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.