After writing my "Antidisestablishmentarianism" post, I realized I had no idea whether this word had crept out into any other language. I suppose the possibility exists that it has; French may well have l'antidisestablishmentarianisme, German Das Antidisestablishmentarianismus (though it is more likely German would concoct a similar word out of its own prefixes and suffixes). So I cannot say for certain that antidisestablishmentarianism is unique to English.
But this leads me to ponder: what exactly qualifies as English these days? By this, I don't mean, do words like y'all and bummer belong in "good" English. I mean, how international can a word become before it stops being really part of the English tongue?
Everywhere in the world, it seems--or at least, in that part of it that speaks an Indo-European language--a telephone is a telephone, a taxi is a taxi, and a passport is a passport (give or take a few minor spelling differences and grammatical endings). Can these words really be said to be part of English, if they require no real translation for so many foreigners to understand?
Similarly, what about the myriad of scientific terms that float about on the margins of English? I recall a high school grammar book warning against excessive jargon: "Nobody would call a need for bifocals presbyopia" (except your treating optometrist, perhaps). Is presbyopia really English if a French or German optometrist would readily understand it?
So what is English? Just the core of grammar structures and unique or "unique" vocabulary we teach to EFL students? All the words that might appear in an English-language book? Where does one draw the line?
29 May 2008
28 May 2008
America Through Russian Eyes
From talking with some of my Russian students, here is what I can glean about how America looks through Russian eyes:
1) Whereas an American child learns from an early age that his country has "fifty nifty United States," a Russian child learns that America consists of three large provinces. These are, in no particular order of importance: New York City, Hollywood, and Texas. New York City and Hollywood are well known from movies, as is Texas, which Russians seem to think is the setting for all Western films.
2) The Russian seems unclear as to where any of these provinces are located. I have been asked more than once whether Hollywood is near New York, and have gotten blank stares when I made clear that this is like asking whether St. Petersburg is near Vladivostok.
3) In all three of these states, the people wear ten-gallon hats and drive around in SUVs roughly the size of a woolly mammoth.
4) Americans all drink beer straight from the can. Oddly, this is thought to be chic, as Russian beer comes only in glass bottles. What the attraction is of beer in a can, I cannot say.
5) At one time, it was thought that millions of American children could not go to school because they are too poor. Now that the Iron Curtain has lifted, this image seems to have vanished along with Komsomol membership cards. But given the quality of schools in places like Bushwick, Brooklyn--where the schools cannot be seen as schools at all but rather as somewhat contained war zones--this stereotype may be more accurate than a lot of the others.
6) American border control exists solely for the purpose of making Russians wait around pointlessly for six hours after they deplane at JFK.
7) September 11th does not figure highly in Russian images of America. But at least 9/11 is not linked in the Russian mind to Mossad, nor have I heard anyone suggest that all the Jewish workers in the Twin Towers knew to stay home that day.
1) Whereas an American child learns from an early age that his country has "fifty nifty United States," a Russian child learns that America consists of three large provinces. These are, in no particular order of importance: New York City, Hollywood, and Texas. New York City and Hollywood are well known from movies, as is Texas, which Russians seem to think is the setting for all Western films.
2) The Russian seems unclear as to where any of these provinces are located. I have been asked more than once whether Hollywood is near New York, and have gotten blank stares when I made clear that this is like asking whether St. Petersburg is near Vladivostok.
3) In all three of these states, the people wear ten-gallon hats and drive around in SUVs roughly the size of a woolly mammoth.
4) Americans all drink beer straight from the can. Oddly, this is thought to be chic, as Russian beer comes only in glass bottles. What the attraction is of beer in a can, I cannot say.
5) At one time, it was thought that millions of American children could not go to school because they are too poor. Now that the Iron Curtain has lifted, this image seems to have vanished along with Komsomol membership cards. But given the quality of schools in places like Bushwick, Brooklyn--where the schools cannot be seen as schools at all but rather as somewhat contained war zones--this stereotype may be more accurate than a lot of the others.
6) American border control exists solely for the purpose of making Russians wait around pointlessly for six hours after they deplane at JFK.
7) September 11th does not figure highly in Russian images of America. But at least 9/11 is not linked in the Russian mind to Mossad, nor have I heard anyone suggest that all the Jewish workers in the Twin Towers knew to stay home that day.
Shot Him a Bear, When He Was Only Three
Sooner or later, I know someone is bound to e-mail me asking, "so what are these Russians really like?" Or, "what is it really like over there?"
Well, to the first question, a brief reply:
Politics doesn't interest them. Britney Spears and Paris Hilton do. They don't know geography (I played a "guess the city" game with a group of adults recently and was horrified by a student who couldn't identify Tokyo--the word for which in Russian is "Tokyo"). And English is a foreign language to them.
In short, they're just like us! Teach them about Cathy who's been most everywhere, from Zanibar to Berkeley Square, and they could pass for real Americans.
As to the second question, I haven't much to say. Moscow seems like any national capital anywhere on the globe these days. Every day brings fresh evidence of how different things are from Soviet times. For instance, at the internet cafe where I have blogged a few times, it's possible to pay for copy service, just like at Kinko's in the States or 7-Eleven in Taiwan. This is a far cry from twenty-five years ago, when photocopiers were actively controlled by the Communist government.
But I will dispel a few commonly held myths:
1) Lara's Theme does not play in the background everywhere you go. Neither does the Sleeping Beauty Waltz. Sorry to disappoint you. These days the background music in Russia is American pop and techno.
2) Bears do not roam the streets. Shooting bears can be safely left to Davy Crockett. The Russian militsiya (police) have better things to do, like extorting bribes from foreigners who have not registered properly.
3) Officials at customs control do not check for "subversive" literature. The days of people getting arrested for trying to smuggle in copies of Cancer Ward are over. Samizdat (mimeographed and hand-typed copies of literature the Party does not want published) is a thing of the past.
4) Contrary to what someone suggested to me before I left, you can read Crime and Punishment openly. In fact, the one thing that was available in the Soviet period, when nearly every other kind of literature was restricted, were cheap editions of the great classics of tsarist-era literature. C&P is required reading in Russian schools.
Well, to the first question, a brief reply:
Politics doesn't interest them. Britney Spears and Paris Hilton do. They don't know geography (I played a "guess the city" game with a group of adults recently and was horrified by a student who couldn't identify Tokyo--the word for which in Russian is "Tokyo"). And English is a foreign language to them.
In short, they're just like us! Teach them about Cathy who's been most everywhere, from Zanibar to Berkeley Square, and they could pass for real Americans.
As to the second question, I haven't much to say. Moscow seems like any national capital anywhere on the globe these days. Every day brings fresh evidence of how different things are from Soviet times. For instance, at the internet cafe where I have blogged a few times, it's possible to pay for copy service, just like at Kinko's in the States or 7-Eleven in Taiwan. This is a far cry from twenty-five years ago, when photocopiers were actively controlled by the Communist government.
But I will dispel a few commonly held myths:
1) Lara's Theme does not play in the background everywhere you go. Neither does the Sleeping Beauty Waltz. Sorry to disappoint you. These days the background music in Russia is American pop and techno.
2) Bears do not roam the streets. Shooting bears can be safely left to Davy Crockett. The Russian militsiya (police) have better things to do, like extorting bribes from foreigners who have not registered properly.
3) Officials at customs control do not check for "subversive" literature. The days of people getting arrested for trying to smuggle in copies of Cancer Ward are over. Samizdat (mimeographed and hand-typed copies of literature the Party does not want published) is a thing of the past.
4) Contrary to what someone suggested to me before I left, you can read Crime and Punishment openly. In fact, the one thing that was available in the Soviet period, when nearly every other kind of literature was restricted, were cheap editions of the great classics of tsarist-era literature. C&P is required reading in Russian schools.
Antidisestablishmentarianism
Since my arrival in Russia, my work schedule has been catch as catch can. The end of May traditionally marks the beginning of the slow period for the EFL industry in Russia--the Russians being loath to waste any of their short summer on English lessons--and my school has not had much for me to do. I surmise that I might have been busier had I arrived in March as planed, and that it may be some time before my schedule settles.
My first week of teaching, I was covering for a teacher who is temporarily stuck in England because of visa problems. This week, I have been filling in for a different teacher who is ill. And so the opportunity arose to introduce some Russians to antidisestablishmentarianism--the word, not the concept.
Antidisestablishmentarianism came up in the midst of a lesson about prefixes and suffixes. I had a group of upper-intermediate students who are at a stage of their English education where they are able to start learning the rules of word formation in English. And so I allowed antidisestablishmentarianism to expand, bit by bit, across the board, so that my students could see how far prefixes and suffixes could enable a word to stretch.
Like all EFL students, the students to whom I taught this (in)famous English word are keen on electronic dictionaries. Once antidisestablishmentarianism had spread itself across a whole blackboard, one of my students looked it up--to my relief, as I felt unequal to the task of explaining, in a way non-native speakers could understand, that the word refers to opposition to the disestablishment of the Church of England. I was, however, astounded to discover that at least one Russian-English dictionary contains this word, as I imagine its utility to a Russian must be next to nil.
For that matter, the utility of this word to a native speaker of English is not much higher. This must be the only word in the language that it discusssed, analyzed, and mocked more than it is used in real speech or writing to convey its actual meaning. While I am not a historian of the Church of England, I can say that I cannot recall one instance, in 27 years of speaking and writing the English language, when I saw antidisestablishmentarianism used in a purposive way, to convey its dictionary definition. When one actually needs to refer to opposition to the disestablishment of the Church of England, saying "opposition to the disestablishment of the Church of England" is far more likely to get one's point across than using antidisestablishmentarianism.
Popular myth to the contrary, antidisestablishmentarianism is not the longest word in the English language. That honor goes, no doubt, to some obscure word used only among scientists. But I hazard a guess that it is the longest word known to educated speakers of English regardless of their profession.
So what purpose does antidisestablishmentarianism serve in English, that senisble Anglophones continue to teach the word to their children? I gather its purpose is sociological rather than lexical. By knowing this word, we get to be in on the joke, able to differentiate ourselves from uneducated people who have never encountered the word, and from foreigners who do not possess the word.
Nonetheless, I let my students in on the joke, telling them how impressed "real" Americans and Englishment would be that they knew this word. They gave me a puzzld look.
"When would I ever use this word?" one of them asked me. I knew the rest of the class was thinking the same thing.
"Why, when you need to prove you know what antidisestablishmentarianism means!" I felt like replying.
But I knew somehow it wouldn't translate.
My first week of teaching, I was covering for a teacher who is temporarily stuck in England because of visa problems. This week, I have been filling in for a different teacher who is ill. And so the opportunity arose to introduce some Russians to antidisestablishmentarianism--the word, not the concept.
Antidisestablishmentarianism came up in the midst of a lesson about prefixes and suffixes. I had a group of upper-intermediate students who are at a stage of their English education where they are able to start learning the rules of word formation in English. And so I allowed antidisestablishmentarianism to expand, bit by bit, across the board, so that my students could see how far prefixes and suffixes could enable a word to stretch.
Like all EFL students, the students to whom I taught this (in)famous English word are keen on electronic dictionaries. Once antidisestablishmentarianism had spread itself across a whole blackboard, one of my students looked it up--to my relief, as I felt unequal to the task of explaining, in a way non-native speakers could understand, that the word refers to opposition to the disestablishment of the Church of England. I was, however, astounded to discover that at least one Russian-English dictionary contains this word, as I imagine its utility to a Russian must be next to nil.
For that matter, the utility of this word to a native speaker of English is not much higher. This must be the only word in the language that it discusssed, analyzed, and mocked more than it is used in real speech or writing to convey its actual meaning. While I am not a historian of the Church of England, I can say that I cannot recall one instance, in 27 years of speaking and writing the English language, when I saw antidisestablishmentarianism used in a purposive way, to convey its dictionary definition. When one actually needs to refer to opposition to the disestablishment of the Church of England, saying "opposition to the disestablishment of the Church of England" is far more likely to get one's point across than using antidisestablishmentarianism.
Popular myth to the contrary, antidisestablishmentarianism is not the longest word in the English language. That honor goes, no doubt, to some obscure word used only among scientists. But I hazard a guess that it is the longest word known to educated speakers of English regardless of their profession.
So what purpose does antidisestablishmentarianism serve in English, that senisble Anglophones continue to teach the word to their children? I gather its purpose is sociological rather than lexical. By knowing this word, we get to be in on the joke, able to differentiate ourselves from uneducated people who have never encountered the word, and from foreigners who do not possess the word.
Nonetheless, I let my students in on the joke, telling them how impressed "real" Americans and Englishment would be that they knew this word. They gave me a puzzld look.
"When would I ever use this word?" one of them asked me. I knew the rest of the class was thinking the same thing.
"Why, when you need to prove you know what antidisestablishmentarianism means!" I felt like replying.
But I knew somehow it wouldn't translate.
22 May 2008
Not-So-Ugly Betty
Other interesting facts about the Kremlin:
The current walls of the Kremlin were built in 1492, just as Columbus was sailing the ocean blue.
A giant belltower, whose bell tolls every quarter of an hour, was donated by Elizabeth I, on whom Ivan the Terrible had designs. Indeed, Ivan killed at least one of his wives in the hopes that Elizabeth would favor him with her hand in marriage. Not surprisingly, Good Queen Bess declined. My guide referred to the belltower as "Big Betty".
After the Communist takeover, red stars replaced the double-headed eagles atop the Kremlin's towers. There is some eagerness in Russia to have the stars removed, but because the Kremlin is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is no longer possible to alter the Kremlin in any way. Thus, UNESCO protects the Communist symbols atop the Kremlin.
Nikita Krushchev is the only Soviet leader not buried in the area of Red Square and the Kremlin. He is instead buried in Novodoveichy Convent, near the grave of Anton Chekhov, because he died out of office and out of favor with the Communist Party. From Stalin's death in 1953 until 1961, Stalin's remains were interred alongside Lenin's in the Lenin Mausoleum. They were spirited out in the middle of the night and buried within the Kremlin Walls as part of Krushchev's program of de-Stalinization.
The current walls of the Kremlin were built in 1492, just as Columbus was sailing the ocean blue.
A giant belltower, whose bell tolls every quarter of an hour, was donated by Elizabeth I, on whom Ivan the Terrible had designs. Indeed, Ivan killed at least one of his wives in the hopes that Elizabeth would favor him with her hand in marriage. Not surprisingly, Good Queen Bess declined. My guide referred to the belltower as "Big Betty".
After the Communist takeover, red stars replaced the double-headed eagles atop the Kremlin's towers. There is some eagerness in Russia to have the stars removed, but because the Kremlin is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, it is no longer possible to alter the Kremlin in any way. Thus, UNESCO protects the Communist symbols atop the Kremlin.
Nikita Krushchev is the only Soviet leader not buried in the area of Red Square and the Kremlin. He is instead buried in Novodoveichy Convent, near the grave of Anton Chekhov, because he died out of office and out of favor with the Communist Party. From Stalin's death in 1953 until 1961, Stalin's remains were interred alongside Lenin's in the Lenin Mausoleum. They were spirited out in the middle of the night and buried within the Kremlin Walls as part of Krushchev's program of de-Stalinization.
The Great Pretender
I promised more on the Kremlin when I was free, and as I always believe in keeping my promises, more you shall have.
After the Cathedral of the Assumption, our guide led us into the Cathedral of the Archangel. This cathedral was the burial site of all Russian czars until Peter the Great moved Russia's capital to St. Petersburg in the early eighteenth century. But by the far the most interesting person buried here is not a czar but a person I think of at the Great Pretender--or, as he is more generally known to Russian history, the False Dmitri.
Apparently, Ivan the Terrible's son and heir, Dmitiri, was found dead one morning in the confines of the palace playground, a sword stuck through his heart. An investigation, led by Boris Gudenov, concluded the death to be an accident; the official findings claimed that, while playing, Dmitri had somehow fallen on his own sword. As you can imagine, Muscovites found this as probable as most Americans find the conclusions of the Warren Report and assumed that Dmitri had been assassinated.
With Dmitri dead, Ivan had no heir. Upon his death, Boris Gudenov was elected--yes, elected--czar of Russia. The public was naturally skeptical, having been indoctrinated to believe that czars ruled by divine right and not by election. But just at this time, a man claiming to be the real Dmitri appeared in Moscow. He was eventually proven to be a fraud and dethroned. But for about a year, this pretender ruled over all Russia.
After the Cathedral of the Assumption, our guide led us into the Cathedral of the Archangel. This cathedral was the burial site of all Russian czars until Peter the Great moved Russia's capital to St. Petersburg in the early eighteenth century. But by the far the most interesting person buried here is not a czar but a person I think of at the Great Pretender--or, as he is more generally known to Russian history, the False Dmitri.
Apparently, Ivan the Terrible's son and heir, Dmitiri, was found dead one morning in the confines of the palace playground, a sword stuck through his heart. An investigation, led by Boris Gudenov, concluded the death to be an accident; the official findings claimed that, while playing, Dmitri had somehow fallen on his own sword. As you can imagine, Muscovites found this as probable as most Americans find the conclusions of the Warren Report and assumed that Dmitri had been assassinated.
With Dmitri dead, Ivan had no heir. Upon his death, Boris Gudenov was elected--yes, elected--czar of Russia. The public was naturally skeptical, having been indoctrinated to believe that czars ruled by divine right and not by election. But just at this time, a man claiming to be the real Dmitri appeared in Moscow. He was eventually proven to be a fraud and dethroned. But for about a year, this pretender ruled over all Russia.
21 May 2008
No More Britches in the Boiling Pot
On my way into my school's central offices to do some lesson planning today, I had the good fortune to run into my DOS. After a bit of chit chat about how classes are going (short answer: fine), he asked me to have lunch with him.
He asked me if I were having any problems adjusting to Moscow. I let him know the hot water in my apartment is out and asked if I had permission to leave a notice on the bulletin board offering to pay for use of another teacher's washing machine.
Well, miracle of miracles! He told me I could come over to his apartment and use his--for free! Thank goodness. My clothes and I can finally rejoin the 21st century.
Apparently, very few of the apartments my school makes available to its teachers don't have a washing machine at this point. Teachers generally do help each other out in this regard. Once my schedule settles, I can find some regular time to come by and do my washing, which will make life in Moscow much, much easier.
He asked me if I were having any problems adjusting to Moscow. I let him know the hot water in my apartment is out and asked if I had permission to leave a notice on the bulletin board offering to pay for use of another teacher's washing machine.
Well, miracle of miracles! He told me I could come over to his apartment and use his--for free! Thank goodness. My clothes and I can finally rejoin the 21st century.
Apparently, very few of the apartments my school makes available to its teachers don't have a washing machine at this point. Teachers generally do help each other out in this regard. Once my schedule settles, I can find some regular time to come by and do my washing, which will make life in Moscow much, much easier.
Beating Belinda Carlisle by 500 Years
Yesterday, finding myself with nothing on my teaching schedule, I decided the time was ripe to go tour the Kremlin. I figured this was probably the best opportunity I was likely to have to do so for some time, because my day was free, because my passport was temporarily back in my possession (which I thought would make getting past the Moscow police easier), and because I knew the Kremlin was open.
I decided to take an organized tour, as I wanted to know more of the significance of what I was seeing than my Rough Guide was able to supply. So I joined the Capital Tours group for 1400 roubles (about $60 American).
My tour guide was evidence enough of how Russia has changed in recent years. During the course of the tour, he fielded questions from an American tourist who repeatedly asked about such sensitive topics as Medvedev's relationship to Putin. My guide was openly disdainful not just of Lenin and Stalin (relatively safe topics to be disdainful of these days), but of Putin himself. He said he had no fear whatsoever of reprisals for his criticisms of Putin. That says a lot; sixty years ago, someone saying equally critical things about Stalin would have been shipped off to Siberia, or possibly even shot. Even in Gorbachev's time, penalties would have been inflicted on an Intourist guide who stepped out of line.
After leading us through Red Square and the Alexander Gardens (which form the rear border of the Kremlin), the guide led us into the Kremlin proper. Before he did so, however, he pointed out what must be the earliest example of Russian rewriting of history. Visible in one part of the Kremlin's rear walls is a grotto in which a fake "Roman ruin" was constructed not long after the defeat of Napoleon. The reason for this fake ruin was to reinforce Moscow's claim to be the "Third Rome" (after Rome itself and Constantinople).
Upon entering the Kremlin, the first site a visitor sees is, unfortunately, a hideous glass box Krushchev constructed as a venue for Party Congresses. Amidst the medieval and neoclassical glories of the Kremlin, this monstrosity is wholly out of place. I could imagine it in Lincoln Center; where it is, it is just an annoyance.
The tour focused mainly on the two main cathedrals in the Kremlin complex, the Cathedral of the Assumption and the Cathedral of the Archangel. Both of these cathedrals played important parts in tsarist times. The former was the site of coronations, while the latter served as the burial place of the tsars until Peter the Great moved the capital to St. Petersburg.
I doubt there are words in English adequate to describing the sublime beauty of the Cathedral of the Assumption. The interior of the cathedral is gilt painted over with frescoes. One notices the gold everywhere, which is doubtless the intended effect. My guide told me that, in ancient Russian art, gold was seen as the color of heaven. It is for this reason that, in traditional icon painting, only halos are painted in gold. But the Cathedral of the Assumption is meant to give the viewer the feeling of being not on earth but in heaven. The intent was to reinforce for visitors a correspondence between the rule of Ivan III (predecessor to Ivan the Terrible) and the kingdom of heaven. 500 years before Belinda Carlisle, the Russian tsars had already discovered that heaven is a place on earth.
More on the Kremlin in a later posting; work beckons.
I decided to take an organized tour, as I wanted to know more of the significance of what I was seeing than my Rough Guide was able to supply. So I joined the Capital Tours group for 1400 roubles (about $60 American).
My tour guide was evidence enough of how Russia has changed in recent years. During the course of the tour, he fielded questions from an American tourist who repeatedly asked about such sensitive topics as Medvedev's relationship to Putin. My guide was openly disdainful not just of Lenin and Stalin (relatively safe topics to be disdainful of these days), but of Putin himself. He said he had no fear whatsoever of reprisals for his criticisms of Putin. That says a lot; sixty years ago, someone saying equally critical things about Stalin would have been shipped off to Siberia, or possibly even shot. Even in Gorbachev's time, penalties would have been inflicted on an Intourist guide who stepped out of line.
After leading us through Red Square and the Alexander Gardens (which form the rear border of the Kremlin), the guide led us into the Kremlin proper. Before he did so, however, he pointed out what must be the earliest example of Russian rewriting of history. Visible in one part of the Kremlin's rear walls is a grotto in which a fake "Roman ruin" was constructed not long after the defeat of Napoleon. The reason for this fake ruin was to reinforce Moscow's claim to be the "Third Rome" (after Rome itself and Constantinople).
Upon entering the Kremlin, the first site a visitor sees is, unfortunately, a hideous glass box Krushchev constructed as a venue for Party Congresses. Amidst the medieval and neoclassical glories of the Kremlin, this monstrosity is wholly out of place. I could imagine it in Lincoln Center; where it is, it is just an annoyance.
The tour focused mainly on the two main cathedrals in the Kremlin complex, the Cathedral of the Assumption and the Cathedral of the Archangel. Both of these cathedrals played important parts in tsarist times. The former was the site of coronations, while the latter served as the burial place of the tsars until Peter the Great moved the capital to St. Petersburg.
I doubt there are words in English adequate to describing the sublime beauty of the Cathedral of the Assumption. The interior of the cathedral is gilt painted over with frescoes. One notices the gold everywhere, which is doubtless the intended effect. My guide told me that, in ancient Russian art, gold was seen as the color of heaven. It is for this reason that, in traditional icon painting, only halos are painted in gold. But the Cathedral of the Assumption is meant to give the viewer the feeling of being not on earth but in heaven. The intent was to reinforce for visitors a correspondence between the rule of Ivan III (predecessor to Ivan the Terrible) and the kingdom of heaven. 500 years before Belinda Carlisle, the Russian tsars had already discovered that heaven is a place on earth.
More on the Kremlin in a later posting; work beckons.
Why This Blog is Moderated
Someone recently commented on my blog, accusing me of "censorship" for moderating blog comments. So I feel a short explanation is in order.
I decided to moderate comments on this blog after someone posted a piece of literal spam as a comment on one of my posts. While I make no efforts to restrict who can read this blog, I am not interested in providing free advertising for anyone's cell phone business, and am especially uninterested in this blog's being used to peddle "natural male enhancement".
Although I was able to delete the actual advertisement, I was unable to remove all record of it. So to avoid this situation in the future, I decided blog moderation was necessary.
So far, I have yet to reject a comment from anyone I know, in either my real life or my virtual life. I suppose that if someone started posting portions of Mein Kampf in blog comments (no Sam, this is not an invitation), I would probably refuse to publish them. But my main aim in moderating comments is not censorship but spam removal.
I decided to moderate comments on this blog after someone posted a piece of literal spam as a comment on one of my posts. While I make no efforts to restrict who can read this blog, I am not interested in providing free advertising for anyone's cell phone business, and am especially uninterested in this blog's being used to peddle "natural male enhancement".
Although I was able to delete the actual advertisement, I was unable to remove all record of it. So to avoid this situation in the future, I decided blog moderation was necessary.
So far, I have yet to reject a comment from anyone I know, in either my real life or my virtual life. I suppose that if someone started posting portions of Mein Kampf in blog comments (no Sam, this is not an invitation), I would probably refuse to publish them. But my main aim in moderating comments is not censorship but spam removal.
19 May 2008
Rough and Not-So-Ready
Saturday evening, my school had a get-together at a local restaurant, to say good-bye to a teacher who is heading back to the States. Although I knew hardly anyone there, I made a point of making an appearance, and was quite delighted I did. I got to talk to a few of the other teachers I have met and (I think) managed to befriend in my shot time here.
Somehow, though, I left without my Rough Guide to Moscow. I discovered this fact Sunday afternoon, when I had finished my attempts at hand washing and was setting off for my first foray into Red Square (more on that later). This caused me a bit of panic, as my Rough Guide has truly been a godsend in the time I've been here, less for the commentary on the Tsar Bell than for the detailed maps it provides. In Kansas, I had been hesitant about which guide book to buy, but from now on, wherever I go, it will only be Rough Guides.
Luckily, however, I had my phrasebook with me. So after returning from Red Square, I stopped by the restaurant and asked if anyone had seen it.
I was amazed I was able to handle this exchange as well as I did. I was completely understood by the bartender to whom I made my inquiry, and was put in touch with the manager. She came down with a book--not my Rough Guide. But at least I had been able to make clear what I wanted and get a need met.
One thing I will say for Russia is that it does force you to learn at least a little bit of Russian in ways that Taiwan never required me to learn any Chinese. All of the signage on the Metro is in Russian, as are street signs and most menus (though a few places that cater to tourists have English translations). When I start working seriously on my Russian again--a good pursuit for this week, as I am relatively unoccupied--my big challenge will be just to learn some more food words. Russian for Menus is my definite priority.
One final note: when I got home last night, I found under my bed an old copy of the Rough Guide, no doubt left by a previous teacher. Just a little too Alanis Morrisette, don't you think?
Somehow, though, I left without my Rough Guide to Moscow. I discovered this fact Sunday afternoon, when I had finished my attempts at hand washing and was setting off for my first foray into Red Square (more on that later). This caused me a bit of panic, as my Rough Guide has truly been a godsend in the time I've been here, less for the commentary on the Tsar Bell than for the detailed maps it provides. In Kansas, I had been hesitant about which guide book to buy, but from now on, wherever I go, it will only be Rough Guides.
Luckily, however, I had my phrasebook with me. So after returning from Red Square, I stopped by the restaurant and asked if anyone had seen it.
I was amazed I was able to handle this exchange as well as I did. I was completely understood by the bartender to whom I made my inquiry, and was put in touch with the manager. She came down with a book--not my Rough Guide. But at least I had been able to make clear what I wanted and get a need met.
One thing I will say for Russia is that it does force you to learn at least a little bit of Russian in ways that Taiwan never required me to learn any Chinese. All of the signage on the Metro is in Russian, as are street signs and most menus (though a few places that cater to tourists have English translations). When I start working seriously on my Russian again--a good pursuit for this week, as I am relatively unoccupied--my big challenge will be just to learn some more food words. Russian for Menus is my definite priority.
One final note: when I got home last night, I found under my bed an old copy of the Rough Guide, no doubt left by a previous teacher. Just a little too Alanis Morrisette, don't you think?
Britches in the Bathtub
Sunday, I had my first adventure in hand-washing clothes. It's too early to tell whether it was a complete failure, since my socks and underwear have not yet completely dried, but I can't say it went particularly well.
My biggest challenge at the moment is that our hot water has been shut off. This is a normal occurence in Moscow; every summer, different districts of the city have their hot water shut off at different times, for routine cleaning. But yesterday, I had to boil water on the stove in a tiny little pot. It took an hour and a half to get the tub even an eighth full. I decided to give up my grandiose plans of washing a week and a half's worth of close and to concentrate on socks, underwear, and a couple of colored shirts.
Well, no sooner did I start moving my clothes around with the end of our mop to agitate them than the water I had so carefully boiled ran out of the drain--I had somehow gotten the handle of the mop into the ring on top of the drain stopper! So an hour and a half of effort literally went down the drain.
After this, I decided it wasn't worth it to boil water for an hour and a half for such paltry results and set to cleaning in cold water. I managed to agitate my clothes for about 15-20 minutes, then let the murky water go out. I put things up to dry where I could--the shirts on hangers in my closet, the socks on my window sill, and the underwear over the shower curtain rod. I have not yet found out where to buy a clothes line; as far as I know, we are not allowed up on the roof of our building, which is 12 floors up, anyway. My roommate is leaving Russia in a couple of weeks; when he does, Iwill take his room, which has a nice long curtain rod. But for the time being, I will make do as best I can and be resigned to not washing many of my clothes at once.
Next time, I will try to do a real "rinse cycle" and let the clothes have a turn through soap-free water. But Sunday I was eager to get out into the bustle of Moscow.
My biggest challenge at the moment is that our hot water has been shut off. This is a normal occurence in Moscow; every summer, different districts of the city have their hot water shut off at different times, for routine cleaning. But yesterday, I had to boil water on the stove in a tiny little pot. It took an hour and a half to get the tub even an eighth full. I decided to give up my grandiose plans of washing a week and a half's worth of close and to concentrate on socks, underwear, and a couple of colored shirts.
Well, no sooner did I start moving my clothes around with the end of our mop to agitate them than the water I had so carefully boiled ran out of the drain--I had somehow gotten the handle of the mop into the ring on top of the drain stopper! So an hour and a half of effort literally went down the drain.
After this, I decided it wasn't worth it to boil water for an hour and a half for such paltry results and set to cleaning in cold water. I managed to agitate my clothes for about 15-20 minutes, then let the murky water go out. I put things up to dry where I could--the shirts on hangers in my closet, the socks on my window sill, and the underwear over the shower curtain rod. I have not yet found out where to buy a clothes line; as far as I know, we are not allowed up on the roof of our building, which is 12 floors up, anyway. My roommate is leaving Russia in a couple of weeks; when he does, Iwill take his room, which has a nice long curtain rod. But for the time being, I will make do as best I can and be resigned to not washing many of my clothes at once.
Next time, I will try to do a real "rinse cycle" and let the clothes have a turn through soap-free water. But Sunday I was eager to get out into the bustle of Moscow.
16 May 2008
Ruble Stretching
When I came to Russia, I brought money in two forms: cash and traveller's checks. This is my first experience in a while dealing with traveller's checks in a while, my last experience having been when I went to Israel on a Birthright trip five years ago. I made do with cash at the beginning as I figured it would be easier than dealing with the checks, which are not as easy to cash as they were in the days before credit cards were widely available.
Today, I came to the point of having to start using the checks. I went to Sberbank, a bank in Moscow I was assured would cash traveller's checks. At the exchange window, however, I was asked for my passport. I attempted to explain to the woman behind the counter that my passport is at registration (a common experience for tourists). The woman made clear that the photograph of my passport the school has given me until my passport is back would not be sufficient to cash a check.
I brought this problem to my school, explaining that I am at the point of needing money for food for the weekend. Administration is going to try to get my passport back temporarily--I will have to surrender it again around the 29th, and will have my passport and visa back on the 2nd of June. But this would at least enable me to get some rubles in my pocket today.
If my passport cannot be returned today, the school will make me a loan. But one way or another, I will do a lot of ruble stretching this weekend. It's time to start cooking at home more. There are only two impediments to my doing so--the first being that I have trouble deciphering labels in the grocery store, the other that the light in our kitchen does not work. As I've been getting home from lessons quite late this week, this makes it impossible to cook anything.
For the next week, though, I have very little scheduled. We are at the point where Russians start to take a holiday from language lessons. The Russian summer is short, and Russians don't want to waste any of it learning the difference between the present simple and the present continuous. I am scheduled for only six academic hours (4.5 clock hours) in the coming week. So I will have plenty of time to struggle with my laundry as well as see something more of Moscow.
On the agenda will be Red Square and the Kremlin, now that Victory Day is over and the Square is no longer blocked off. The rest I will make up as I go along.
Today, I came to the point of having to start using the checks. I went to Sberbank, a bank in Moscow I was assured would cash traveller's checks. At the exchange window, however, I was asked for my passport. I attempted to explain to the woman behind the counter that my passport is at registration (a common experience for tourists). The woman made clear that the photograph of my passport the school has given me until my passport is back would not be sufficient to cash a check.
I brought this problem to my school, explaining that I am at the point of needing money for food for the weekend. Administration is going to try to get my passport back temporarily--I will have to surrender it again around the 29th, and will have my passport and visa back on the 2nd of June. But this would at least enable me to get some rubles in my pocket today.
If my passport cannot be returned today, the school will make me a loan. But one way or another, I will do a lot of ruble stretching this weekend. It's time to start cooking at home more. There are only two impediments to my doing so--the first being that I have trouble deciphering labels in the grocery store, the other that the light in our kitchen does not work. As I've been getting home from lessons quite late this week, this makes it impossible to cook anything.
For the next week, though, I have very little scheduled. We are at the point where Russians start to take a holiday from language lessons. The Russian summer is short, and Russians don't want to waste any of it learning the difference between the present simple and the present continuous. I am scheduled for only six academic hours (4.5 clock hours) in the coming week. So I will have plenty of time to struggle with my laundry as well as see something more of Moscow.
On the agenda will be Red Square and the Kremlin, now that Victory Day is over and the Square is no longer blocked off. The rest I will make up as I go along.
15 May 2008
Cleanliness Is Next to G_dliness
It's amazing how living in a foreign country broadens you. Before I came to Russia, I thought the title of this post meant that being clean was an important form of virtue. Now I know better. It means that cleanliness is almost as impossible as g_dliness to obtain.
I survived a week living on two pairs of underwear, three pairs of socks, and no undershirts. I survived not having access to a razor (I am using my electric until it runs outof juice). But I do not know how I will survive the latest disruption to my attempts at cleanliness.
Two days ago, I came home, quite bedraggled and looking forward to a soak in a warm bath--only to discover that our hot water had been turned off. Worse, the cold water that is available is absolutely ice cold. This has made showering difficult, as I cannot keep water in contact with my skin for very long. Yesterday, I just washed my lower body and my underarms; today, I decided to skip the attempt at washing altogether.
Worse, though, is that Saturday night and Sunday, I absolutely have to do laundry in the bathtub. How I will achieve this without warm water, I do not know. I may have to content myself with washing my socks, underwear, a couple of undershirts, and maybe two or three shirts that do not have serious stains, more to improve their smell than to get them spotless.
I had lunch yesterday with one of my fellow teachers who is making do without a washing machine. He told me getting things really clean is next to impossible. He confirmed my experience with socks. So far, my attempts at washing socks have not yielded good results. The socks come out feeling oily, as if I had been wearing them for three days camping in the woods. At least I know this is normal and not just poor washing on my part.
I survived a week living on two pairs of underwear, three pairs of socks, and no undershirts. I survived not having access to a razor (I am using my electric until it runs outof juice). But I do not know how I will survive the latest disruption to my attempts at cleanliness.
Two days ago, I came home, quite bedraggled and looking forward to a soak in a warm bath--only to discover that our hot water had been turned off. Worse, the cold water that is available is absolutely ice cold. This has made showering difficult, as I cannot keep water in contact with my skin for very long. Yesterday, I just washed my lower body and my underarms; today, I decided to skip the attempt at washing altogether.
Worse, though, is that Saturday night and Sunday, I absolutely have to do laundry in the bathtub. How I will achieve this without warm water, I do not know. I may have to content myself with washing my socks, underwear, a couple of undershirts, and maybe two or three shirts that do not have serious stains, more to improve their smell than to get them spotless.
I had lunch yesterday with one of my fellow teachers who is making do without a washing machine. He told me getting things really clean is next to impossible. He confirmed my experience with socks. So far, my attempts at washing socks have not yielded good results. The socks come out feeling oily, as if I had been wearing them for three days camping in the woods. At least I know this is normal and not just poor washing on my part.
14 May 2008
Jack Nicholson's Trash
My experience as a teacher in Russia officially began yesterday. I had two classes in a branch of our school a few metro stops from here. The first was a short class with two 10-year-old boys, who were remarkably well-behaved but not terribly well-focused.
My other class consisted of teenagers at the pre-intermediate level. The lesson in the book used as a hook a story about paparazzi going through Jack Nicholson's trash. Where the editors of our textbook got this from (much less, where they got permission to use Jack Nicholson's name), I don't know. The lesson aim was to practice quantifying terms like much, many, and a lot of with countable and uncountable nouns.
In the course of a bit over two hours together, I found out a few things about Russians. First, I discovered that Russians aren't really interested in things like Jack Nicholson's trash. My students seemed to understand the concept of the paparazzi but didn't think the kinds of things they cover are of much interest to Russians, who they claimed do not have the time to worry about such trivia.
I also discovered that Russians have an avid interest in Texas. From what they told me, I gather that Western films have been shown quite a lot in Russia, and the Russians seem to be under the impression that they are all set in Texas. I guess my Texas fixation of a couple months ago was fortuitous--I'll have good material to use!
My other class consisted of teenagers at the pre-intermediate level. The lesson in the book used as a hook a story about paparazzi going through Jack Nicholson's trash. Where the editors of our textbook got this from (much less, where they got permission to use Jack Nicholson's name), I don't know. The lesson aim was to practice quantifying terms like much, many, and a lot of with countable and uncountable nouns.
In the course of a bit over two hours together, I found out a few things about Russians. First, I discovered that Russians aren't really interested in things like Jack Nicholson's trash. My students seemed to understand the concept of the paparazzi but didn't think the kinds of things they cover are of much interest to Russians, who they claimed do not have the time to worry about such trivia.
I also discovered that Russians have an avid interest in Texas. From what they told me, I gather that Western films have been shown quite a lot in Russia, and the Russians seem to be under the impression that they are all set in Texas. I guess my Texas fixation of a couple months ago was fortuitous--I'll have good material to use!
12 May 2008
Lenin Presents New Zanzibar
Over the past eighteen years, it seems The Simpsons have been everywhere--Italy, Japan, Australia, even China (though not, as far as I know, Russia). But the traveling episode of the The Simpsons I remember best is the one where they go to Africa.
I remember in particular that, on this episode, Homer Simpson and family are about to land in Africa when they are told the name of the country they are visiting has been changed to Zanzibar. Then to New Zanzibar. And finally, to "Pepsi Presents New Zanzibar."
I think of this line a lot as I go around Moscow. Here, it is not Pepsi but rather Lenin that seems to present everything (though Pepsi-Cola is everywhere in Moscow too these days). There seems to be no end of things imeni Lenina--in the name of Lenin. There is a Lenin Prospekt and a Lenin Library. There is a Leningradskiy Prospect and a Leningradskiy Station--even if the latter now takes you not to Leningrad but to St. Petersburg. And on Red Square there is, of course, Lenin's mausoleum. Even the metro, my station on Novoslobodskaya Street proclaims, is not just the metro but the metro "in the name of Lenin"--even though the first line of the metro was not built until 13 years after his death, and even though Lenin had, as far I know, nothing whatever to do with its planning or construction (I suppose the people of Moscow could hardly accept "the subway in the name of Stalin").
A lot of fuss was made in the Western media when the people of Leningrad voted (albeit narrowly) the revert to St. Petersburg. But if Moscow is any indication, there are still plently of place names in Russia bearing names chosen to further the Communist cause. Tomorrow, I will be teaching in a school on Prolitarskaya Ulitsa (Proletarian Street). The above-mentioned Leningradskiy Station is one of three train stations reachable from the Komsomolskaya Metro stop (named after Komosomol, the Communist youth organization). And the Metro stop nearest to Red Square is called Ploshad Revoluutsi (Revolution Square).
A few hardcore old-timers aside, Lenin's values are not much in evidence on the streets. A popular tourist souvenir is a t-shirt bearing Lenin's likeness superimposed on the Golden Arches. But Lenin's name is still everywhere.
I remember in particular that, on this episode, Homer Simpson and family are about to land in Africa when they are told the name of the country they are visiting has been changed to Zanzibar. Then to New Zanzibar. And finally, to "Pepsi Presents New Zanzibar."
I think of this line a lot as I go around Moscow. Here, it is not Pepsi but rather Lenin that seems to present everything (though Pepsi-Cola is everywhere in Moscow too these days). There seems to be no end of things imeni Lenina--in the name of Lenin. There is a Lenin Prospekt and a Lenin Library. There is a Leningradskiy Prospect and a Leningradskiy Station--even if the latter now takes you not to Leningrad but to St. Petersburg. And on Red Square there is, of course, Lenin's mausoleum. Even the metro, my station on Novoslobodskaya Street proclaims, is not just the metro but the metro "in the name of Lenin"--even though the first line of the metro was not built until 13 years after his death, and even though Lenin had, as far I know, nothing whatever to do with its planning or construction (I suppose the people of Moscow could hardly accept "the subway in the name of Stalin").
A lot of fuss was made in the Western media when the people of Leningrad voted (albeit narrowly) the revert to St. Petersburg. But if Moscow is any indication, there are still plently of place names in Russia bearing names chosen to further the Communist cause. Tomorrow, I will be teaching in a school on Prolitarskaya Ulitsa (Proletarian Street). The above-mentioned Leningradskiy Station is one of three train stations reachable from the Komsomolskaya Metro stop (named after Komosomol, the Communist youth organization). And the Metro stop nearest to Red Square is called Ploshad Revoluutsi (Revolution Square).
A few hardcore old-timers aside, Lenin's values are not much in evidence on the streets. A popular tourist souvenir is a t-shirt bearing Lenin's likeness superimposed on the Golden Arches. But Lenin's name is still everywhere.
Why Did the Chicken Cross Queens Boulevard?
Why, because it had a death wish, of course!
A few months ago, I published what--I hope--was a humorous piece about navigating the street of Taiwan. So now that I am in Moscow, I felt a comparison was in order.
Unlike Taiwan, Moscow has, thankfully, discovered sidewalks. One is not, generally, forced to walk in the streets except in a few places where traffic lights are far apart and crossing does not seem possibly except by jaywalking. A couple of people have told me this is best avoided, as Russian drivers will, literally, chase jaywalkers back onto the street. But on the street where my school's central offices are located, there doesn't seem to be much other choice, a lot of the time.
Sidewalks aside, the streets of Moscow have some other interesting features. Major throughfares abound in underground passageways called perekhods. In many places, the street is simply too wide for pedestrians to cross in a single turn of a traffic light, so underground passageways have been installed. Queens Boulevard, take note.
Also ubiquitous on Moscow streets are stalls known variously as produkti or ryenoks. These serve much the purpose that gas station convenience stores serve in America and 7-11 serves in Taiwan, although they are less convenient. Making a purchase at a produkti requires asking for what you want from someone behind a class screen and waiting for it to be handed to you. Some of these also operate inside of perekhods. So you are never very far from that Coca-Cola or bottleof kvass you are craving.
Other aspects of the streets in Moscow are more infuriating. One is the way street signs (don't) work. Everywhere else I have ever been, street signs are placed at the corners of intersections. Here in Moscow, that kind of street sign seems not to exist. But at least in central Moscow, there are streets telling you that a different street or site "of interest" (perhaps nothing more "of interest" than a McDonald's) is to be found in X number of meters.
Another irritating aspect of streets in Moscow is the system of tram and trolleybus stops. Surface transit in Moscow takes three forms: the bus, the tram,and the trolleybus (a vehicle that gets it power from an overhead wire like a trolley, but does not run on tracks). Bus stops are clearly visible and marked shelters. Not so tram and trolleybus stops, which are usually nothing more than a sign hanging overhead from the wires holding up the trolley wire. This makes finding a tram or trolleybus stop difficult in some places where trees have become overgrown. Another reason I will probably not make much use of the trams.
A few months ago, I published what--I hope--was a humorous piece about navigating the street of Taiwan. So now that I am in Moscow, I felt a comparison was in order.
Unlike Taiwan, Moscow has, thankfully, discovered sidewalks. One is not, generally, forced to walk in the streets except in a few places where traffic lights are far apart and crossing does not seem possibly except by jaywalking. A couple of people have told me this is best avoided, as Russian drivers will, literally, chase jaywalkers back onto the street. But on the street where my school's central offices are located, there doesn't seem to be much other choice, a lot of the time.
Sidewalks aside, the streets of Moscow have some other interesting features. Major throughfares abound in underground passageways called perekhods. In many places, the street is simply too wide for pedestrians to cross in a single turn of a traffic light, so underground passageways have been installed. Queens Boulevard, take note.
Also ubiquitous on Moscow streets are stalls known variously as produkti or ryenoks. These serve much the purpose that gas station convenience stores serve in America and 7-11 serves in Taiwan, although they are less convenient. Making a purchase at a produkti requires asking for what you want from someone behind a class screen and waiting for it to be handed to you. Some of these also operate inside of perekhods. So you are never very far from that Coca-Cola or bottleof kvass you are craving.
Other aspects of the streets in Moscow are more infuriating. One is the way street signs (don't) work. Everywhere else I have ever been, street signs are placed at the corners of intersections. Here in Moscow, that kind of street sign seems not to exist. But at least in central Moscow, there are streets telling you that a different street or site "of interest" (perhaps nothing more "of interest" than a McDonald's) is to be found in X number of meters.
Another irritating aspect of streets in Moscow is the system of tram and trolleybus stops. Surface transit in Moscow takes three forms: the bus, the tram,and the trolleybus (a vehicle that gets it power from an overhead wire like a trolley, but does not run on tracks). Bus stops are clearly visible and marked shelters. Not so tram and trolleybus stops, which are usually nothing more than a sign hanging overhead from the wires holding up the trolley wire. This makes finding a tram or trolleybus stop difficult in some places where trees have become overgrown. Another reason I will probably not make much use of the trams.
Lorelai Gilmore's Grandmother
Although it kind of lost it in the end (as so many TV shows do), I was a big fan of Gilmore Girls for most of its run. It was the kind of show that could almost always cheer me up after a really bad day. Nothing I had seen on television, before or since, was ever quite the same as the rapid-fire banter between Lorelai and Rory; no mother-daughter relationship was ever as bad as the one between Lorelai and Emily.
For those of you who haven't watched the show, a little background. The basic tension in the show was between the controlling Emily Gilmore and the freespirited Lorelai, who had left her wealthy but stifling girlhood home after becoming pregnant at the tender age of sixteen. As the show began, Lorelai was forced to re-establish a relationship with Emily after her daughter Rory, now sixteen herself, was admitted to a private school Lorelai could not afford any other way. In return for paying for Rory's tuition, Emily insisted that Lorelai and Rory come for dinner every Friday night. This made the Gilmores about the most Jewish upper-crust WASP family I've heard of, but I digress.
I think my favorite Gilmore Girls' episode was the one dealing with the death of Lorelai's paternal grandmother, known to one and all as Trix. Played expertly by Marion Ross, Trix had been brought into the show a few times as a foil to Emily. Basically, Trix was every bit as controlling to Emily as Emily was to Lorelai. And Emily couldn't take it in the least.
On Trix's death, Emily was left to handle the funeral arrangements but, after learning that Trix had tried to prevent her from marrying her son, refused to lift another finger. So it fell on Lorelai to take care of Trix's final wishes.
Though at first intensely solicitous of taking care of Trix's funeral arrangments, Lorelai eventually gave up herself. The scene in which she does so is classic. Trix's will had specified that she be buried in "fresh" underwear. Lorelai could not decipher the meaning of "fresh": did itmean clean underwear? Did it mean new underwear? After telling the whole long story to a clerk in a lingerie shop, Lorelai finally threw in the towel.
Well, Lorelai Gilmore may have known what "fresh" underwear meant. But after a week of living on two pairs of underwear and no access to a washing machine, I think I have some idea. It means underwear whose cleanliness you are sure of.
And so I give thanks--at last--to the arrival of my second suitcase, containing more fresh underwear than I could shake a stick at. I have made a promise to myself that I will start washing my clothes each night after I take them off, so that they don't become a massive pile I have to do every Sunday. But were it not for that, I would gladly spend the next week relishing in not having to wash underpants in the bathroom sink.
For those of you who haven't watched the show, a little background. The basic tension in the show was between the controlling Emily Gilmore and the freespirited Lorelai, who had left her wealthy but stifling girlhood home after becoming pregnant at the tender age of sixteen. As the show began, Lorelai was forced to re-establish a relationship with Emily after her daughter Rory, now sixteen herself, was admitted to a private school Lorelai could not afford any other way. In return for paying for Rory's tuition, Emily insisted that Lorelai and Rory come for dinner every Friday night. This made the Gilmores about the most Jewish upper-crust WASP family I've heard of, but I digress.
I think my favorite Gilmore Girls' episode was the one dealing with the death of Lorelai's paternal grandmother, known to one and all as Trix. Played expertly by Marion Ross, Trix had been brought into the show a few times as a foil to Emily. Basically, Trix was every bit as controlling to Emily as Emily was to Lorelai. And Emily couldn't take it in the least.
On Trix's death, Emily was left to handle the funeral arrangements but, after learning that Trix had tried to prevent her from marrying her son, refused to lift another finger. So it fell on Lorelai to take care of Trix's final wishes.
Though at first intensely solicitous of taking care of Trix's funeral arrangments, Lorelai eventually gave up herself. The scene in which she does so is classic. Trix's will had specified that she be buried in "fresh" underwear. Lorelai could not decipher the meaning of "fresh": did itmean clean underwear? Did it mean new underwear? After telling the whole long story to a clerk in a lingerie shop, Lorelai finally threw in the towel.
Well, Lorelai Gilmore may have known what "fresh" underwear meant. But after a week of living on two pairs of underwear and no access to a washing machine, I think I have some idea. It means underwear whose cleanliness you are sure of.
And so I give thanks--at last--to the arrival of my second suitcase, containing more fresh underwear than I could shake a stick at. I have made a promise to myself that I will start washing my clothes each night after I take them off, so that they don't become a massive pile I have to do every Sunday. But were it not for that, I would gladly spend the next week relishing in not having to wash underpants in the bathroom sink.
Bright Nights, Big City
So far, I have not really experienced much of the famous Moscow cold. The day I arrived and the day following were a bit nippy, but I was assured this was a fluke for this time of year, and since then every day has been moderately warm, like like March or early April in the States. Tulips are blooming everywhere around the city, including in front of my building. Spring has fully sprung in the former Soviet capital.
Nonetheless, I am constantly reminded how far north I am in other ways. The chief of these is the length of the day--literally. Last night, I arrived home from wanderings around the city a little after nine. Dusk had still not settled in; cars on the street still operated without their headlights. Dawn seems to be breaking about 5:00 in the morning, so the Moscow night stretches for only about seven hours, at the most. This is not interfering with my sleep so far, but I wonder how far the night will shrink. St. Petersburg famously goes through a period every summer when the night disappears completely and even puts on a festival at that time called the White Nights. But I don't yet know how far the night retreats in Moscow.
I am taking advantage of the light to see more of the city. Yesterday, I wound my way to the Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow's largest and most famous art museum. When I got there, I had a bit of confusion about where to buy tickets but was very pleased that I could understand the woman at the coat check desk who told me to go outside and turn left. At least my Russian allows me to understand basic directions, even if I feel nervous about asking for them.
Inside the Tretyakov, I spent the chief of my time looking at Russian icons. The museum's collection goes back as far as the 11th century. Some development in Russian icons is evident, though I expect I will have to go back and spring for the audio tour guide in order to get a fuller appreciation of this art form.
Afterwards, I sat for about an hour in a nearby park to let my feet have a rest. It is remarkable to me how scenes of people in parks look alike around the world. The park may have been in the middle of Moscow, but it could just as well have been the middle of Manhattan. Everywhere, grown-ups push children on bicycles, people stroll with kites, and vendors try to sell overpriced food.
When my feet had recovered a bit, I decided to go back up in the direction of the Arbat. I had remembered passing with George a store I was told had a good selection of English-language titles and wanted to check it out. The store turned out to be both disappointing and exciting: disappointing, because its selection of English titles proved to be limited, but exciting because it had on sale some of the textbooks I will be teaching from. So at least I got a preview.
Nonetheless, I am constantly reminded how far north I am in other ways. The chief of these is the length of the day--literally. Last night, I arrived home from wanderings around the city a little after nine. Dusk had still not settled in; cars on the street still operated without their headlights. Dawn seems to be breaking about 5:00 in the morning, so the Moscow night stretches for only about seven hours, at the most. This is not interfering with my sleep so far, but I wonder how far the night will shrink. St. Petersburg famously goes through a period every summer when the night disappears completely and even puts on a festival at that time called the White Nights. But I don't yet know how far the night retreats in Moscow.
I am taking advantage of the light to see more of the city. Yesterday, I wound my way to the Tretyakov Gallery, Moscow's largest and most famous art museum. When I got there, I had a bit of confusion about where to buy tickets but was very pleased that I could understand the woman at the coat check desk who told me to go outside and turn left. At least my Russian allows me to understand basic directions, even if I feel nervous about asking for them.
Inside the Tretyakov, I spent the chief of my time looking at Russian icons. The museum's collection goes back as far as the 11th century. Some development in Russian icons is evident, though I expect I will have to go back and spring for the audio tour guide in order to get a fuller appreciation of this art form.
Afterwards, I sat for about an hour in a nearby park to let my feet have a rest. It is remarkable to me how scenes of people in parks look alike around the world. The park may have been in the middle of Moscow, but it could just as well have been the middle of Manhattan. Everywhere, grown-ups push children on bicycles, people stroll with kites, and vendors try to sell overpriced food.
When my feet had recovered a bit, I decided to go back up in the direction of the Arbat. I had remembered passing with George a store I was told had a good selection of English-language titles and wanted to check it out. The store turned out to be both disappointing and exciting: disappointing, because its selection of English titles proved to be limited, but exciting because it had on sale some of the textbooks I will be teaching from. So at least I got a preview.
10 May 2008
The Day of Kvass and Toeses
Today, I managed to rouse myself somewhat later than I have been, at seven in the morning instead of five. My feet still hurt from my forays around the city yesterday, but I was famished and decided to go off in search of food. Thus began a day of eating and spending.
The first stop was McDonald's. Here I had what I have had the last two days, blini with honey. Blini are, essentially, crepes. I am convinced that every country between Versailles and Vladivostok has some version of paper-thin pancakes stuffed with something. But the Russians are convinced that blini are uniquely theirs. Go figure.
There is no shortage of ways to serve blini in Russia, as I have found out in only a short time here. So far, I have had them with jam, honey, cheese, mushrooms, and salmon. There is a stall near the entrance to the Novoslobodskaya Metro station where I tend to get them (aside from McDonald's). Here they can be had with vegetables for as little as 80 rubles or with red caviar for as much as 180.
About 10:30, I went over to said blini stand and tried something they call a "blini e-mail", with cheese and mushrooms. Mushrooms are another Russian culinary obsession, as I've learned from perusing a few books on Russian culture. With it I downed my first serving of kvass, a nonalcoholic drink made from fermented rye. It tastes a little like beer, yet different enough that I find I rather like it. I will have to start keeping kvass in my fridge when I put myself on a more reasonable food budget (this will probably happen Monday) and start eating more meals at home, the way Russians do.
Eventually, my feet felt well enough for me to venture out further into the city. I decided to go to the Old Arbat, the erstwhile center of bohemian Moscow, which I failed to see on my travels yesterday. From being the dwelling place of Pushkin and Turgenev, Old Arbat Ulitsa has fallen into being a pedestrian mall and general tourist trap. I gather that it is the place to go if you need a matrushka doll whose pieces all look like various players for the Green Bay Packers. I took a note to come back in order to buy a Chicago Cubs themed doll for a certain Cubs fan I know back home but otherwise to avoid the place.
While I was there, I sat down to eat, again. Right now, I am not concerned with how much I spend on food, because I think of this as a period of getting to know more about what Russian food is like so that I can figure out what to try to make for myself at home. I decided to go into Yelki Polki (the name literally means "fiddlesticks"), a Russian chain I had heard quite a bit about.
There, aside from blini and blinchiki (smaller blini fried after being filled), I saw various kinds of chicken cutlers, meatballs swimming in some kind of unappetizing sauce I was sure was dairy, and Russian salads of all description. I ended up paying 240 rubles (a bit under $10) for a chicken cutlet, potatoes, and a Pepsi. The cutlet was palatable but nothing particularly special.
No amount of time sitting, it seems, really makes my feet feel much better. So instad of exploring more of the area around Old Arbat, I decided to go home and rest for a while. On my way back, I stopped in at the grocery store across the street from my building and picked up my first (and last!) bottle of kefir. Kefir is a kind of soured yogurt drink the Russians are crazy about. I discovered that I'd sooner drink lighter fluid.
When I got home, I took off my shoes to discover I had developed an enormous callous on one of my big toes. I have not had one of these since my first week in New York as a Columbia freshman, when I found myself doing more walking than I ever had in my life. Right now, Moscow is much the same, since I am trying to find my away around and can't rely much on trams and trolleybuses, since I don't have any sense of where any of them go. It seems that I sit or lie down for an hour, find my feet somewhat better, walk for five minutes, and find my feet hurting as much as they did before I sat down in the first place. I think this feeling will go away after a few days, but for the time being, it's getting to be really irritating.
After a couple hours, I decided to go change some money and to grab another bite to eat. I finally figured out where to get the tram that will take me in the direction of my school, but also figured out that taking it costs 25 rubles (about one American buck). This is more than twice as much as the Metro, and since the walking time is only about 15 minutes, I don't imagine I will take the tram on any but the coldest days in Moscow.
Once I had changed money, I wound my way to a place called Vakzhal (Train Station), which my DOS had recommended to me as a place to eat closer than McDonald's. It is not, unfortunately, open for breakfast, but I decided it was worth a shot trying it for dinner. I ended up having some kind of meat filled with oil and parsley, more potatoes, and another glass of kvass. Not bad, but not worth the almost $10 I paid for it, either. I expect Vakzhal will not be a place I eat often.
The first stop was McDonald's. Here I had what I have had the last two days, blini with honey. Blini are, essentially, crepes. I am convinced that every country between Versailles and Vladivostok has some version of paper-thin pancakes stuffed with something. But the Russians are convinced that blini are uniquely theirs. Go figure.
There is no shortage of ways to serve blini in Russia, as I have found out in only a short time here. So far, I have had them with jam, honey, cheese, mushrooms, and salmon. There is a stall near the entrance to the Novoslobodskaya Metro station where I tend to get them (aside from McDonald's). Here they can be had with vegetables for as little as 80 rubles or with red caviar for as much as 180.
About 10:30, I went over to said blini stand and tried something they call a "blini e-mail", with cheese and mushrooms. Mushrooms are another Russian culinary obsession, as I've learned from perusing a few books on Russian culture. With it I downed my first serving of kvass, a nonalcoholic drink made from fermented rye. It tastes a little like beer, yet different enough that I find I rather like it. I will have to start keeping kvass in my fridge when I put myself on a more reasonable food budget (this will probably happen Monday) and start eating more meals at home, the way Russians do.
Eventually, my feet felt well enough for me to venture out further into the city. I decided to go to the Old Arbat, the erstwhile center of bohemian Moscow, which I failed to see on my travels yesterday. From being the dwelling place of Pushkin and Turgenev, Old Arbat Ulitsa has fallen into being a pedestrian mall and general tourist trap. I gather that it is the place to go if you need a matrushka doll whose pieces all look like various players for the Green Bay Packers. I took a note to come back in order to buy a Chicago Cubs themed doll for a certain Cubs fan I know back home but otherwise to avoid the place.
While I was there, I sat down to eat, again. Right now, I am not concerned with how much I spend on food, because I think of this as a period of getting to know more about what Russian food is like so that I can figure out what to try to make for myself at home. I decided to go into Yelki Polki (the name literally means "fiddlesticks"), a Russian chain I had heard quite a bit about.
There, aside from blini and blinchiki (smaller blini fried after being filled), I saw various kinds of chicken cutlers, meatballs swimming in some kind of unappetizing sauce I was sure was dairy, and Russian salads of all description. I ended up paying 240 rubles (a bit under $10) for a chicken cutlet, potatoes, and a Pepsi. The cutlet was palatable but nothing particularly special.
No amount of time sitting, it seems, really makes my feet feel much better. So instad of exploring more of the area around Old Arbat, I decided to go home and rest for a while. On my way back, I stopped in at the grocery store across the street from my building and picked up my first (and last!) bottle of kefir. Kefir is a kind of soured yogurt drink the Russians are crazy about. I discovered that I'd sooner drink lighter fluid.
When I got home, I took off my shoes to discover I had developed an enormous callous on one of my big toes. I have not had one of these since my first week in New York as a Columbia freshman, when I found myself doing more walking than I ever had in my life. Right now, Moscow is much the same, since I am trying to find my away around and can't rely much on trams and trolleybuses, since I don't have any sense of where any of them go. It seems that I sit or lie down for an hour, find my feet somewhat better, walk for five minutes, and find my feet hurting as much as they did before I sat down in the first place. I think this feeling will go away after a few days, but for the time being, it's getting to be really irritating.
After a couple hours, I decided to go change some money and to grab another bite to eat. I finally figured out where to get the tram that will take me in the direction of my school, but also figured out that taking it costs 25 rubles (about one American buck). This is more than twice as much as the Metro, and since the walking time is only about 15 minutes, I don't imagine I will take the tram on any but the coldest days in Moscow.
Once I had changed money, I wound my way to a place called Vakzhal (Train Station), which my DOS had recommended to me as a place to eat closer than McDonald's. It is not, unfortunately, open for breakfast, but I decided it was worth a shot trying it for dinner. I ended up having some kind of meat filled with oil and parsley, more potatoes, and another glass of kvass. Not bad, but not worth the almost $10 I paid for it, either. I expect Vakzhal will not be a place I eat often.
But When I Kissed the Cop Down at 34th and Bribe...
Before I came to Russia, I heard a lot of stories about how the militsiya (as the police are known in Russia) tended to hassle foreigners. I got the overall impression it was best to steer clear of them because they were always on the prowl to find ways to exort bribes by claiming your paperwork isn't in proper order.
Luckily, I have had no brushes with the police, and I have learned, to my infinite delight, that most of what I have heard about the police hassling foreigners is untrue. Over lunch ysterday, George urged me strongly to stay away from the Kremlin until my passport and visa are returned from processing. In Russia, tourists have to undergo registration upon arrival. This is not a complicated process, but it does take a day or so for a visa sponsor (usually a hotel) to complete.
Well, naturally, tourists coming to Moscow usually head out to the Kremlin as their first foray, often the day after their arrival while their paperwork is being processed. This creates an opportunity for the police around the Kremlin to seek bribes from well-meaning people who are attempting to obey the law.
On the other hand, George gave me to understand that most of what I had heard was pretty far from the truth. Police really don't bother foreigners unless they create some kind of disturbance, usually by being drunk and disorderly in public. I'm not sure what the fuss is about in this regard; I really don't know of any place where people, tourists or otherwise, are not arrested or fined for being drunk and disorderly in public. The only person he knew who had had any trouble with the police was a friend who, in a state of inebriation, kissed a member of the militsiya.
What I have found to be true about the police, however, is that they are everywhere. And, it seems, everywhere in large groups, standing around smoking or making chit-chat with each other. I am beginning to wonder what it is the police in Moscow actually do, because, with the exception of the riot police out to keep order at the Victory Day Parade yesterday, I have yet to see many who looked as though they were doing anything.
Luckily, I have had no brushes with the police, and I have learned, to my infinite delight, that most of what I have heard about the police hassling foreigners is untrue. Over lunch ysterday, George urged me strongly to stay away from the Kremlin until my passport and visa are returned from processing. In Russia, tourists have to undergo registration upon arrival. This is not a complicated process, but it does take a day or so for a visa sponsor (usually a hotel) to complete.
Well, naturally, tourists coming to Moscow usually head out to the Kremlin as their first foray, often the day after their arrival while their paperwork is being processed. This creates an opportunity for the police around the Kremlin to seek bribes from well-meaning people who are attempting to obey the law.
On the other hand, George gave me to understand that most of what I had heard was pretty far from the truth. Police really don't bother foreigners unless they create some kind of disturbance, usually by being drunk and disorderly in public. I'm not sure what the fuss is about in this regard; I really don't know of any place where people, tourists or otherwise, are not arrested or fined for being drunk and disorderly in public. The only person he knew who had had any trouble with the police was a friend who, in a state of inebriation, kissed a member of the militsiya.
What I have found to be true about the police, however, is that they are everywhere. And, it seems, everywhere in large groups, standing around smoking or making chit-chat with each other. I am beginning to wonder what it is the police in Moscow actually do, because, with the exception of the riot police out to keep order at the Victory Day Parade yesterday, I have yet to see many who looked as though they were doing anything.
Give Us This Day Our Daily Shampoo
Abortive though my time in Taiwan may have been, it has given me one advantage now that I am in Russia: it gives me something to compare my new cultural adjustment to.
The first, and best, comparison I can make is how professionally I have been handled by my school in Russia, compared with how poorly Ruby and Eve handled my transition. I was brought to my apartment immediately upon arrival and given the opportunity to sleep. Granted, this occurred partly because of the time of day I arrived. Had I come in the morning, I almost certainly would have been brought to the school first to have photographs taken and start the process of getting documents processed. Ruby, on the other hand, brought me first to her apartment (Shane's website had indicated I would be placed in a hotel until I found an apartment) and insisted on my having lunch with her and Eve when I felt as if I could barely stand up straight.
I have also done a bit better with the language. I can at least get the woman behind the ticket window in the Metro or the person at the blini stand to understand what I want, though it's obvious from the looks they give me that my pronunciation is pretty bad. It does make me feel better adjusted to be able to get these kinds of basic needs met.
On the other hand, not all compares favorably. My personal hygiene went to pot after my arrival in Russia, I am sorry to say, in a way it did not in Taiwan. The second day I was in Taiwan, Ruby took me shopping for basic toiletries, so I never lacked the means of keeping myself clean.
Here in Russia, however, I've had a bag go missing, and that bag contained such essential items as my undershirts, my underwear, my socks, and my electric razor. So for the time being, I am going without undershirts, am wearing underwear for two days at a time before washing it out in the sink, giving my three pairs of socks a quick nighttime rinse in the sink before leaving them to dry on a steam pipe, and am going unshaved until I can figure out where to buy a safety razor. Shaving cream seems to be on sale everywhere, but I have yet to see actual razors on sale with them, as would be common Stateside. I don't relish the thought of shaving with a manual razor. I've always done horribly with them, but unless my bag shows up quickly, and unless I can find some plug adaptors that aren't too bulky to stay in the socket, I may have to learn to make do. All part of the adventure, I suppose.
Yesterday, when I got lost in the Beliy Gorod, I made my first foray into an apteka, the Russian equivalent of a pharmacy. There, I finally found something else I had been lacking--shampoo! Since arriving in Russia, I had not been able to get my hair clean. The first night, I had nothing to use; what my roommate does for shampoo, I know not, but there was none in our bathroom. Thursday night, I resorted to trying to wash my hair out with body soap. The results were not favorable.
So this makes the first day since I got here that I am enjoying the luxury of clean hair. Stateside and in Taiwan, I washed my hair daily. I expect I will be a bit more conservative here, since shampoo seems to be relatively expensive. A fairly small bottle of Head and Shoulders at the apteka cost almost the equivalent of $5.00 U.S. That may not seem like much, but on a $1000 a month salary, things like this add up. Until I can find a cheaper Russian equivalent, daily hair washing may be out.
The first, and best, comparison I can make is how professionally I have been handled by my school in Russia, compared with how poorly Ruby and Eve handled my transition. I was brought to my apartment immediately upon arrival and given the opportunity to sleep. Granted, this occurred partly because of the time of day I arrived. Had I come in the morning, I almost certainly would have been brought to the school first to have photographs taken and start the process of getting documents processed. Ruby, on the other hand, brought me first to her apartment (Shane's website had indicated I would be placed in a hotel until I found an apartment) and insisted on my having lunch with her and Eve when I felt as if I could barely stand up straight.
I have also done a bit better with the language. I can at least get the woman behind the ticket window in the Metro or the person at the blini stand to understand what I want, though it's obvious from the looks they give me that my pronunciation is pretty bad. It does make me feel better adjusted to be able to get these kinds of basic needs met.
On the other hand, not all compares favorably. My personal hygiene went to pot after my arrival in Russia, I am sorry to say, in a way it did not in Taiwan. The second day I was in Taiwan, Ruby took me shopping for basic toiletries, so I never lacked the means of keeping myself clean.
Here in Russia, however, I've had a bag go missing, and that bag contained such essential items as my undershirts, my underwear, my socks, and my electric razor. So for the time being, I am going without undershirts, am wearing underwear for two days at a time before washing it out in the sink, giving my three pairs of socks a quick nighttime rinse in the sink before leaving them to dry on a steam pipe, and am going unshaved until I can figure out where to buy a safety razor. Shaving cream seems to be on sale everywhere, but I have yet to see actual razors on sale with them, as would be common Stateside. I don't relish the thought of shaving with a manual razor. I've always done horribly with them, but unless my bag shows up quickly, and unless I can find some plug adaptors that aren't too bulky to stay in the socket, I may have to learn to make do. All part of the adventure, I suppose.
Yesterday, when I got lost in the Beliy Gorod, I made my first foray into an apteka, the Russian equivalent of a pharmacy. There, I finally found something else I had been lacking--shampoo! Since arriving in Russia, I had not been able to get my hair clean. The first night, I had nothing to use; what my roommate does for shampoo, I know not, but there was none in our bathroom. Thursday night, I resorted to trying to wash my hair out with body soap. The results were not favorable.
So this makes the first day since I got here that I am enjoying the luxury of clean hair. Stateside and in Taiwan, I washed my hair daily. I expect I will be a bit more conservative here, since shampoo seems to be relatively expensive. A fairly small bottle of Head and Shoulders at the apteka cost almost the equivalent of $5.00 U.S. That may not seem like much, but on a $1000 a month salary, things like this add up. Until I can find a cheaper Russian equivalent, daily hair washing may be out.
Orange and Black
I did a little looking on the internet and was finally able to find out the story behind the orange and black ribbons worn (and strapped to backpacks, car antennas, and everything else in sight) on Victory Day in Russia.
Apparently, orange and black were the colors of the medal of St. George, given out in tsarist times for acts of military heroism. The colors were revived after the Second World War as part of the general revival of nationalism the war brought in its wake. After the war ended, orange and black ribbons were given out not only to all military personnel but to all person working in defense plants or otherwise engaged in the war effort (I imagine this must have been most of the adult population of the Soviet Union at the time).
Apparently, orange and black were the colors of the medal of St. George, given out in tsarist times for acts of military heroism. The colors were revived after the Second World War as part of the general revival of nationalism the war brought in its wake. After the war ended, orange and black ribbons were given out not only to all military personnel but to all person working in defense plants or otherwise engaged in the war effort (I imagine this must have been most of the adult population of the Soviet Union at the time).
Your Hit-or-Miss Parade
Well, the Victory Day Parade was not all I had hoped it would be. I got to the place on Tverskaya Ulitsa I had been told was the best spot to see the parade around 7:30. By 11:30, it had not even begun! Crowds of eager Russians, and not a few tourists, lined both sides of the streets and craned their necks upward anytime a rumbling (usually a police car) seemed to indicate something was about to happen. But nothing. Then nothing. Then nothing again.
All I got to see, after all of that time, was a quick flyover by a few military planes, followed in short order by some tanks and missile trucks heading what would usually be the wrong way up Tverskaya Ulitsa.
Nonetheless, the experience of going wasn't a total bust. I got to snap a couple photos of an old-timer dressed up in his wartime Soviet military uniform. When I asked in Russian to take his photograph, he started off on what I could only guess was a half-baked bit of communist propaganda before I told him I spoke very little Russian. But when I told him I was an American, he responded, very enthusiastically, "USA, Good! Good!" in what I gathered was probably about all the English he knew.
All over the city yesterday, I saw old men dressed up in their military duds, just as I remember seeing them on PBS and History Channel retrospectives of the Second World War. Maybe the Communist times aren't so far gone after all.
About the time the parade ended, a nice fellow who looked to be about in his late thirties or early forties came up and introduced himself to me--in English. When he asked if I were I tourist, I told him I was in Moscow to teach English and had just arrived a couple of days ago. He said his name was George and that he too was an English teacher, at a different language school.
We ended up having lunch together at what he told me was the first McDonald's in Russia. I would have preferred to go nearly anywhere else, as I have had McDonald's for breakfast every day I have been in Russia so far (nothing else really being open when I get up at 6:00 in the morning...curse this jet lag!). George told me he had been in Russia about a year and a half and had come after a short stint in Japan. He gave me a bit of the low-down on where to buy things like housewares.
After we ate, we walked down toward the Arbat, the pre-revolutionary center of Moscow's bohemian life but now a basic tourist trap. Before we parted, he gave me his e-mail address, which I somehow managed to lose in the course of the day. But since I know which school he teaches with, I should be able to find him again, one way or another.
The rest of the day I tried to do more of the tourist bit. I went back to the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, this time venturing into the museum. None of what was on display had any descriptions in English, but I got to see some of the artwork from the original, pre-Stalin cathedral, as well as pictures of the planned Palace of the Soviets.
After that, I had a quick blini with salmon from a street stall and made my way into the Beliy Gorod, the area surrounding the Kremlin and Red Square. My plan was to find the Grand Choral Synagogue for Friday night services, but between getting lost and my feet making clear they wanted to go no further, I decided it was time to head home.
All I got to see, after all of that time, was a quick flyover by a few military planes, followed in short order by some tanks and missile trucks heading what would usually be the wrong way up Tverskaya Ulitsa.
Nonetheless, the experience of going wasn't a total bust. I got to snap a couple photos of an old-timer dressed up in his wartime Soviet military uniform. When I asked in Russian to take his photograph, he started off on what I could only guess was a half-baked bit of communist propaganda before I told him I spoke very little Russian. But when I told him I was an American, he responded, very enthusiastically, "USA, Good! Good!" in what I gathered was probably about all the English he knew.
All over the city yesterday, I saw old men dressed up in their military duds, just as I remember seeing them on PBS and History Channel retrospectives of the Second World War. Maybe the Communist times aren't so far gone after all.
About the time the parade ended, a nice fellow who looked to be about in his late thirties or early forties came up and introduced himself to me--in English. When he asked if I were I tourist, I told him I was in Moscow to teach English and had just arrived a couple of days ago. He said his name was George and that he too was an English teacher, at a different language school.
We ended up having lunch together at what he told me was the first McDonald's in Russia. I would have preferred to go nearly anywhere else, as I have had McDonald's for breakfast every day I have been in Russia so far (nothing else really being open when I get up at 6:00 in the morning...curse this jet lag!). George told me he had been in Russia about a year and a half and had come after a short stint in Japan. He gave me a bit of the low-down on where to buy things like housewares.
After we ate, we walked down toward the Arbat, the pre-revolutionary center of Moscow's bohemian life but now a basic tourist trap. Before we parted, he gave me his e-mail address, which I somehow managed to lose in the course of the day. But since I know which school he teaches with, I should be able to find him again, one way or another.
The rest of the day I tried to do more of the tourist bit. I went back to the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, this time venturing into the museum. None of what was on display had any descriptions in English, but I got to see some of the artwork from the original, pre-Stalin cathedral, as well as pictures of the planned Palace of the Soviets.
After that, I had a quick blini with salmon from a street stall and made my way into the Beliy Gorod, the area surrounding the Kremlin and Red Square. My plan was to find the Grand Choral Synagogue for Friday night services, but between getting lost and my feet making clear they wanted to go no further, I decided it was time to head home.
09 May 2008
Cathedral 2.0
When I ventured onto the Metro for the first time yeseterday, my initial plan had been to go tour Red Square. Finding my way to Ploshad Revolyutsii was not at all difficult, but on exiting the station, I found that Red Square had been cordoned off in preparation for the Victory Day celebrations. A major parade takes place in Moscow on Victory Day, but only a select, invited few get to view the parade in Red Square. I will be going to Tverskaya Ulitsa later today to try to view today's military men and graying veterans on parade.
Nonetheless, I spent a few minutes walking around in the vicinity of Red Square. I walked into TsUM, the less famous cousin of well-known department store GUM, but quickly walked out again. The signs for Dior and Chanel told me there was nothing there to see that I could not see at any upscale department store in the States. I walked past the Bolshoi Theatre (currently undergoing renovations) and eventually wound my way back to the Metro.
Disappointed at not getting to see the Kremlin, I looked at my Metro map to try to decide where to go next. I decided in favor of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, of which I had read quite a bit before my arrival.
The backstory on this cathedral is quite interesting. Stalin had the original cathedral demolished in 1933 as part of a grand plan for remaking central Moscow in a Soviet image. In its place was to be built a monstrosity known as the Palace of the Soviets, which was to house a library, a hall for meetings of the Party Congress, and other "people's" attractions.
A competition was held to design the Palace. A winner was chosen, but Stalin repeatedly insisted on ever-more elaborate visions of the Palace. The final design called for a 100-foot statue of Lenin to stand above a hollow hall that was to be used for meetings of the Party Congress. Given the construction techniques of the day, it could not have been built, and I have read that, even with advances in construction that have taken place since then, it could barely be built now.
Work on the project began just before the outbreak of World War II or, as it known in Russia, the Great Patriotic War. A foundation was laid, but the steel in it was quickly taken out to be used as scrap for armament. Nevertheless, fake footage of the completed Palace was shown in many Soviet wartime propaganda films. Stalin always did have a fast and loose relationship with the truth!
After the war, work on the Palace of the Soviets did not resume, for reasons that are not entirely clear to me. The Metro station built near the construction site, which had originally been named Palace of the Soviets, was renamed Kropotkinskaya, the name it retains to this day. The foundation was turned into a giant open-air swimming pool. Periodically, people were murdered in the pool because mists made it easy for assailants to attack without being seen. The devout said the murders were divine retribution for the Cathedral's destruction.
The fall of communism has brought with it a revival of the Orthodox Church in Moscow. This revival leds to demands that the Cathedral of Christ the Savior be rebuilt, which it was over a period of five years, from 1995 to 2000. So what visitors to Moscow see is version 2.0 of the cathedral.
Looking at the Cathedral's exterior, one would not guess that it is a reconstruction. About the only clue that the building is of recent vintage is its general cleanliness. Its gold-coated onion domes shine with full luster. Its white marble walls are free of smoke.
Because I reached the Cathedral relatively late in the day, I did not venture inside. My guidebook indicates that there is a museum below the building dedicated to its history, as well as to the story of the Palace of the Soviets. Perhaps this will be a good excursion for after the parade today.
Nonetheless, I spent a few minutes walking around in the vicinity of Red Square. I walked into TsUM, the less famous cousin of well-known department store GUM, but quickly walked out again. The signs for Dior and Chanel told me there was nothing there to see that I could not see at any upscale department store in the States. I walked past the Bolshoi Theatre (currently undergoing renovations) and eventually wound my way back to the Metro.
Disappointed at not getting to see the Kremlin, I looked at my Metro map to try to decide where to go next. I decided in favor of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior, of which I had read quite a bit before my arrival.
The backstory on this cathedral is quite interesting. Stalin had the original cathedral demolished in 1933 as part of a grand plan for remaking central Moscow in a Soviet image. In its place was to be built a monstrosity known as the Palace of the Soviets, which was to house a library, a hall for meetings of the Party Congress, and other "people's" attractions.
A competition was held to design the Palace. A winner was chosen, but Stalin repeatedly insisted on ever-more elaborate visions of the Palace. The final design called for a 100-foot statue of Lenin to stand above a hollow hall that was to be used for meetings of the Party Congress. Given the construction techniques of the day, it could not have been built, and I have read that, even with advances in construction that have taken place since then, it could barely be built now.
Work on the project began just before the outbreak of World War II or, as it known in Russia, the Great Patriotic War. A foundation was laid, but the steel in it was quickly taken out to be used as scrap for armament. Nevertheless, fake footage of the completed Palace was shown in many Soviet wartime propaganda films. Stalin always did have a fast and loose relationship with the truth!
After the war, work on the Palace of the Soviets did not resume, for reasons that are not entirely clear to me. The Metro station built near the construction site, which had originally been named Palace of the Soviets, was renamed Kropotkinskaya, the name it retains to this day. The foundation was turned into a giant open-air swimming pool. Periodically, people were murdered in the pool because mists made it easy for assailants to attack without being seen. The devout said the murders were divine retribution for the Cathedral's destruction.
The fall of communism has brought with it a revival of the Orthodox Church in Moscow. This revival leds to demands that the Cathedral of Christ the Savior be rebuilt, which it was over a period of five years, from 1995 to 2000. So what visitors to Moscow see is version 2.0 of the cathedral.
Looking at the Cathedral's exterior, one would not guess that it is a reconstruction. About the only clue that the building is of recent vintage is its general cleanliness. Its gold-coated onion domes shine with full luster. Its white marble walls are free of smoke.
Because I reached the Cathedral relatively late in the day, I did not venture inside. My guidebook indicates that there is a museum below the building dedicated to its history, as well as to the story of the Palace of the Soviets. Perhaps this will be a good excursion for after the parade today.
Wheels Within Wheels
Yesterday, I met with my DOS again to discuss various issues relating to teachng I had been too jet lagged to discuss my first day. I was also given some news about a switch in my assignment. For the first two weeks, at least, I will be teaching not in-company but in a branch school, covering for a teacher who is stuck in Britain because of visa complications. My DOS felt this might be a better way for me to start, since working in-company will mean a lot of traveling around on the Moscow Metro. Getting around Moscow is hard enough for Russians, she felt, and I needed time to get acclimated before I started such a hectic traveling schedule.
Moscow is arranged essentially as a series of rings; imagine the rings in a tree trunk, and you will have a rough idea of the layout of the city. The center is, of couse, Red Square, and the entire city radiates out from it. There is no grid of the kind found in New York or other American cities. Streets seem to wind every which way, and there is no clear naming convention of any kind. So finding your way around can be difficult.
On the other hand, I took my first venture into the Moscow Metro yesterday afternoon and found it a delightful experience. I have the general impression that Moscow's Metro system is about the only thing the Soviets built that actually works the way it was intended to. Trains come about every two minutes, which seems miraculous to me after years of enduring the vagaries of New York's MTA. Nothing seems to be very from anything else when one takes the Metro.
The system, like the city, is also arranged around the ring. There is one line that goes around the center city in a continuous loop, known as the Ring Line. Other lines go into and through it like spokes on a wheel. Traveling on it can pose some challenges to a newcomer, because station names are not always clearly marked. This fact makes it necessary to follow along a map as you go or to try to make sense of the Russian intercom announcements. My Russian is not yet up to the latter task, though I can read Cyrillic names on maps with ease.
An additional challenge is that a station may be known by different names on different lines; for instance, the station closest to Red Square is called Okhotniy Ryad, Teatralnaya, and Revolutioniy Ploshad (Revolutionary Square) on the different lines that run through it. This naming system can make transfers confusing.
The Metro is, nonetheless, a work of art unto itself. The stations are buried deep underground, partly because the land under Moscow is rather marshy, but also because the planners feared the destruction a German air attack might have on what they knew would be a vital transit system. The stations I have seen so far are all examples of what is sometimes called "Stalinist Gothic" style--essentially, a throwback to late Victorianism with a lot of hammers and sickles thrown in.
I made a point of going to a few stations that were not strictly on my itinerary for the day (more on that in a later post). Of these, the most elegant by far was Komosolskaya Station. Named after the Communist youth organization to which virtually all Soviet children belonged, the station is now the center of what my guidebook described as a rather seedy area into which I did not venture. The station, however, retains its pre-perestroika elegance and is replete with chandeliers, dental moldings, and mosaics of figures in Russian history.
Moscow is arranged essentially as a series of rings; imagine the rings in a tree trunk, and you will have a rough idea of the layout of the city. The center is, of couse, Red Square, and the entire city radiates out from it. There is no grid of the kind found in New York or other American cities. Streets seem to wind every which way, and there is no clear naming convention of any kind. So finding your way around can be difficult.
On the other hand, I took my first venture into the Moscow Metro yesterday afternoon and found it a delightful experience. I have the general impression that Moscow's Metro system is about the only thing the Soviets built that actually works the way it was intended to. Trains come about every two minutes, which seems miraculous to me after years of enduring the vagaries of New York's MTA. Nothing seems to be very from anything else when one takes the Metro.
The system, like the city, is also arranged around the ring. There is one line that goes around the center city in a continuous loop, known as the Ring Line. Other lines go into and through it like spokes on a wheel. Traveling on it can pose some challenges to a newcomer, because station names are not always clearly marked. This fact makes it necessary to follow along a map as you go or to try to make sense of the Russian intercom announcements. My Russian is not yet up to the latter task, though I can read Cyrillic names on maps with ease.
An additional challenge is that a station may be known by different names on different lines; for instance, the station closest to Red Square is called Okhotniy Ryad, Teatralnaya, and Revolutioniy Ploshad (Revolutionary Square) on the different lines that run through it. This naming system can make transfers confusing.
The Metro is, nonetheless, a work of art unto itself. The stations are buried deep underground, partly because the land under Moscow is rather marshy, but also because the planners feared the destruction a German air attack might have on what they knew would be a vital transit system. The stations I have seen so far are all examples of what is sometimes called "Stalinist Gothic" style--essentially, a throwback to late Victorianism with a lot of hammers and sickles thrown in.
I made a point of going to a few stations that were not strictly on my itinerary for the day (more on that in a later post). Of these, the most elegant by far was Komosolskaya Station. Named after the Communist youth organization to which virtually all Soviet children belonged, the station is now the center of what my guidebook described as a rather seedy area into which I did not venture. The station, however, retains its pre-perestroika elegance and is replete with chandeliers, dental moldings, and mosaics of figures in Russian history.
08 May 2008
Eight Time Zones from Princeton, New Jersey
Yesterday, when my director of studies took me to get the SIM card for my cell phone, the saleslady gave me a little strip of orange-and-black-striped cloth. Being eight time zones away from Princeton, I found this a bit odd, and asked my DOS what the story was with the colors.
She explained that, on Victory Day, people put these strips of cloth on their clothes and bags, and that orange and black were some sort of military colors. I guessed they might be the colors of the brigade, batallion, or whatever that defended Moscow when the Germans attempted to capture it. She couldn't be more specific, for lack of the right English vocabulary. Her English is flawless, but I imagine that complicated words for military things don't figure much in her life and so she hasn't had any need to learn them.
I think it says a lot about the state of Russia that I was handed this orange-and-black cloth in a cell phone store. Intellectually, I know I shouldn't judge too much about the condition of Russia from what I see in Moscow; something like 80 percent of the country's wealth is centered in the capital, and conditions are doubtless far more modern here than elsewhere. But from what I have seen so far, it would be impossible to guess that a mere 20 years ago, this was a place where people stood in line for potatoes. Or that ten years ago, it was a place where thousands of people were losing their life savings in an intense financial crisis.
On the streets of Moscow, communism appears to be dead. Completely dead. 100 percent dead. Deader than the corpse in Lenin's tomb (which skeptics say is mostly plastic these days). Leningradskiy Prospect, the main thoroughfare into town from Sheremetyevo Airport, is lined not with slogans about Five Year plans but with Audi dealerships and advertisements for luxury clothing brands. If it were not for all the Cyrillic signage, Novoslobodskaya Street, where my school's headquarters are located, could be a street in any European capital.
Fast food outlets and Western-style restaurants abound. Just along Novoslobodskaya, I can find McDonald's, Yolki Polki (a Russian fast food outlet), and of course, TGI Friday's--not to mention the internet cafe where I am writing this, which is indistinguishable from any internet cafe in Taiwan or New York. English business terms are filtering into the language in which Five Year Plans were once written--the most egregious being beezneez lanch (business lunch).
It's hard to know what all this means. Putin's puppet may be the new leader of Russia, and the country may be sliding back into unfreedom.
But whatever form this unfreedom takes, it won't involve standing in line for potatoes.
She explained that, on Victory Day, people put these strips of cloth on their clothes and bags, and that orange and black were some sort of military colors. I guessed they might be the colors of the brigade, batallion, or whatever that defended Moscow when the Germans attempted to capture it. She couldn't be more specific, for lack of the right English vocabulary. Her English is flawless, but I imagine that complicated words for military things don't figure much in her life and so she hasn't had any need to learn them.
I think it says a lot about the state of Russia that I was handed this orange-and-black cloth in a cell phone store. Intellectually, I know I shouldn't judge too much about the condition of Russia from what I see in Moscow; something like 80 percent of the country's wealth is centered in the capital, and conditions are doubtless far more modern here than elsewhere. But from what I have seen so far, it would be impossible to guess that a mere 20 years ago, this was a place where people stood in line for potatoes. Or that ten years ago, it was a place where thousands of people were losing their life savings in an intense financial crisis.
On the streets of Moscow, communism appears to be dead. Completely dead. 100 percent dead. Deader than the corpse in Lenin's tomb (which skeptics say is mostly plastic these days). Leningradskiy Prospect, the main thoroughfare into town from Sheremetyevo Airport, is lined not with slogans about Five Year plans but with Audi dealerships and advertisements for luxury clothing brands. If it were not for all the Cyrillic signage, Novoslobodskaya Street, where my school's headquarters are located, could be a street in any European capital.
Fast food outlets and Western-style restaurants abound. Just along Novoslobodskaya, I can find McDonald's, Yolki Polki (a Russian fast food outlet), and of course, TGI Friday's--not to mention the internet cafe where I am writing this, which is indistinguishable from any internet cafe in Taiwan or New York. English business terms are filtering into the language in which Five Year Plans were once written--the most egregious being beezneez lanch (business lunch).
It's hard to know what all this means. Putin's puppet may be the new leader of Russia, and the country may be sliding back into unfreedom.
But whatever form this unfreedom takes, it won't involve standing in line for potatoes.
Searching for a "B" Key
You know you're tired when finding the "B" key on a computer keyboard takes five minutes.
I just spent that five minutes in an internet cafe on Novoslobodskaya Street, the location of my school's central offices as well as the resource center where I will be doing my lesson plans. I arrived in Moscow about 36 hours ago and find myself still in the throes of jet lag. Yesterday, I went to bed at 5:00 in the afternoon (9:00 in the morning in New York, 8:00 in the morning in Kansas), and awoke this morning at about half past one. I remained in bed wool gathering until dawn broke at 5:00, when I decided to set out in search of an internet connection and something to eat.
Jet lag will definitely take some time to conquer, but luckily, I have more than ample time. We are in the midst of the May holidays in Russia, which extend from May 1st (May Day--not called that any more now that Russia has jettisoned communism) to Victory Day (May 9th--the day celebrating Russia's victory over Germany in the Second World War). I will not have to start work until the 13th or 14th, which gives me time to get back to a more normal schedule.
Aside from having a suitcase go missing, my arrival in Moscow was uneventful. I easily found my way through baggage claims, the lost luggage office of Scandinavian Airlines, and customs, after which I was met by a representative of my school and the woman who will be my academic manager. They whisked me away in a Ford minivan of some sort to the apartment that will be my home for the duration of my stay here.
I cannot say much for the apartment. It looks like a typical graduate-student apartment in Washington Heights, which is to say rather ugly and barely furnished. I was disappointed to find that it has no washing machine, which means I will either have to learn to hand-wash in the tub (the usual Russian way of doing laundry, I am told) or make friends with a teacher who has a washer. The apartment has one slight Russian quirk in that the toilet and bathtub are not located in the same room. I find this Russian preference in arrangements quite practical; it means I don't have to worry about needing the bathroom desperately when my roommate is in the shower.
Speaking of my roommate, he is a fellow about my age from South Africa. So far, he has been in Russia about eight months but has plans to leave when his contract expires next month. Who will replace him is anybody's guess. But for the time being, we are getting along reasonably well. He helped me find my way to the supermarket the day I arrived and to the school central office yesterday. I cannot tell one way or the other whether we have much in common, but I have no reason to support we will be unable to live together.
My first full day in Moscow was taken up with administrative chores. The school had me come in to sign my contract, to have photographs taken for a visa extension, and to meet with my director of studies. I will be an in-company teacher, which means that I will be teaching primarily businessmen in their offices. In the short run, this will make my life stressful, since it will mean a lot of finding my way around town on the Moscow Metro. But my meeting with my director of studies made clear that I will have far better academic support and far better resources available to me for teaching than I had in Taiwan. I also obtained a SIM card at a local cell phone store and was given a phone by the school. Then my director took me to lunch at--of all places--TGI Friday's. My first real meal in Russia consisted of American-style chicken fingers!
Today, I meet further with my director of studies to finish up some things we did not get done yesterday when it became obvious to her that my jet lag was getting the better of me and I needed to go home and sleep. I also expect to get onto the Metro for the first time--I hope to do a little shopping, as the suitcase that has gone astray is the one containing all of my underwear. It was fortunate I packed a couple of days' extra underwear in a carry-on bag.
More later. I smell freshly brewed coffee!
I just spent that five minutes in an internet cafe on Novoslobodskaya Street, the location of my school's central offices as well as the resource center where I will be doing my lesson plans. I arrived in Moscow about 36 hours ago and find myself still in the throes of jet lag. Yesterday, I went to bed at 5:00 in the afternoon (9:00 in the morning in New York, 8:00 in the morning in Kansas), and awoke this morning at about half past one. I remained in bed wool gathering until dawn broke at 5:00, when I decided to set out in search of an internet connection and something to eat.
Jet lag will definitely take some time to conquer, but luckily, I have more than ample time. We are in the midst of the May holidays in Russia, which extend from May 1st (May Day--not called that any more now that Russia has jettisoned communism) to Victory Day (May 9th--the day celebrating Russia's victory over Germany in the Second World War). I will not have to start work until the 13th or 14th, which gives me time to get back to a more normal schedule.
Aside from having a suitcase go missing, my arrival in Moscow was uneventful. I easily found my way through baggage claims, the lost luggage office of Scandinavian Airlines, and customs, after which I was met by a representative of my school and the woman who will be my academic manager. They whisked me away in a Ford minivan of some sort to the apartment that will be my home for the duration of my stay here.
I cannot say much for the apartment. It looks like a typical graduate-student apartment in Washington Heights, which is to say rather ugly and barely furnished. I was disappointed to find that it has no washing machine, which means I will either have to learn to hand-wash in the tub (the usual Russian way of doing laundry, I am told) or make friends with a teacher who has a washer. The apartment has one slight Russian quirk in that the toilet and bathtub are not located in the same room. I find this Russian preference in arrangements quite practical; it means I don't have to worry about needing the bathroom desperately when my roommate is in the shower.
Speaking of my roommate, he is a fellow about my age from South Africa. So far, he has been in Russia about eight months but has plans to leave when his contract expires next month. Who will replace him is anybody's guess. But for the time being, we are getting along reasonably well. He helped me find my way to the supermarket the day I arrived and to the school central office yesterday. I cannot tell one way or the other whether we have much in common, but I have no reason to support we will be unable to live together.
My first full day in Moscow was taken up with administrative chores. The school had me come in to sign my contract, to have photographs taken for a visa extension, and to meet with my director of studies. I will be an in-company teacher, which means that I will be teaching primarily businessmen in their offices. In the short run, this will make my life stressful, since it will mean a lot of finding my way around town on the Moscow Metro. But my meeting with my director of studies made clear that I will have far better academic support and far better resources available to me for teaching than I had in Taiwan. I also obtained a SIM card at a local cell phone store and was given a phone by the school. Then my director took me to lunch at--of all places--TGI Friday's. My first real meal in Russia consisted of American-style chicken fingers!
Today, I meet further with my director of studies to finish up some things we did not get done yesterday when it became obvious to her that my jet lag was getting the better of me and I needed to go home and sleep. I also expect to get onto the Metro for the first time--I hope to do a little shopping, as the suitcase that has gone astray is the one containing all of my underwear. It was fortunate I packed a couple of days' extra underwear in a carry-on bag.
More later. I smell freshly brewed coffee!
04 May 2008
Back in the Saddle Again
Tomorrow night will be my last night under my parents' roof, at least for the time being. A long journey awaits me before I reach Moscow. First, my mother and I will drive three and a half hours to the airport in Kansas City, where I will board a plane to Chicago at 6:45 at night. In Chicago, I transfer to a flight to Copenhagen, where I will get on the plane that will take me to Moscow.
I still have some loose ends to take care of before I leave. Some books need to be returned to the library. My bags still need to be packed, and I will have to figure out how to get a few books and two weeks' worth of clothes into two suitcases, hopefully in a way that will not result in too large an assessment for excess baggage. And I need to gather together some paperwork I will need to present my school upon arrival.
All in all, though, I am looking forward to this adventure. I have every confidence that things will work out better in Russia than they did in Taiwan. I am not going to be a brand new teacher at a brand new school. I will be teaching adults. I will not be in an isolated situation where I am practically the only English speaker. And most importantly, I will be in a place where I have proper academic support and guidance, not two shysters who are always on the lookout for an excuse to get rid of me.
There is still a lot I don't know about what my situation in Moscow will be. I have no clear idea where I will be living, other than that it will most likely be in shared accommodations with another teacher at my school. I do not yet know whether my work will be primarily in-school or in-company.
But I know that whatever the particulars end up being, I will find a way to make it work. For the first time, I am going somewhere I really want to be going, to do something I really want to be doing. When I went to Taiwan, I went primarily because my life had fallen apart in New York and I felt I had no other choice. But Moscow is different. I have always wanted to see Russia, and this is likely to be my only chance to do so. This I can actually look at as an adventure, not an exile. And an adventure that is part of a bigger plan, as I have a definite plan to attend graduate school next fall and will continue to work towards that during my time in Russia.
Most of all, I look forward to being back in the saddle again, to being part of the world I have been out of for the last four months, and was out of for a year and a half before I left for Taiwan. I have had a tendency to fall into situations that isolate me from life. But I am going to work hard not to fall into isolation in Russia. I will have other teachers around me and will do my best to befriend them. I will find ways to get out on the weekends and not shut myself up in my apartment.
And I will come back home, far richer for the experience of having left.
I still have some loose ends to take care of before I leave. Some books need to be returned to the library. My bags still need to be packed, and I will have to figure out how to get a few books and two weeks' worth of clothes into two suitcases, hopefully in a way that will not result in too large an assessment for excess baggage. And I need to gather together some paperwork I will need to present my school upon arrival.
All in all, though, I am looking forward to this adventure. I have every confidence that things will work out better in Russia than they did in Taiwan. I am not going to be a brand new teacher at a brand new school. I will be teaching adults. I will not be in an isolated situation where I am practically the only English speaker. And most importantly, I will be in a place where I have proper academic support and guidance, not two shysters who are always on the lookout for an excuse to get rid of me.
There is still a lot I don't know about what my situation in Moscow will be. I have no clear idea where I will be living, other than that it will most likely be in shared accommodations with another teacher at my school. I do not yet know whether my work will be primarily in-school or in-company.
But I know that whatever the particulars end up being, I will find a way to make it work. For the first time, I am going somewhere I really want to be going, to do something I really want to be doing. When I went to Taiwan, I went primarily because my life had fallen apart in New York and I felt I had no other choice. But Moscow is different. I have always wanted to see Russia, and this is likely to be my only chance to do so. This I can actually look at as an adventure, not an exile. And an adventure that is part of a bigger plan, as I have a definite plan to attend graduate school next fall and will continue to work towards that during my time in Russia.
Most of all, I look forward to being back in the saddle again, to being part of the world I have been out of for the last four months, and was out of for a year and a half before I left for Taiwan. I have had a tendency to fall into situations that isolate me from life. But I am going to work hard not to fall into isolation in Russia. I will have other teachers around me and will do my best to befriend them. I will find ways to get out on the weekends and not shut myself up in my apartment.
And I will come back home, far richer for the experience of having left.
01 May 2008
Don't Leave Home Without It
A few months ago, I posted a blog about the terminology of teaching English to non-English speakers around the world. One thing I noted in that post is that the terms TESL (English as a Second Language) and TEFL (English as a Foreign Language) are both used within the profession, the former term for teaching the language to foreigners in an English-speaker country, the latter term for teaching in a country where English is not the predominant language. I wrote about these terms in a mocking tone, largely to make fun of what I saw as needless jargon and bureaucratese.
Now that I have actually taught abroad, and am heading back abroad shortly, I can say that ESL and EFL really are different professions in many ways--the chief one being the level of resources teachers in a non-Anglophone country have available to them. In America or Britain, it is much easier to bring real-life examples of language into the classroom; English is as close as your local newsstand and your local bookstore. This is not the case outside the Anglophone world, where English-language resources can be few and far between.
So a teacher venturing abroad has to think carefully about what to bring with him on his travels. My prior experience tells me a few things are essentials:
1) A world map and a map of your home country. World maps can often (though not always) be found abroad, but a map of the good ol' U.S. of A. is hard to come by. When your students start asking you where your hometown is, you can show them. A world map is handy for explaining terms like "Latin America", which many English Language Learners have heard in a business context but don't know the meaning of.
2) A good grammar book. Even a teacher who considers himself an expert in English grammar (as I do) or got excellent grades when he took English in school (as I did) will occasionally find himself flummoxed to explain a particular feature of English to which English classes for native speakers gives scant attention. Before I set out for Taiwan, for instance, I had never had any formal study of the conditionals, of the use of the present progressive tense to express the future, or of the differences between can, may, and might. These are all aspects of English not taught in English class, because native speakers can manipulate them without even thinking about them. English Language Learners have a harder time with them.
3) An iPod or other MP3 player. These are invaluable for storing music for listening exercises. They can also be handy for learning the language of your host country, as there are a plethora of podcasts and other materials for learning Russian, Chinese, or any other language spoken anywhere under the sun.
4) A camera. This can be valuable for snapping pictures of different objects or environments in your host country, for use in class. It's a cliché to say that a picture is worth 1000 words, but this is never so true as when those 1000 words are unknown to the people whom you are endeavoring to teach.
5) Family photographs. These can be invaluable for doing family tree exercises as students are often eager to learn more about the teacher.
6) The address of your local U.S. embassy or consulate. Many consulates sponsor English classes or at least provide resources for English teachers abroad. I've already discovered that the American Embassy in Moscow has a wealth of materials for EFL teachers, and I plan to take as much advantage of them as I can.
Now that I have actually taught abroad, and am heading back abroad shortly, I can say that ESL and EFL really are different professions in many ways--the chief one being the level of resources teachers in a non-Anglophone country have available to them. In America or Britain, it is much easier to bring real-life examples of language into the classroom; English is as close as your local newsstand and your local bookstore. This is not the case outside the Anglophone world, where English-language resources can be few and far between.
So a teacher venturing abroad has to think carefully about what to bring with him on his travels. My prior experience tells me a few things are essentials:
1) A world map and a map of your home country. World maps can often (though not always) be found abroad, but a map of the good ol' U.S. of A. is hard to come by. When your students start asking you where your hometown is, you can show them. A world map is handy for explaining terms like "Latin America", which many English Language Learners have heard in a business context but don't know the meaning of.
2) A good grammar book. Even a teacher who considers himself an expert in English grammar (as I do) or got excellent grades when he took English in school (as I did) will occasionally find himself flummoxed to explain a particular feature of English to which English classes for native speakers gives scant attention. Before I set out for Taiwan, for instance, I had never had any formal study of the conditionals, of the use of the present progressive tense to express the future, or of the differences between can, may, and might. These are all aspects of English not taught in English class, because native speakers can manipulate them without even thinking about them. English Language Learners have a harder time with them.
3) An iPod or other MP3 player. These are invaluable for storing music for listening exercises. They can also be handy for learning the language of your host country, as there are a plethora of podcasts and other materials for learning Russian, Chinese, or any other language spoken anywhere under the sun.
4) A camera. This can be valuable for snapping pictures of different objects or environments in your host country, for use in class. It's a cliché to say that a picture is worth 1000 words, but this is never so true as when those 1000 words are unknown to the people whom you are endeavoring to teach.
5) Family photographs. These can be invaluable for doing family tree exercises as students are often eager to learn more about the teacher.
6) The address of your local U.S. embassy or consulate. Many consulates sponsor English classes or at least provide resources for English teachers abroad. I've already discovered that the American Embassy in Moscow has a wealth of materials for EFL teachers, and I plan to take as much advantage of them as I can.
Confessions of a Procrastinator
When I returned home from Taiwan, I had intended to establish an account with Flickr or a similar website that hosts photographs, and get all of my pictures from my travels on there. Somehow, it never got done. I have always had a tendency to procrastinate.
As I write, however, the Flickr account I just created is at last uploading those photographs, so eventually the Far East Side Minyan will really be brought to you in living color. I can't say much for my skills as a photographer, nor for the quantity of photographs I took in my time in the Far East. Indeed, probably the best photographs I have to exhibit are ones I took of my friends and of various landmarks before I left the Big Apple. Partly, this is because there was a dearth of interesting things to snap pictures of where I was in Taiwan, and partly it is due to sheer laziness on my part.
Nonetheless, I promise that, once I am settled in Moscow, I will take some time to organize my photographs and put a link to my Flickr page where all and sundry can find it. I also promise that, provided I can get internet established in my Moscow dwelling quickly, I will do a better job of getting pictures up on the blog.
By the way, if you are reading this, you have likely noticed that I have added a picture of St. Basil's Cathedral and of myself, to the Minyan's main page. St. Basil's Cathedral is a free photo I found on the web somewhere. The picture of myself was taken in Taiwan for visa purposes but never used, as my situation with Eve and Ruby deteriorated completely before I had a chance to apply for a proper residency visa.
As I write, however, the Flickr account I just created is at last uploading those photographs, so eventually the Far East Side Minyan will really be brought to you in living color. I can't say much for my skills as a photographer, nor for the quantity of photographs I took in my time in the Far East. Indeed, probably the best photographs I have to exhibit are ones I took of my friends and of various landmarks before I left the Big Apple. Partly, this is because there was a dearth of interesting things to snap pictures of where I was in Taiwan, and partly it is due to sheer laziness on my part.
Nonetheless, I promise that, once I am settled in Moscow, I will take some time to organize my photographs and put a link to my Flickr page where all and sundry can find it. I also promise that, provided I can get internet established in my Moscow dwelling quickly, I will do a better job of getting pictures up on the blog.
By the way, if you are reading this, you have likely noticed that I have added a picture of St. Basil's Cathedral and of myself, to the Minyan's main page. St. Basil's Cathedral is a free photo I found on the web somewhere. The picture of myself was taken in Taiwan for visa purposes but never used, as my situation with Eve and Ruby deteriorated completely before I had a chance to apply for a proper residency visa.
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