that things worked out such that I could spend more time with them.

It is difficult to pick out one single thing I will remember from Tomsk. Perhaps people's general attitude toward life here will remain with me. At the risk of making a huge generalization, I would suggest that Russians know how to relax. Matushka Elena shared her translation of a poem by W.H. Davies (1871-1940) that I think captures the importance of taking a breather, even in the face of hardships:

Leisure

What is this life, if full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare!

No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep and cows!

No time to see when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this, if full of care,
We have not time to stand and stare.

An Excursion to Fr. Nikon's

On Monday, I visited a monk with the Klassens and their German guests. He lives on the outskirts of Tomsk. He lives by himself, but constantly has visitors. Here are some pictures from the trip:
http://picasaweb.google.com/engineeria/ExcursionToFatherNikonSHermitage#

Valentin Aleksandrovich Serov

On Friday in class we discussed the Russian artist Valentin Aleksandrovich Serov (1865-1911). I really enjoyed the following paintings.

My host mother and her girlfriends

(From left to right: Svetlana, Natasha, Olga)

Photo taken in Olga's store

Reality Check

When I dropped by my host-mother's store today, I was met by a homeless person. He was completely drunk. He just sat on the sidewalk and stared off into the distance. Flies swarmed his face. One foot was bloody with cuts. He wore a thicket, dark jacket, even though it was well above 90. He had no teeth, a scraggly beard, and blood-shot eyes. My host-mother called the police. They arrived after about half an hour later. I asked Olga, "What are the police going to do with him?" "They'll take him somewhere else?" "And what then?" "He'll just sit in another place." And I sat there in the store, having stuffed myself with tvorog (a Russian pastry), blini, salad, and soup. I felt like vomiting it all back up. How can one be so indifferent to such suffering? A few hours have passed since this encounter, and nothing has changed. That man is no doubt lying in a park somewhere craving his next drink. I'm sitting in front of my laptop, worrying about my future, my needs, my wants, my career. Life just continues along. Sometimes I find this fact very difficult to deal with in the face of such misery.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince... in Russian!

Yesterday, a number of the American students studying in Tomsk went to see the new Harry Potter movie.  My friend Steve and I decided to treat the occasion with the formality it deserved.

A question from Dad

What is summer like in Tomsk? On the one hand, it is the pleasure of strolling past old, ornate wooden buildings, the shy smile of a local Tomchik who has never met an American before, the refreshing taste of kvas on the way home from a long day at school, and the stillness of a city still asleep in the early morning hours (that's when I like to run from my apartment to "Lagerny Sad", a park that overlooks the River Tom).

On the other hand, it is also the traffic jams on Prospekt Lenina, an overwhelming presence of body odor, and the constant struggle of living with bugs.

An incomprehensible English phrase

Every day I eat lunch at the "Univer City" Cafe with my Russian language comrades. And every day I am served lunch by a waitress wearing a black shirt with the following written on the front in English: "We must eat our suckers with the wrappers on." Over the course of my brief stay here in Siberia, I have been struggling to understand what this might possibly mean. Perhaps there is some deeper esoteric significance. In any event, it gives me something to muse about during grammar class... I mean - as I walk home from school to meet my fate chez Konyshevs.

The Memorial Museum of Political Repression

Tomsk is home to a unique museum in Russia. Most Russians are not interested in remembering the horrors of Stalin - the gulags, the purges, the "Five Year Plans". However, here in the heart of Siberia, there is one tiny underground museum that witnesses to the atrocities millions of people suffered during the Soviet Union. Alexander Solzhenitsyn was the first guest. It's located in a former KGB building, where political prisoners were interrogated and locked up before being executed. The layout of the museum is quite simple. It consists of a couple of rooms with photographs of those who perished and an example of what a typical cell was like. I was immediately drawn to a picture of a young priest, his wife and three children. They looked so calm and peaceful in the photograph. I tried to imagine what it must have been like for this priest to be separated from his loved ones, to sit in a cramped little cell with twenty other prisoners, to endure the stench of unwashed humanity in the final hours of one's life, and to be led out of this hell to be shot.

The temptation to wallow in depression in moments like this is great. And for this reason, I'm grateful for a certain person, who shall remain nameless, who opened the hatch of the cell directly onto my face, leading to a bloody nose. It provided some much needed comic relief. I just hope my nose won't become gangrenous.

An All Time Low

Sometimes when you are living abroad and studying a language intensively, you just need to do something completely mindless in order to remain sane. Such a moment occured a couple of days ago. Instead of doing my grammar homework, I decided to go watch a movie with my friends Steven and Tyler. Unfortunately, we did not consult the schedule at the theater beforehand. It turned out only one movie was playing at a convenient time - "The Offer" starring Sandra Bullock. The plotline - a Canadian business woman faces deportation from the States. She pretends to marry her male assistant so as to keep her job. At first, the couple can't stand each other, but over the course of a weekend in beautiful, sunny Sitka, Alaska, they fall in love. Of course, the story ends happily with much smooching.

I had all ready watched this movie in a previous attempt to find a distraction from studying. This left me with an unenviable choice. I either had to put up with a chick-flick that was barely passable the first time around, or head home to deal with opinionated Russian women. I chose the former. It pains me to admit, but I watched "The Offer" two times in the span of little over a week. For those of you who have seen the movie, I think you will understand what I mean when I say I've reached a new all time low.

Happy Independence Day!

To family and friends:

I wish you a peaceful, restful, and delightful Fourth of July. And as you chow down on all manner of tasty things (burgers, hot dogs, corn on the cob), don't forget about us ex-pats abroad in foreign places. We have no concrete plans to celebrate the holiday in Siberia, but as I mentioned earlier, things happen spontaneously here.

Our group just returned from Novosibirsk, where I attended my first opera (Prince Igor - 4 hours long), ate the most disgusting shwarma in my life at the highly questionable "Grill Master" next to the hotel (what was I thinking?), and learnt all about the intricacies of trains at the "Museum of Railroads". My favorite exhibit was the "hospital coach" on one of the Soviet trains, where they showcased the surgical instruments used during World War II. Suffice to say, I'm awfully grateful to be living in 21st century America!

High-heeled shoes

While walking home from classes today, I came across a young woman with one leg. She walked with the aid of crutches. On her one foot she wore a single high-heeled shoe. It was evident that her choice of footwear left much to be desired in terms of comfort.

Most women in Russia wear high-heel shoes, regardless of the weather or the state of the sidewalks. I witnessed countless young women in Kazan, dressed in a most fashionable manner, slip and fall on the ice as they tried to balance themselves on their splendid shoes. On a number of occasions, I've expressed my surprise that women here put up with this discomfort. The usual reply I have encountered is "beauty demands sacrifices". Some have quoted Chekhov: "People should be beautiful in every way—in their faces, in the way they dress, in their thoughts and in their innermost selves." I do not understand the prevalent mentality among Russians that, at least when in comes to outward appearance, beauty trumps all other considerations - comfort, price, suitability to the climate. While writing this blog, my host mother became quite excited about the topic and explained her point of view on the subject (at great length, I might add). Perhaps my dear readers have some ideas?

The Klassens

Last Friday, I had the chance to meet with a delightful priest and his family. Fr. Alexander, Elena, and their daughter Ksenia lived for a year in Dallas, TX with the Gavriyuluks (Deacon Paul now serves at St. Mary's Orthodox Cathedral in Minneapolis). Fr. Alexander was invited by Southern Methodist University to teach a course on Russian Orthodoxy about ten years ago. He showed me with great pride the syllabus and lecture notes he wrote in preparation for the course. The Klassens apparently had a wonderful time, but decided to return to Tomsk.

Fr. Alexander is a man of many interests. He has a degree in engineering, and as such works three days of the week for a construction company designing and implementing architectural plans. Two days of the week, he teaches "Theology" and "New and Old Testament" at the Tomsk Theological Academy. On Sundays, he normally serves in a church located in one of the prisons in Tomsk. I can't imagine what it must be like. Fr. Alexander explained to me that there are many talented, hard-working inmates. When he comes to serve, they prepare everything in advance: the prisoners bake the prosphora, serve as altar boys, sing the hymns. However, his great love is photography. He is currently compiling a book of photos showcasing the wooden homes of Tomsk. You can see some of his work at this website: http://picasaweb.google.com/engineeria.

Elena teaches English at Tomsk State University. She is organizing a couple of cultural outings for another American group studying here (who knew there were so many Americans in Tomsk?). Unfortunately, they will be conducted in English and therefore are forbidden for yours truly. She prepared a tasty dinner for me on Friday - vareniki, honey, tea, caviar.

Ksenia is fourteen years old and has just graduated from the musical academy. I met her only for a few minutes because she was performing a song for the "Chekov Evening". Every Friday evening during the summer, artists gather around the statue to Chekhov located in the center of Tomsk to sing, recite poetry, and do other artsy things.

As dad put it, it's awfully nice to meet interesting people in far-off places!

A Trip to the Beer Factory

As part of our cultural program, we visited the local beer factory in Tomsk. It is a fairly large, gated complex run by a German company staffed with Russian workers. As I entered the main building, one of the workers came up to me and asked if I was German. I have a feeling the tour usually caters to obese, middle aged German tourists. They were visibly surprised to find out that we were American.
I was impressed with the cleanliness of the facilities, especially the bathroom. No unpleasant odors, no questionable puddles, no broken mirrors. In preparation for the tour, everyone donned pristine white lab coats and functional headphone sets in order to listen to the tour guide. I'm sure the workers were probably thinking, "Here we go again, another bunch of Germans come to gawk," as we toddled around the factory in our ridiculous outfits.
Making beer is a complex business. I didn't understand all the wisdom our Soviet-era guide imparted. However, I did take away the fact it is a multistep process that involves heating and cooling at various stages. After the tour, we were invited to taste the final product. I am no connoisseur of beer, but I enjoyed the taste. Following the example of my friend Sierra, I took one of the coasters for memory's sake.

Living as a Guest

In my opinion, learning how to live as guest is a long and difficult process. I remember spending a week with family friends in Cyprus. At the beginning of the trip, I said "thank you" for every little hospitality, insisted on washing my own dishes, and made every effort to take quick showers so as not to bother my hosts. On the second day, my friend Dib said, "Enough! Stop saying 'thank you'!" I am indebted to him for teaching me a valuable lesson. People enjoy taking care of their guests. One need not feel guilty about being lavished attention while living abroad, especially in hospitality-driven Eastern cultures. As such, I don't do anything here. Olga and Natasha cook me breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Olga cleans my clothes. Natasha proofreads my homework. It is insulting if I try to wash my own dishes. At first, I had a difficult time surrendering any semblance of independent action. Now I just submit to whatever they tell me to do, and I am getting along just fine this way.

On a separate note, some have expressed concern about my melancholic postings. I'd like to assure everyone that I'm actually quite happy. New friends and adventures - it's all good fun.

Cheers!

Soccer in the Russian barrio

Russians love soccer. It is by far and away the most popular sport here. On Sunday, I had first hand experience of the fervor with which "Tomchiki" support their team as a spectator. Today, I had the opportunity to observe the local passion for soccer as a player.

While doing my homework at my Russian mother's store, three strapping young lads dropped by to pick up some beer from the Altay region. I had met them on another occasion earlier on during my stay. Roman, Dima, and Misha study math at Tomsk State University. They were eager to meet an American and I was eager to speak Russian, so we hit it off. A little later, Andrei arrived. He had recently taken advantage of the "Work/Study Program", which allows Russian students to work in the United States for a three month period. Andrei spent his time in some random town outside Strasbourg, PA making cakes. He said it was boring.

Having exhausted the theme of cultural differences (a favorite, if redudant, topic of conversation) - my new Russian friends invited me to play soccer with them. Natasha has been stuffing me with pirozhnoe (a kind of cake) and blini, so I was eager for a chance to get some excercise and jumped at the offer. After changing clothes, we headed out into the Russian barrio.

There is a small little asphalt park, enclosed by Soviet concrete monstrosities, approximately a five minute walk from where I live. When we arrived, there were a number of people milling about - a few young boys with Harry Potter(*) t-shirts and goalie gloves, a girl in a pink jumper outfit, two older-looking twins with brilliant red hair and matching track suits. At a moment's notice, everyone was ready to play their beloved sport. There were no goal poasts (it was agreed that two delineated sections of the fence surrounding the park would suffice for our purposes). Misha brought an old beat up ball. A brief gathering to split into teams - and then off we went. That's the beauty of soccer. All you need to play is a ball and a modicum of enthusiasm. As I stood on the sidelines being eaten alive by mosquitoes and taking in the surrounding garbage and dilapidated buildings, I could not help but think to myself, "This is kind of cool."

* I bought my first Harry Potter book today in Russian. It appears as though he is quite popular in this neck of the woods.

Siberian Medicine

As mentioned earlier, I attended my first soccer match in Russia. Prior to the game, I stopped by my Russian mother's store in order to meet up with some friends. I felt fine, but Olga and her co-conspirator Natasha were convinced that I was coming down with a cold. They told me to sit down and wait, and then disappeared into a back room. I've found obedience to be an effective coping mechanism for life in Russia, so I sat down. After a few minutes marked by hushed whispers, they brought out a tea cup filled to the brim with some sort of hot drink and a lemon drenched in sugar. Natasha, who has a habit of calling me her "sun", ordered me to start drinking. I asked what they had prepared for me. They said "lekarstvo" (medicine). With two strong-willed Siberian mothers at hand, I had little choice but to coalesce. The medicine was delicious, interspersed with the bitter-sweet taste of lemon. I felt on top of the world, here amidst the flat expanse of taigai. Having drunk my fill, I posed the question again - "What am I drinking?" Smiling triumphantly, Olga and Natasha replied - "Cognac". Needless to say, the ensuing soccer match passed by awfully pleasantly.

Melancholy

When I have free time, I am reading a book by the Nobel-Prize winning Turkish author Orhan Pamuk called "Istanbul: Memories of a City". In this book, Pamuk discusses at length the concept of melancholy. He sees it as being integral to understanding Istanbul, the city of his youth. In Turkish, "melancholy" is rendered as "huzun" - a word derived from Arabic, with overtones of deep spiritual loss and dissatisfaction.

I've been trying to figure out why I like Tomsk. The locals are hospitable. Everything is green and luscious. As I am constantly reminded by my host mother (who I recently found out used to run a matchmaking business), Siberian women are beautiful. Nevertheless, one can find all these things in any number of places. What I think attracts me is Tomsk's faded glory - the ornate, decaying wooden homes, churches with golden cupolas and bare interiors, the crumbling Baroque-style theater. One is intensely aware of past riches and present poverty. I love America because of its buoyant optimism, but I appreciate spending time in a place where its ok to be sad, where it is evident that things aren't as they should be.

Having said all that, I am off to my first Russian soccer match ever! It promises to be an interesting experience!

Warmest regards to all...

A Hurricane in Siberia?

In conversation class today, our teacher notified us that metereologists are predicting hurricane force winds and a sharp decline in temperature on Friday. So far it has been hot and humid. It will be nice to have a change of pace. In any event, I need some justification for all the sweaters I packed.

As I write this message from the newly installed computer in my host family's apartment, I hear fireworks going off for "Russian Independence Day". In theory, everyone is supposed to have the day off tomorrow. However, as business persons intent on making a profit, my Russian mother and father will be working at their recently-opened magazine. I offered to help. We will see what happens. It is not worth making any plans here. Things just happen , and that's why it's so fun.

Classes are going well. I feel like I speak Russian worse and worse by the day. Someone once said that wisdom is realizing that you don't anything. If this is the case, I am growing wiser here in my little Siberian outpost.

Although Tomsk is quite small, I managed to get lost the other day. I approached a young woman on the street and asked for directions. She not only pointed me in the right direction, but accompanied home to make sure I made it safely. In my broken Russian, I explained that I was one of a group of American students studying Russian at TGU. She in turn told me that she was a professor of English at one of the local universities. I asked her whether she teaches British or American English - "serviette" or "napkin", "flat" or "apartment"? Such is the nature of small talk.... Having arrived at dom 29 ulitsa Gertsina, we parted ways. She did not ask me for my name or phone number, and seemed genuinely pleased to help me. A small gesture of kindness towards a stranger - perhaps something not terribly noteworthy, but a moment that will remain with me.

Warmest regards to all...

First day of classes

Today was my first day of classes.  I am in a group with six other students.  We will be studying together for the duration of the program.  Our group name is "Tomsk".  Today we had grammar, phonetics, and conversation classes.  After lunch, a local political scientist gave a lecture on democracy in Russia and its particularities.  In particular, he explained the deficiencies of the democratic system and how it differs from the concept of liberalism (at least, that is what I understood!).  Now I am sitting in the "Cultural Center" of TGU and taking advantage of the free WI-FI.  Unfortunately, there is absolutely no adapter for American plugs in Tomsk, and thus I am limited to using my laptop's battery.  One of the members of the group has an adapter, and I have been borrowing it on occasion.   

My grandmother recently sent me a number of questions.  I will answer them here:

Was the church decorated with birch greens today for Troitsa? 

Yes.  There were plants everywhere in the church.  Before the service started, an old lady walked around dropping big bunches of leaves on the floor.  I tried to not get in the way (unsuccessfully, of course:)).

Can you swim in the Tom?

I recently asked my host family this question.  In theory, it is possible.  However, it is not very clean.  My family is planning to take me to a lake this weekend, where it is possible to swim.

How many other group members are with you in Tomsk? 

In total, there are 20 students in Tomsk with the program.  After an initial test yesterday, we were divided into three groups : "Russia", "Siberia", and "Tomsk" based on the test scores.  They did not tell us which groups corresponed to which level, but I think I am in the middle group.  In my opinion, this is the best place to be in most situations in life.  

What excatly are you taking at the university? 

I am studying Russian language at TGU.  We have approximately 3.5 hours of class everyday morning, followed by some sort of cultural outing in the afternoon.  For instance, yesterday after our tests we had an excursion around the city.  It was somewhat strange.  First, we visited a museum dedicated to wooden houses.  Our tour guide told us that the circular etchings in the wood represented the sun, and a symbol, which appeared to me to be a stick figure, actually represented mother-earth.  Then we headed off to the local Lutheran church of Tomsk.  Upon finding it closed, we stopped by the Russian-German cultural center.  Our third stop was the local Catholic church.  All along the way our tour guide pointed out the places where the German chancellor Angela Merkel visited during a recent summit in Tomsk.  I think he is used to tour groups from Germany.  In any event, the excursion provided much unintended humor, which I thoroughly  enjoyed.  But I digress...

Can you understand the family's Russian, or is there an accent problem?

I can, for the most part, understand my Russian family.  Unlike spoken Arabic, or English for that matter, Russian is an extraordinarily standardized language.  Of course regional variations exist, but not to the extent of many other languages.  I am given to understand this is a legacy of the Soviet Union. 

What is the bathroom like?

My bathroom is just fine.  It flushes and is relatively clean.  What more could one ask for?

As I end this message, a group of students are screetching "Mnogaya leta" in the neighboring hallway.  I guess it is someone's birthday.  

Hope all is well on the other side of the pond!

A City of Green

I arrived safely in Tomsk on Friday. The flight into the city was spectacular. For as far as the eye could see, forests stretched out into the horizon. Fog hung over the River Tom. The airport is quite small. There is a large advertisement over the main building which reads in bold red letters: Space for advertisement.

My host family has been very hospitable so far. I was a little worried at first because they did not show up at the pre-arranged spot to greet me . In addition, they have a cat. I am allergic to cats. However, my dog Ortino appears to have done an adequate job in preparing me for hairs and such things, and I have had no problems so far. I live on the top floor of a typical Soviet cement building. My Russian mother and father are business people. They recently opened a grocery shop not far from where I live. Yesterday, I visited it for the first time and bought a pirozhok (Russian pastry) with cabbage in order to support the store. We then all went to visit the grave of the babushka of Olga Evgenevna (my host mother). In Tomsk, they have a tradition of visiting the graves of relatives the day before Pentecost. I thoroughly enjoyed spending time in a real Russian cemetery: overgrown, chaotic, flowers everywhere. In Siberia, it is too cold to grow flowers, so on the side of the road there were a large number of stands selling fake flowers: roses, daffodils, chrysanthemums - every color and size imaginable. Olga bought a bunch of the fake flowers and placed them in the dirt above her grandmother's grave. She then took out a cloth and proceeded to wipe off the dirt that had accumulated around the grave over the past year. Hundreds of other people were doing the same thing all around us. Her cleaning accomplished, Olga took out a piece of cake and some pirozhki. We ate and chatted by the grave of the grandmother. It was a wonderful moment, in the shade of a birch tree forest. After about ten minutes, we departed leaving behind the cake and a number of pirozhki.

I had my first chance to walk around the city yesterday afternoon with the group. The locals say that Tomsk is the Petersburg of Siberia. Vadim's (my host father's) mother explained to me that in the summer, Tomsk is a "city of green". I had a very favorable first impression. The river is gorgeous in the sun. The university is surrounded by parks lined with birch trees. The locals all seem to be in an awfully good mood, taking advantage of the rare good weather.

Tomorrow, it is suppossed to be quite hot. Olga explained to me that Tomsk is located in the midst of a number of swamps and that the mosquitoe season probably will be starting in earnest starting tomorrow. Stay tuned.

Warmest regards to all, s prazdnikom vsem na den svyatoe troitse, and Happy Father's Day, dad!

Transfer at Domodedovo

I am writing this post from the Domodedovo Airport in Moscow, Russia.  My group arrived about an hour ago safe and soundly.  We departed on Wednesday afternoon from Washington, DC on a Lufthansa flight.  Everything went relatively smoothly, except our flight from Frankfurt to Moscow was cancelled.  Luckily, there was another flight an hour later that could accomodate the approximately sixty American students and their minders.  

It is exhilirating to be back in Russia.  I am amazed at how much more I understand now as compared to this point last year.  We are waiting now to depart for Tomsk on S7 airlines.  This is one of the new private Russian airlines that has emerged since the fall of the Soviet Union.  Unfortunately, the flight does not leave for another seven hours.  I will try to get some sleep and purchase a European current converter, something I neglected to do back in the States.  

I have had the opportunity over the course of the trip to meet a little more with my fellow participants.  They are really quite an interesting bunch.  For instance, I sat next to someone involved in the slow food movement.  She explained to me some of the intricacies of this philosophy of cuisine - eating simply, organically, and sustainably.  It seemed to me to be a jolly good idea.  I understand the one (rather large) drawback is that it can be quite expensive.  Another participant lives adjacent to the Holy Trinity Monastery in New York.  Conversely, there is a young man from Brigham Young University who spent two years as a Mormon missionary in Russia.  His Russian is excellent and I enjoyed speaking with him about his experiences abroad.  My room-mate from Washington is a PhD candidate in Political Science at Washington University, fluent in Chinese and a few Central Asian languages to boot.    

 

  

Orientation

Today I participated in a day long orientation before flying out to Tomsk.  Besides sessions on logistics (are there bank machines?  do we really have to speak only Russian?  what are classes going to be like?), we also had a panel of guest speakers who use Russian in some form or another in their careers.  They included the Director of Programs for the Eurasia Foundation, the Curator of Russian and Eastern European Art at the Hillwood Estate Museum in Washington, DC, and a civil servant who works in the Office of Press and Public Diplomacy in the Bureau of European and Eurasian Affairs at the U.S. State Department.  They all had fascinating stories and made me seriously think about how I can use Russian language in the future.  The keynote speaker was Alina L. Romanowski, who was recently appointed as Deputy Assistant Secretary for Academic Programs in the Depart of State's Bureau of Educational and Cultural Affairs (quite a mouthful, isn't it?...).  She spoke about how important it is for Americans to study foreign languages.  I was heartened by her vision of increasing the number of people in our country who are proficient in languages such as Russian.      

The most bizarre experience came at the end of the day.  After the orientation program, all the participants had dinner at the restaurant Bucco di Beppo.  I had a nice conversation with the man who basically oversees the logistical side of the Critical Language Scholarship Program.  However, it was slightly disconcerting to eat in a room filled with pictures of Pope John Paul II peering down at me.  A bust of his head was used as a decorative piece in the center of the table.  Very Odd indeed.  Nevertheless the meal was delicious.   It is a real treat to interact with people with similar interests and who share my incomprehensible love of Russia.  

The Beginning of a Journey

This summer I will be studying Russian language in the city of Tomsk.  Today is my last day in Minnesota before leaving for an orientation session in Washington, D.C.  I have said goodbye to friends and family.  I have almost finished packing my clothes.  All that remains is to gather my medicine and buy a gift for the family I will be staying with.  I will be living with a Russian couple and their son, who is about my age.  The description I was sent says they like books and music and are involved in business.  This promises to be a change from my living situation last year on the same program.  At that time, I stayed with a Russian grandmother named Lenina.  She cooked for me everyday and did my laundry.      

My host family lives on Gertsena Street, right in the center of Tomsk.  When I typed the address into Google Earth, I was pleased to find that their apartment is near a beautiful Russian Orthodox Church dedicated to St. Alexander Nevsky (see photo).  I was also happy to discover that it is within walking distance to Tomsk State University, where my classes will be held.  All in all, it sounds like a pleasant enough setup.