Still no drunk bears on unicycles. . .

 Now that I've been here a while, I'm starting to pick up on some of the misconceptions (and realities) about both Russian and American culture that I would have missed at first. Some are sad, some are funny, and some are too weird to be properly expressed on paper, but I'll do what I can.

First issue is about why I'm here. Right off the bat, the “He's a damn spy” accusation was ever-present, though not nearly as prevalent as our funny stories would lead one to believe. Russians generally pay these people no heed, and we notice them just enough to get out of their way. However, I've also stumbled on a slightly more plausible explanation for my presence here: the idea that study abroad is mandatory in the states. The vast number of monolingual Americans (if you're looking for fluency, I'm one of them) does more than enough to disprove this, let alone the political, ethical, and practical problems with this system. Furthermore, It's been suggested that not only did I not want to study abroad, I also was assigned Russia rather than choosing to come here. Simply not true. I love Russia, I signed up for Russia, and by all means I could have opted out even as late as PDO. I think study abroad is a great idea, and encourage everyone reading this to get out and do something as reckless as living in another country for a year without knowing its language, but I won't force anyone to, and neither will the government.

My next point I make fully aware that it's still only early December. Everyone in America knows of the Russian Winter. Snow measured in meters, impassable streets, and temperatures that somehow people say compete with Antarctica. It's not so. Granted, I'm sure it's going to get bloody freezing here, and yeah the snow will be a problem, but it doesn't mess up people's lives. Russians on the street seem perpetually cranky and short-tempered, but they have a certain degree of patience that sometimes I think even they don't realize. If you slip on the ice and fall, you get back up and keep going. If you have to climb over a snowbank to get into your office building, you climb over the snowbank. Life goes on here. People will complain about the winter nonstop, but it will take a lot more than snow and cold to keep away the deadly-looking heels, booty shorts (somehow, the girl here can look considerably classier with them, not that they always do, than in the states), and unyielding sense of Russian promptness.

Everyone seems to have their own opinion on what opinion everyone else had during the Soviet Union. Plenty of Americans think that Russia is passionately anti-communist, a belief perpetuated by the destruction of Stalin statues and the way things have unfolded in other post-communist countries. Just as prominent is the belief that the country is still full of crazed commies, something the media has done little to work against. What nobody seems to grasp is that, just like with American politics, people don't always know where they stand. The communist party is still the second largest party in the country, but it's far too small to make a serious dent in the balance of power. Plenty of people think back and point out that there were times when they had a higher standard of living under the USSR at some points. The classic American response is “but what about all the humanitarian crises perpetuated by the USSR?” This, however, may be one of the few times when ignorance is a valid excuse. There was no free press. I've met very well educated individuals here who will confess that they simply didn't know what was going on in soviet times. I'll risk a guess that anyone who grew up in the states during the cold war can remember how important the news, reliable or not, was. How would your opinion of Russia have developed without this factor? More importantly, what if nobody else around you had the basis for opinions to influence yours? Russians still have mixed views; there's a sense of collectivism not found in the states, but everyone has their own views and approaches in a system that closely resembles, at least fundamentally, the American. The government and the implementation of democracy vary, but it is completely unfair to compare Russia with any Borg-like state set on either the success or the destruction of Communism.

I volunteer at an incredible school here. The students are bright and motivated, everyone is friendly, and people think for themselves instead of regurgitating facts. I hate to speak in absolutes, but Lobocheskov blows pre-Maynard Ghettoham out of the water, and if it were in America I would probably choose it over MPH. When I try to express this to people here though, I'm always accused of trying to flatter Russia and downplay American privilege. Everyone here “knows” that American schools are incredible. Yeah, we have prestigious universities, but last time I checked our high schools weren't topping many lists. Well, they weren't topping any lists we want to brag about. I know I've only seen the higher end of the Russian education system, and I do see the differences, but they overall quality is comparable to the states. Overall I feel education here has a higher focus on technical and specialized skills, while there was supposedly greater emphasis on critical thinking on the states, but it's hard to say which system is better both on paper and in practice.

When I first got here I was amazed by how similar it seems to the home. Now that I've been here for most of a semester I'm noticing the real differences. You can drink a juicebox here on the street without sacrificing your manliness, but wearing a hat with a tassel is social suicide.

Москва!

 I've never been a huge fan of big cities, and as a result I'm not the most reliable source when it comes to describing them. Spending fourish days in Moscow was certainly an adventure, but how much of that adventure was from being in the Russian capital and how much was just “this is a big-a$$ed city” awe will be up to the reader to describe (I do have readers, right?).

The 14 hour train ride to the city was an adventure in itself. Biggest lesson learned: NEVER let a friend into your room. When you have four bodies, a heater, and an enclosed space, it's going to get uncomfortable. Factor in the fact that they turn that heater up as the night goes on, and all of a sudden one more heat source seems a lot less appealing, no matter how funny she may be. A close runner up in terms of life lessons is how far sound travels when you're in a giant tin can. I'm just as guilty as the rest, I hope I didn't give the rest of the car as much trouble sleeping as the girls two rooms down gave me.

Someone in a position of some degree of authority at some point in time exercised some good judgment, and we stayed in a hostel. Living in a hostel had been on the extensive list of things I've never done but pretend to know everything about to seem like a more interesting and sophisticated person. It was exactly what I'd hoped for. I -try- not to mention specific people in this blog, but every now and then some people are worth an honorable mention. First off, the Belgian staying in the bed below me the first night. Great fellow, great beard, great stories. While we were off touring the city, he departed for his next great adventure, which I believe he is still en route for. 84 hours of pluscart to Irkutsk. That's three and a half days stuck in a traincar with nothing separating you from 40+ other travelers. A true boy scout, he came prepared; one flask of whiskey and one of vodka, and this man meant to share. I'm sure he's still off having a great time, I hope his trip is as great as the ride there.

Next noteworthy fellow was Andrei, the Russian who also stayed below me but the next night. He was the embodiment of the friendly Russian (sadly there's no such stereotype yet). He loved talking with us, which I strongly regret being to shy to fully take advantage of. Just listening to everyone's conversations with him was great practice, and I had plenty of questions to ask. Anyone who talks slowly, simply, and avoids the genitive case is automatically my friend. The fact that he went with us to the train station to see us off is just icing on the cake. To drive the metaphor a little further, our morning bonding session will certainly give me a basis for big fish stories and hyperbole someday. The hostel had a problem with doorknobs. We had a little trouble with the front door, but the guys' room was the real problem. The Belgian had mentioned that you have to poke at the latch to get it to close, but anyone who's been in Montas's room knows this is perfectly normal. The first night it was a non-issue, the second night it was a significant issue. The sun set, we curled up for bed, and closed the door. It swung open. We closed it again. It opened again. Our burly sportsman declared that he would make it stay closed, and made it stay closed. All was well.

Come next morning. Andrei is the first one up, as he had to make it to work early. I still haven't figured out why he was staying in a hostel since he worked in the city, but to each their own. After getting out of bed, we walks up to the door and gives it a tug. True to our sportsman's promise, it stays closed. He turns the handle. It stays closed. He jiggles it. It stays closed. He yanks and twists. It stays closed. He bangs on the door until someone comes to open it from the outside, and it stays closed. All the rest of us continued to lie in bed and pretend it's not our problem too, but Andrei keeps at it. Eventually, some combination of pulling, turning the knob, and sliding things through the latch pops the door, and he makes it to work without being significantly late. I hope. To anyone staying at the HM Hostel Moscow, it's an amazing place that I strongly recommend, but be careful with the doors.

I could go on about the hostel for hours. There was Charles, as we called the drunk passed out on the couch. There were the Aussies. There was the Turkish/Belgian couple who collectively could converse in at least seven languages. And there was my beloved shower curtain, the first one I had used in four months. Ever want funny stories? Ask me about the hostel. I'll have them.

Our first full day started out with a quick visit to the embassy to meet people affiliated with the people who got us into Russia. Thanks folks, I'm loving it here. After our brief stint on US soil, it was onto the American Councils office, to do exactly the same thing.

Day two was tourist day. We hit museums. We saw red square in miserable weather. We paid Lenin a quick visit (he's still looking good, little thin though). We saw MGU in a snowstorm and got denied a chance to see the nice warm interior due to our lack of notes from the director and the embassy. We stopped by a Mexican-Italian restaurant called Pancho-Pizza. That was a busy day, we were all dead by the end, but I have to thank our RD for pushing us to trudge on.

Third day was the same thing, but in better weather. Awesome Russian storms are cool, but red square does look better when you can enjoy it in comfort. We got the tour of the Kremlin, and saw numerous pretty things, instruments of death, and dead famous people. Great day, I can give tourist stories all you want one-on-one.

This is Russia, and there are some good drunks here. The guy stumbling out of the Metro station mumbling then screaming “Rossia Champion!” clearly has something good going for him. It was his duty to let the world know; Russia is the champion. If we all label him as a drunk fool, clearly we haven't ascended to his level of understanding. I hope some day I understand, because he knew. He knew.

The two drunk Mongolians the second night were also amusing. I'm sure they thought they were great singers. Maybe their attempts at dancing hid it, but they must have had talent. Only a true savant would have the confidence to display her art to the whole world free of charge, right? Yeah, one of them fell, but everyone does now and then. I just hope when they wake up, there's someone there to tell them that Russia is indeed the champion. These people need to stick together, it's where wisdom comes from.

There were real artists there too by all means. The crowd standing outside the moo-moo cafe's cow reciting poetry actually had something going for them. We hit two art museums, so the area must have some sort of art history. I'm no artist, but if anyone is, I suggest they give Moscow a try.

I suppose I should wrap this story up with a little story about how in one way or another, anyone can fit in in Moscow. We were down in the metro station, and somehow a stray dog had made its way onto the platform. It stood by us for a few minutes waiting for the train, in plain sight of security and the police who took no notice. When the metro came, the dog realized it was going the wrong way, barked until it left, and then trotted over to the other rail, got on, and left. We may have needed a map and asked for directions a few times, but anyone can learn the metro, and you won't get harassed for waiting on the wrong side of the platform.

Even if you are just a puppy.

There's a reason I can't drive here

When I signed up for this program, I had to waive quite a few of my most important rights. I can't swim with dolphins here, rock climb, or hang glide (I know the last has presented itself as an opportunity to at least one person in my group), among other opportunities. In addition to various extreme sports, I had to agree not to drive while I'm here. Kazan has “great” public transit (it will get you anywhere, but you might not enjoy the trip that much) and I live in the center of the city, so this isn't a real issue for me. Even if it were an issue, I think a few of my experiences here and well justified that rule.

I was walking down to a cafe after school today, and cut through a pretty narrow side street to save some time. A couple idiots had double parked, and there was barely room for one car to squeeze by. Naturally, just as I walked by two other drivers decided to come by in opposite directions. In America, both would stop and awkwardly look at each other trying to figure out the right-of-way, maybe someone would have to back up, a few rude gestures might be exchanged, but eventually one of them would yield and both would get through in time. Here, drivers don't yield. Ever.

As I watched and chuckled, both drivers tried to shoot for a gap that one car could barely fit through. Miraculously, they didn't crash, but successfully managed to squeeze a third and fourth car where only one belonged. I didn't do very well in eight grade geometry, but I could tell there was no way for either driver involved to get anywhere unless they backed up and tried again, one at a time. That doesn't happen here. As I watched from a safe distance, they both revved their engines a few times, honked, then rolled down their windows and started to yell at each other. With peaceful attempts at communication failing, engines went off and doors opened up. At first they were just yelling at each other and close range, then things got violent. Even in NYC, I doubt you could get punched in the gut for a right-of-way disagreement that didn't lead to an accident. They started to trade blows, and once it was clear things were going to end up on the ground I took my leave. One thing that scares me more than an angry Russian driver is an impatient cop who wants me to explain what I saw, so I was glad to be a safe distance away.

Just to restate, this wasn't the result of a drunk idiot T-boning someone, or someone running down a lady's cat. Sure, this isn't a day-to-day occurrence, but it says a lot about the Russian driving mentality: drive fast, never yield, assume you're in the right, and never, ever ever be American.

Cheap Ballets, Bendy Robots, and Segways

 I'm good at complaining. Very good. I can find fault with pretty much everything, because everyone knows that not thinking anything is good enough is a mark of sophistication, right? So naturally, I have to point out how awful seeing Swan Lake performed by Russians was.

First off, just getting in. Eight Dollars for a ticket. I come all the way over to Russia and go to a world-class show, and they want 8 bucks? That's like six sodas at the magazine by my school. Who cares if it's covered by the program, that's the most ridiculous price I've ever heard of.

Second, the seating. I got the cheap seats for a reason. I had no intention of being stuck in a small private box with a perfect view and only a handful of polite, quiet Russians around me. I wanted to be in the uncomfortable mob with all my friends, unable to see anything or appreciate the show. What do they think I am, a foreigner?

And, of course, can't forget the music. It was so well performed, if it wasn't for the musicians in the pit you wouldn't know that there were real people and potential human error involved. Maybe they were robots? Nobody wants ballet performed by Robots! And the dancers! The lead was so flexible, her arms doubled back in the wrong direction when she straightened them. . . dancers aren't supposed to be bendy, how can bendy people do the robot? If you're played by a robot, at least dance like one! And the swans! All dancing in perfect unison and synchronization, how are you supposed to remember that one pretty ballerina if she looked exactly like she's supposed to? It's an outrage at times.

Perfect, pretty ballerinas give me an easy segue into the topic of Russian women. Face it: I'm in Russia, I have to bring this up eventually. As a rule of thumb, Russian girls are mighty, mighty fine. Gorgeous little critters. Both ends of the “attractiveness” spectrum are represented here: the Tatar girls are the embodiment of “cute” and the Russians of “beautiful.” From what my friends have told me, the guys here are sub-par, but that's not an issue of much concern to me. Russian culture is also more tolerant of flirtation than American; I mean I managed to give one girl earrings the second time I saw her. The niceties I've been shown would be the definition of “hitting on” back home, here it's just people being sweet. Never before in my life has a girl I just met told me I have the most beautiful eyelashes she's ever seen. Not going to complain. I find the heels which put all of them at twice my high a little unnerving, but I think normal guys find that attractive so I won't complain. Just between you (how many people are reading this anyway?) and me, there are a handful who have caught my eye. I'm sure some combination of the interesting American, helpless foreigner, and adorably sweet yet still awesome Alex cards will do the trick. I'll keep y'all posted.

Mentioning a segue reminded me of Segways, because yes they do have them here. And yes, security guards do use them: some things are the same in all nations. You see them pretty regularly, especially on Baumina. Problem with Baumina is that you can see anything there. Girls in skanky bright pink outfits trying to force adds on you, guys on moon shoes dressed up in sparkly silver hippie-astronaut outfits, Russian flashmob attempts fizzling out, already they have street-art tributes to Steve Jobs. Sure, it's a hyper-commercialized tourist area, but you can have a lot of fun there. I know. I have. 

Behind Enemy Lines, and Quite Happy There

I go to Church. This may should be a shocker to the people who know me, but it's the truth. Here in Russia, I've made a habit of making the Sunday services at the church my friend's host father preaches at. I haven't lost sight of the FSM, but I have learned a lot. I'm probably at the least Russian church in Russia. Founded, inspired, guided, or somehow influenced at an earlier point in time by an American, there's an aura of tolerance there that doesn't go in hand with the traditional Christian image, especially here. Many denominations are represented, covering the full spectrum of protestantism and Christianity, and even a handful of Jews attend. Services are held in a school gymnasium, with a small but incredible band and a lively crowd. People of any faith (including skeptics, atheists, and agnostics such as myself) are welcome; the preach the importance of spreading the gospel, but nobody tries to force beliefs down your throat. When I unintentionally agreed to my first communion, a considerate and English-speaking pastor bailed me out without any hard feelings. I may on the surface be submitting to an institution I've devoted far more time to fighting than appropriate, but in truth I've found a community that is kind, ethical, and welcoming despite my religious beliefs.

The typical service there is really laid-back and fun. The band, especially their Sax/Clarinet player, is amazing. Like, suck it Kenny G amazing (not that I like him, but he's good at what he does). There are a lot of songs, with lyrics projected on the wall so I can read along and jot down words to look up. Some of the sermons are a bit intense for my taste, and I'll admit I get weirded out when I hear people speaking in tongues, but everyone keeps their practices personal and I never feel any pressure. There's always someone bilingual to be found who can translate, and I owe all of the people who have helped me so many favors. They take a collection, and I try to donate, but if I don't theres no scorn or hard feelings. I'm not going to keep this up when I get home, but attending these weekly services has been eye opening, and given a pleasant middle ground between American and Russian cultures. To my fellow FSMists: Christians can be nice people too. To the devout and religious: give Atheists a chance. We can be sweethearts at times.

On Cuba, Spies, and Babushki

 Walking down Baumina street is pretty much a daily activity for me, and every time I'm there I notice the sign for “Cuba Libre.” Today, a group of friends and I decided to check the place out. After blindly stumbling into the wrong building, we were pointed down a dark alley lined with paintings of Che Guevara, Spanish phrases, and quirky art. We stepped in, and quickly became immersed in one of the most satisfying sketchy bars in the city.

Mexican food. Be picky if you want, call it Cuban or Sonoran or Central American, it doesn't really matter. It was spicy. Hell, they even had American Tabasco. At Lecheim's advice, we avoided the burritos, but everything else was fair game. Nachos, guacamole, mass-produced cheese, quesadillas with “Cuba” written on them in what was probably Mayonnaise (can't ever really get away from Russian culture) and English menus combined with waitresses who didn't speak enough English to understand the orders made for the perfect night. Russian food is great, but it just doesn't have the same kick that Mexican does. They had Cuban cigars (kinda cool being in a country where those aren't illegal) but that's an adventure for another crowd. Next week, we're goin' for Indian.

This week went better on the language front. I've had a bit of a shift in my mindset, instead of learning a new language, I'm trying to get better at one which I'm dreadful at. Sounds like a change for the worse looking at it that way, but it's helped. Gotta give props to Rhys and Molly, those two can soak up vocab like a sponge. If any of those government people in charge of watching us are reading this, hire them some day.

There's a bit of a stigma both here and in the States that my program is meant for training CIA Clandestine Service operators and the like. First off, I have to make it explicitly clear that this is not the truth; everyone on this program has their own reasons and I know our group represents students interested in biology, engineering, writing, and politics, not future spies. Nonetheless, this image does lead to a few great comments now and then. Last night, I was chatting with my host mother in a mix of Russian and English about their experiences and views involving Americans. My family hosted an American student once before, and my host mother had the following to say about him:

Wesley, he spoke Russian very well. Best in his group, number one student. He understands that Russians are not emotional on their faces; he was always very serious. He only spoke Russian, and never smiled. (Here she pauses and looks around as if checking for bugs) I think, he was training. . . to be a SPY.

The “American Spy” image is still a problem here, especially among the older generation. The youth usually see us as we are: students here to learn more about a language and culture. Babushki, on the other hand, sometimes have a different opinion. In a country historically taught to distrust foreigners, the elderly (more later about how influential they are) are sometimes less open-minded than the people who make Kazan such an amazing culture. We've all been asked “but why RUSSIA?” and similar questions, but we try to just say it as it is and describe our interests. As a whole, this city has been tolerant and welcoming, and I believe if Kazan and Tatarstan are seen as models for the country, Russia has a much brighter future than the news of corruption and trouble in Moscow may lead foreigners to believe.  

These are really starting to lose cohesion.

Another week. Lovely. I know it's only Tuesday, but I've had my fair share of adventures already. Whenever you study a foreign language, you expect a couple awkward vocab blunders. Today was my good one for the week. I was talking to one of my teachers, and had a little ADHD moment and zoned out. Next thing I know, she was asking me a question, and I was answering yes. Turns out, I spend my free time smoking in the library. Whoops. Fortunately the verbs for “eat” and “smoke” are close enough that I was able to come up with a decent excuse. Guess I'll be remembering the difference for a while.

Real highlight of the week has been picnicking though. A few friends and I (I won't name Stephanie, Rhys, and Erik) decided we needed to go relax. Soon, we had 1.25kg of chak-chak, a brick of cheese, a communal supply of sausage, and enough juice and kvass (fermented bread sold as a soft drink, don't worry grown-ups its usually less than one percent alcohol), and we were in heaven. Throwing honey-drenched fried noodles to birds, trying to explain where the bathroom was to a drunk, and watching our group's manly-man squeal as falling seeds pelted him, what else could you ask for on one of the season's few nice days?

The language thing is starting to go better, or at least I'm getting better at pretending that it is. I'm at the point where when strangers approach me, I try and fail to answer their questions rather than brushing them off with an “I don't speak Russian.” A few of the FLEX alumni have offered to help me out, I'll probably take one up.

Tatar wrestling was this weeks biggest learning experience. I learned that I'm out of shape. I learned that people smaller than you can still make you very sore. I learned that elderly Tatars can throw sizable Americans (no, I'm not calling myself sizable). I learned that chairs can fly, without anyone there to throw them. I learned that I've completely lost my spin kick in Russia. Sadly, I don't think I learned much Russian there. Oh well, it was worth it.

I'm saying a lot on here. Wonder how long until I start posting things on here I don't want the world to see. Hrmm. Well, it was created to be a blog about my random thoughts. Maybe I'll put out another post unrelated to Russia sometime soon. We'll see.

The necessary complaints about language

 Fact: I suck at learning languages. I love them, once I know them I can use them pretty well, but getting a foreign language into my head doesn't work. So naturally, I'm spending a semester trying to force myself to learn Russian rather than going off to college like normal intelligent human beings. It's frustrating, but my god is this fun.

I actually get Russian grammar. For all intents and purposes it's Latin grammar with a funky accent. Sure, they have different endings following different types of consonants, and I refuse to accept that there's any valid reason to have different endings for inanimate and animate objects in some cases but not others, but overall it makes sense thus far. Speaking is a different story. I've got “I don't understand” down pretty well. Still, there are a lot of pointing, charades, and English going on in my day to day conversation. Oral exams are traumatizing. I smile and laugh, then spend the rest of the day wanting to strangle the next person to speak in Russian. Homesickness isn't a problem for me, but frustration certainly is.

Granted, I'm glad I'm here. I'm going to pick up the language by the time I leave (God help the poor fool who tries to help me). I struggle with memorization. I'm shy and don't like to start conversations in Russian. However, the one thing more frustrating than trying to learn the language is not being able to say no to the disturbingly young girls asking you out on movie dates (more about that in the next post) so I'm getting this language down. Thanks for listening to me complain, more next week =D

Wow. . .

So the last two days were arguably the most amazing time I've had yet in Russia. For a night, I stayed in a small village called Рыбная Слобода just outside Kazan. From the moment we got off the bus we were surrounded by the kindest crowd of students, parents, and citizens I have ever met. Our first school “tour” opened with a crazy dance party, a few rounds of “humiliate the Americans on stage” (square dancing anybody?), and a staged school day for us to see what their art classes are like. We were treated like guests, and while I understand Americans may have been a bit of a novelty, I simply can't grasp how anyone could be happy, kind, and enthusiastic enough to arrange photoshoots, offer a chance to drive a Russian stick-shift, have a “multi-course meal with courses comparable to an American Thanksgiving, and give us adorable gifts including my new favorite ceramic snail. The students there spoke better English than many of the strongest students in the city, which was a surprisingly nice treat. The people I met there moved me more than anyone else I've met in Russia, I hope I see them again. If any of you are reading this, Thank You, I love you.

Still no drunk bears on unicycles in the streets, I'm keeping my eyes out though.

What am I doing here?

First off, I realized I haven't posted in a really long time. To the two of you following this, I sincerely apologize. See, lately I've had bigger things on my mind than writing cute little blog posts. Mostly, my mind has been concerned with the fact that I'm in Russia.

There are probably people out there who would argue that Kazan doesn't really count as part of Russia. It's a pretty western city, people are open minded, Muslim Tatars are a strong demographic. . . it isn't really as harsh as everyone says. They would be wrong. Sure, I'm in a friendly city, but it's still Russia. You still have to dodge cars even when you're walking on the sidewalk. You still find puddles in the street so large they have fish in them (yes, it's happened). You still have to go down to the Bazaar to buy fresh fruit, and accept that as a stupid American, you will be scammed. We have plenty of niceties here, but all things considered this is not America.

Probably one of the most unique opportunities I've had here is participating in Kazan's first MUN Conference. It's still poorly organized; decorum is never observed and formalities are largely overlooked. Nonetheless, it's amazing that Russian youth are developing such an interest in world politics. As I listened to the other delegates, I realized that their really is much more political diversity than is expressed by the domination of Putin's United Russia Party. There are active members of the Communist Party in local high schools. There are liberals. There are conservatives, both those who favor Putin (for those who don't know, Medvedev is out of the running so Putin's return to the presidency is all but guaranteed) and those who oppose him. Though the resolutions passed were weak and poorly written, their existence says a lot about the potential for Russia to reclaim its place in the world in decades to come.

Politics aside, I'm having an amazing time. Classes are hard, brutal at times. Trying to speak with locals and being either ignored or horribly misunderstood is one of the most frustrating experiences of my life. Nonetheless, it's a rewarding experience. My perspective on Russian culture has followed the model foretold by my RD to the letter. Before arriving in Russia, I was fascinated by the differences I expected to see. When I got here, I was surprised, even disappointed, at the similarity and western feel of the city. Now, I'm beginning to catch on to the little differences a tourist passing through would overlook. They open their bananas from the other end. Want to grab a soda? Tell the vendor and he'll unlock them so you can pick one. Forget to say hello to an administrator walking down the hall? Vengeance shall be served. No, there aren't bears in the street on unicycles drinking vodka (every Russian seems to think this is the American stereotype of Russia) and yes, they have McDonald's, but it's impossible to forget where I am.

After all, how many Americans live on Karl Marx street?

Not Driving

So. I'm a driver now. Wow. In our culture, driving is everything. I've certainly done a lot of it in the past year. As I'm sure many of you know, the economy sucks. It really sucks. And trying to get a job sucks even more. According to http://www.syracusegasprices.com/ (I have no idea how reputable they are and by no means endorse them) gas is hovering around $3.56/gal across the nation, and even higher in NY. That said, I'm effectively done driving. Up until now, as far as my family was concerned they were teaching me to drive; I used their car and their gas. That ain’t true anymore. Looking in my wallet, I have just over $3.75, enough to cover a gallon at most local stations. I guess I'll be able to fill the lawnmower at least. New freedoms don't always come with new abilities. As anyone who once asked an elementary teacher to go to the bathroom will understand, I finally may drive, but I also no longer can. Some of you will get picky about how technically I can drive there are just details like money in my way. . . Give it a rest. You get my point.

Why Russia

Interestingly, when I set out to write this I was expecting to write about how I was interested in Russian culture because of my fascination with “Soviet Russia” stereotypes. Looks like I proved myself wrong.

A lot of people have been asking me this lately. As I'm sure many of you know (hey, I could use that as like my signature line, I use it a lot) I'll be spending next semester at the Linguistics University of Nizhny Novgorod. I have no background at all in Russian, and I realize that it isn't the most marketable language skill in today's job market. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that a lot of people ask me why I'm going to Russia, and I'm not. What does surprise me is how hard it is to answer.

My instinct always tells me to just say “Why not?” and to an extent this is true. My decision to pick Russia was largely on a whim. When I first began to research NSLI-Y I was interested in studying Chinese. Once I took a month of 中文 classes at MMLA (just google it) I realized that as fascinating as the language is, I wasn't that interested in the culture. Spending a summer or longer immersed in a culture I wasn't interested in just seemed foolish, so I looked at the other programs offered. I knew more about Russia than the other countries, so I applied, and got in. Bang. End of story. That's all folks.

Every now and then, some incessantly annoying individual (more often than not a relative) asks for a “better answer.” After a little thought, I always turn to the same responses: “I love how the language sounds,” or maybe “I'm interested in nuclear physics, the Soviet Union made great advances in the field,” and sometimes even just “the architecture is really cool” or “I love the cold weather.” This isn't the whole truth though. What really has driven me to love Russia is my own ignorance

Anecdote time! I first started to toy around with computer programming in 7^th grade. My first language was the 83+ version of TI-BASIC. I had an 84+ Silver Edition, and I spent more time on it than I did on my actual computer. Almost everything I knew then about programming I learned either through guess and check or from my friend Wilhelm, who I later learned had simply leeched the knowledge off his dad. One of the first programs he threw together was a quiz on Russian culture, just meant to demonstrate basic logic algorithms. I tried it, I failed miserably. I knew nothing about Russia's geography, culture, language, or history; to be honest I still know little. I've never taken kindly to failure, so I set out to learn more. About a month ago, a friend asked me if the KGB still was in operation. Even more astonishing than the fact that he didn't know was the fact that I couldn't answer. Americans, myself included, are ignorant. I'm ashamed of it, and the fact that my ignorance about Russia has been rubbed into my face has been what sparked my interest to learn more. Maybe it could have been Turkey, or Brazil, but as my life played out I've been stuck with an interest in Russia.

Rights and Responsibility

So, I'm sure most of you know by now that NY just passed a bill legalizing same-sex marriage. There has been a lot of talk lately about how this is a "great step forward for civil rights" and the biggest social reform since the civil-rights era. While I certainly agree that this is a huge step in the right direction, it does raise some interesting questions about the fundamental decisions every American faces.

Ever since the first ten amendments were ratified, our rights have been the cornerstone of American pride and culture. Voting, federal education loans, taxation by representation, and countless other givens in our culture were all but unheard-of just a few hundred years ago. Even today many immigrants arrive in our country with nothing to safeguard their future except for the promise of heightened rights and freedoms. The expansion of these freedoms was the fundamental argument in favor of the so-called “Marriage Equality” bill that just passed through the State Senate.

What far too many people overlook is that these rights come at a price. Every man and woman of our nation, if not the entire world, has a certain degree of responsibility to their community. What causes a dilemma is when responsibilities seem to infringe on rights. If it is your responsibility to serve the country in times of war, does this violate your right to “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness?” There is no law mandating voting; is it really a great right, or is it a responsibility to be undertaken even if inconvenient? For decades, laws have been evolving to defend the rights of citizens, but any attempt to define responsibility by law has been seen as an “obstruction of human rights.”

Ultimately, I hold responsibility as a greater power than rights. This is my decision: what must be done should outweigh what may be done. Many disagree with me, as is, ironically, their right. Perhaps some of you have found a way to balance the two, but I see service to others as more important than freedom to serve yourself. And to those of you who hold rights as more important, just remember those of us who value our responsibility are the ones who guarantee you those rights.