How Russia Has Changed (For Me)

Russia is complicated. You can ask any number of experts what Russia is and you will get an infinite number of contradictory answers. I'm honestly trying to think of any other subjects as intangible and difficult to describe as Russia, and I'm coming up blank. Religion generally has set texts that, while open to wildly different interpretation, are nonetheless written on paper. Physics has a huge number of different areas of study, but one concrete scientific method. But Russia, Russia doesn't have a book. In fact, it has one of the widest ranges of literature of any country in history. Russia is huge, but there is not one method of interpretation. I've been told that Russia is: art, class warfare, peasantry, autocracy, spiritual, cruel, nature, contradiction. The only concensus that I have ever found is that everyone agrees that Russia is complicated.
There are two quotes that I learned in Russian 101 that define this sentiment. Pushkin wrote that one cannot understand Russia with their mind, they can only believe. Someone else said that one can know Russia in either 30 days or 30 years. In 30 days, you get a vague idea of the country, but after that, surprises begin to throw wrenches in the theory. It takes 30 years to get to the point where each tiny detail finds its place in one's conception of Russia.
So now I've spend an entire year of my life in Russia. The last 9 months have been completely different than the 3 months I lived in Moscow. When I lived in Moscow, Russia was art, clubs, business, politics, bustling. I was a tiny speck in a city of 12 million. I was awed by the buildings, wealth, and metro. Moscow was Soviet and the Oil power crammed into one city.
Ulan-Ude is the opposite. Ulan-Ude is culture, nature, quiet, poverty, Baikal. Russia is beautiful, wild, largely untouched nature. I see bear tracks in the forest. I climb rock formations similar to those in Utah. I swim in 25% of the world's fresh water. I see shamans. I visit Buddhist monasteries. I eat omul. I see stars.  I wander the steppe.
Moscow's grandeur now seems like such a waste to me. What is more awe inspiring than looking at Lake Baikal or traveling through taiga, forest, steppe, and mountains, all in just one tiny part of Russia?
I went camping last week. We climbed to the top of a rocky mountain and spent the night. The next morning, the entire mountaintop was enveloped in clouds. It was only possible to see 20 or so feet ahead. After we set out, we came across our tracks. Assuming they were from the previous day's hike, we followed them. Shortly afterward, we realized that there were twice as many tracks. We were going in circles in the fog. It was incredibly difficult to ascertain whether we had seen a certain tree that day, or the day before, or ever. We finally resorted to just following the compass and hoping for the best.
Understanding Russia is like wandering in the fog. The entire scope of the country is so large that fitting it all into your head is impossible. Even things that you've seen before change as you learn more and interpret them differently.
Eventually the fog lifted, but honestly, our hike was much less interesting after that. Hiking in the fog, crossing rivers, and seeing bear tracks had an incredibly dream-like, mystical quality. Once the sun was out, it was just a routine hike. So, here's to the fog that is Russia. May it ever remain a mystery.

Munku-Sardyk

"Hi! I'm Brian and I'm researching cultural and historical tourism in Buryatia." "Do you want us to publish a paper for you and take you to the highest mountain in Buryatia?" I had just walked into the office of the Department of Sport and Tourism at Buryat State University. This may have been the best introduction I've ever had. It turns out that the Department was planning an International Tourism Conference and having an American makes it a lot more international than just Russians and Mongolians. I agreed immediately and set out writing a paper worthy of being published. Of course, what I was most looking forward to was going to the tallest mountain in Buryatia. After spending far too much money and time finding mountain climbing equipment, I was ready to go.

The Conference consisted of a day of lectures and discussions and then two groups going to Munku-Sardyk. Munku-Sardyk is in the Sayan Mountains, right on the border between Russia and Mongolia, so one group climbed up from Mongolia, the other from Russia. At first I had planned on going to climb up the Mongolian side, but only Russians and Mongolians are allowed that close to the border, so I had to settle for the more difficult climb from Russia (which was also legally tricky and another story entirely). After sharing some of my ideas on cultural tourism and the current direction of tourism in Buryatia, and the necessary dinner with vodka with all of the VIPs, I went home and packed my backpack.

We were supposed to leave at 8 in the morning. At 8, 3 people had shown up. We left at 9. We spend about 9 hours on the road on day one. We drive all the way down Baikal and into the Tunkinsky region, which is where the Sayan Mountains are located. We spent the first night in a children's camp in a small village called Kyren. The village was located picturesquely against a backdrop of mountains. The building we were in consisted of some offices and a gym. The gym was unheated. The students slept there. We spent the first night starting to get to know each other. In particular, I spent a good amount of time speaking with Arkady, a scholar from Irkutsk. Arkady started off as a physicist and mathematician, but after spending years with radio telescopes in the mountains we were in, he became interested in ethnography and wrote a book about the ethnic groups of the Sayan Mountains. He was wonderfully intelligent and pessimistic and looked exactly like Larry David.

The next morning, we set out for the mountain. We drove another few hours until we got to Mondy, the last town before Mongolia. After waiting at the border checkpoint, we drove to a river called the White Irkut. After a short lunch, we hiked up the frozen river. This was my first experience with climbing spikes, which you attach to your shoes. It took some getting used to, but I made it to camp. Of course, I had one of the largest blisters ever by that point. Camp was located a few km up the river and had a shamanist shrine welcoming us. Although we went relatively early in the year, there were multiple groups of climbers already at the campsite, so I went with one of the teachers and a Mongolian teacher to meet some of the other campers. There was a group from the Ministry of Economics, a group of rescuers, and some other government groups. Most of the local climbers had never seen an American before. I met a very interesting man who had never received an education but read and read and read. We talked about Russian-American politics for quite some time. He was the first Soyot I've met, an ethnic group in the Sayan Mountains.

That night, after dinner, I sat around the fire with the students. It started snowing, slowly at first, but then much harder. I decided to go to bed. I was in a tent with the leader of our group and a woman from Irkutsk. After talking some, we went to sleep. I didn't sleep at all. There was a huge root under my sleeping bag and it was quite cold. I hate sleeping with my face covered, so my body was warm but my face was freezing. After a seemingly endless night, morning finally came.

On our first day, a group of the most experienced climbers went to Munku. I went with the second group of less experienced climbers to, as our leader called it, practice. So, we continued hiking up the river, this time up some rapids and waterfalls. We hiked for about an hour and a half before we got to a steep waterfall. After ascending the waterfall, we took a break for snacks. The blister on my ankle was killing me by this point. We then removed the spikes from our shoes and started climbing. We probably climbed for an hour before we took our next break. I was honestly expecting to be turning around any second. We had already hiked a couple km up the river, plus climbed a pretty much vertical km. I asked where we were headed. One of the leaders pointed to a nearby mountain. "How tall is that?" "Oh, about 3 km." "And Munku-Sardyk is..." "3.5 km." "I see." My heart plummeted. I could barely walk by this point. I had changed how I walk due to the blister, and now my hamstrings were complaining. We continued climbing. By the time we had ascended about 2 km, the temperature dropped and the wind picked up. Taking breaks now meant judging between how much rest was necessary and how long you could stand still before your hands started freezing. We saw a group of mountain goats and marveled (for me, it was closer to envy) at their ease at climbing the mountain. After a few final pushes, we reached the peak.

The view was unbelievable. Munku-Sardyk was directly in front of us, and the Mongolian steppe stretched beyond it. Unfortunately, we got caught up in the marvel and rested too long at the top. My gloves, which were wet from sweat and snow, froze solid. Literally. My hands, which I believe have gotten fairly used to cold after a Siberian winter, began to hurt very badly. I'm no frost-bite expert (I should be after a winter here), but I think that's one of the warning signs. The 5 feet of snow covering the top of the mountain and disguising the edges of the cliffs that dropped off to either side did little to keep my hands warm. Between slipping and balancing myself, my hands got, if anything, even wetter. Fortunately, one of my friends had an extra pair of gloves. After circling the top of the mountain, we began our descent. The first km was about a 70 degree descent. The second two kms were a blast. If we had had skis, it would have been one of the most fun ski slopes I've ever seen. We all just slid down on our butts. Again, I got soaked.

We made it back to camp just as it was getting dark. The hike that I expected to be a short training exercise lasted all day and consisted of a three km climb.

This was when I began to consider the climb the next day. My gloves, shoes, and pants were soaked. I only had one pair of each. I had the worst blister of my life on my right foot and I could barely move it after limping all day. I decided to wait until the morning and see.

When morning came, my leg felt even worse. My pants had frozen solid and I could only get my feet through them after whacking them on some rocks. I decided to sit it out. There were actually a good number of us who didn't go, either due to a lack of proper equipment or the difficulty of the hike the first day (this is actually an issue that I've talked over with other guides on Munku. Many believe that it's just better to do Munku right off the bat). We saw the group off and then began cooking. And cooking and cooking. And eating. We also picked up some trash, which ended up being fairly entertaining as me and some of the other male students reacted in horror to the mass of sanitary napkins we uncovered. I let my wet clothes continue to dry. Some of the other groups of campers who were leaving brought their left-over food to us. We attacked the food with gusto and swore a vow to not tell the climbers that we had real meat.

By 7:00, we began to prepare dinner for the returning hikers. We waited, and waited, and waited. When it was dark, around 9, we called the rescuers. Then the wind picked up. I was freezing, and we were in a wooded campground. At ten, they sent a group up. They didn't find our group until midnight, and they didn't all get back until 1. When the call that they were close came in on the short-wave, one of the students ran up the waterfall to meet them. His headlamp bobbed up and down, reflecting eerily off the blue ice. Then, one light appeared to greet him. And another. Soon, about a half-dozen lights were descending the frozen waterfall. The student that ran out to greet them was soon just a black figure on a background of glowing blue ice and bobbing headlamps.
As the hikers came to camp, the story came out. Apparently, one of the climbers had fallen about 200 meters. He was fine, but they moved much more slowly after that scare. I guess in the end, my decision to not climb was actually a good one. I would not have handled descending in the dark very well. As we got ready for bed, one of my tentmates pulled out a bottle of Balsam. I had never heard of it before, but it is an alcoholic herbal drink with ingredients such as calamus marsh, saxifrage, valerian, coriander, calendula, paw juniper, peppermint, chamomile, thyme, pine needles, rose hips, red ash, and lemon, vanilla, orange, and anise oils. This brand was apparently the preference of the Dalai Lama. It is awesome.

The next day, we slept in and then left to go back to the road around 11. The hike down the frozen river was fairly uneventful except for running into some hikers heading to camp, who were shocked to encounter an American and three Mongolians without any Russians (the others were either way in front or way behind us). When we got to the cafe on the road, I ate pelmeni and plov with relish and thoroughly enjoyed a beer.

Our journey home was remarkable to me due to the gradual increase in "civilization." We drove about 3 hours to get to a town called Zhemchuzhina. We met a Buryat family and ate dinner, which consisted of a very delicious goat stew. We were to stay in a basically empty house. One side was rather chilly and had few beds, the other side was closer to the stove. Guess which side I stayed in with the teachers? The teachers had an itch to get drunk, but I said I didn't want to drink vodka, so I went to town with two of them. A friend of the owner of the house offered to drive us. He was also going to pick up friends of one of the students in our group. He dropped us off at the only store in town, which was to close at 9, but at 8:45 was already closed. They had a walk-up window, however, so we made our orders there. As we stood outside the store, cars began to pull up to the store and unload 4-5 men. Occasionally, one of these men would walk up to the window and the woman inside would give him a bottle of vodka. No cash was transferred. Soon, there was a veritable crowd hanging outside the store. The men I was with didn't seem to worried, so I just kept my mouth shut and waited for our driver to get back.

When he got back, we climbed into the car and the driver started telling us about this town. The Tunkinsky Region, which is where this town is located, is the most criminal area of Buryatia, at least according to the media. The driver didn't buy it, he finds it to be quite quiet. Tourism is huge in the town. It has hot springs and is close to the mountains. We were the only people in town at the time, but in summer, there isn't a place to park in the entire town. However, tourism isn't exactly welcomed in town. The thing is, there is only one Buryat place in the entire town. Everything else is owned and run by Irkutsk, so the locals see almost no income from tourism. The driver also talked about the local government. The director of the region, who had been a member of the Komsomol, had done almost nothing to develop the region. For example, the road from the main road to the village is in terrible condition, but it costs 30 million rubles and tourism only brings 3 million rubles in to the budget in one year (if I heard correctly, this is probably incorrect). So they haven't built it. We asked why he had done so little to develop the region, and he answered that he had been too busy buying new houses.

That night, I spent the first half hanging out with the teachers. They said toasts and we were visited by the owner of the place. We asked him what his opinion of tourism was, and again, he declined to respond. In all of my travels in Buryatia, this was the first time I've seen such a negative response to tourism. This validates the research I've been reading which claims that for tourism to be successful, it has to be developed by the local community. When outsiders come in and develop, local interests and culture are often ignored. After getting sufficiently drunk, the teachers told me to go and hang out with the students. We sang songs around the campfire while they got drunk. Sometimes, I don't understand how people in this country function.

The next day, we set off back to Ulan-Ude. This was the most frustrating bus ride ever. The bus we were on was terrible and could only go up minor slopes at about 15 mph. We were on the road for 12 hours. And most of the group was hungover.

I learned a great deal on this trip. I truly got to see another side of tourism in Buryatia. Not only did I see the Tunkinsky Region and its disappointment with tourism, I got to experience tourism with a focus on sport, not on culture. On the road, we still stopped at every Buddhist and Shamanist shrine, not because we were tourist, but because it is a part of the daily lives of locals. This is a hugely important part for any successful tourism, cultural or not. Another part of my experience was dealing with more typical Russian tour guides. My travels with the Tour Agency of the Republic of Buryatia have always been extremely professional and enjoyable to such an extent that I didn't realize why they were so successful. This trip opened my eyes to some of the things I expect from a guide. Most of my problems rotated around a lack of a clear schedule. When will I eat. How far will we climb today. I also ended up buying a lot of climbing gear that I didn't actually end up using. Another major issue with nearly every experience I've had traveling is one of the guides getting belligerently drunk. I understand Russian culture, but some control is necessary around foreigners. I went to college, I have dealt with drunk people and imbibed my own fair share. But I, as a guest, should not feel uncomfortable due to one of the tour guides having too much to drink. Fortunately, a frequent problem that I have not yet experienced is littering. All of the guides I have met have been extremely eco-conscious, which is a success for the ecotourism campaign over recent years. And the above problems are known and several organizations are beginning to offer seminars to teach guides business etiquette. In fact, the only truly worrisome trend is the lack of local involvement in tourism in Zhemchuzhina. I believe this may be more closely related to governance in the region than to anything else. Corruption is a weed to business success in this country, and unless it is combated at every level, economic success will be stifled. Tourism has been and can continue to be successful in Buryatia. This trip was a chance to see one of the more beautiful locations in the Republic as well as some warning signs.

Sagaalgan

Sagaan haraar! Sagaalganaar! These words echoed throughout Buryatia on February 22, the day that marks Sagaalgan, Buddhist New Year and the first day of White Month. Sagaalgan may be the most important Buryat holiday and marks the transition from winter to spring. As Sagaalgan approached, I began to wonder how I would be taking part in the celebrations, until I received a call from my research advisor. "Brian, we are bringing Japanese Santa Claus to Buryatia for Sagaalgan. Do you want to travel around on the bus with him?" "Uh, sure..." "Also, you're going to judge buuzy with me." "Sweet."
So, I showed up on Soviet Square on Sagaalgan to judge buuzy. There was a huge stage set up in the center of the square, where people were singing traditional songs and dancing. As I was waiting, the mayor of Ulan-Ude spoke, and then the four fairy-tale heroes came onstage. These were to be my travel companions, so I'll give you some background info.
Our first hero is Sagaan Ubgen, Bely Starets, or White Old Man. This character is associated with Buddhism and makes appearances every year around Sagaalgan. The man who played Sagaan Ubgen was a dignified old man who was in the Red Army in the 1960s and was involved in theater for much of his life.
Our second hero the Evenk Matushka Zima, or Mother Winter, Tugeni Enyoken. The Evenk are a minority population that mostly live to the north of Baikal. Unfortunately, I didn't have much opportunity to speak much with Mother Winter, but I know that she is a recent graduate from Irkutsk.
Our next hero is Sohk-Ireya, Old Man Frost from Tuva. The man who played Sohk-Ireya is Edward Ondar, a famous actor from Tuva as well as an excellent throat singer.
Finally, the most surreal hero was Yamamoto, the Japanese Santa Claus. This man, whose full name is Paradise Yamamoto, first worked as an automobile designer for Subaru. After he got tired of that (or something), he became interested in Mambonsai art and music. A few years ago, he became the first Asian to become an accredited Santa Claus. It was an absolute pleasure to speak with this man.
So, as I mentioned, I was to judge buuzy (traditional Buryat meat dumplings). While this experience was fully delicious, it was not super interesting, so I'll just note that I gave the highest marks of anyone, which clearly reflects on my lack of buuzy expertise.
After the judging, I went to the Ethnographic Museum with the fairy-tale heroes. The Ethnographic Museum was packed with children waiting to see Santa Claus and the other Christmas characters. I was also surprised to see many of my fellow riders from the hippodrome, who were there to drive horse-drawn sleighs for the heroes. The ethnographic museum consists of several old homes that were relocated due to the increase in Baikal's water level after the dam installed for Irkutsk Energy. Each of these homes represented a different culture of the region. There were representative contingents of each culture to meet the heroes and offer each a small meal. These included Old Believers, Eastern Buryats, Western Buryats, and Evenks. This experience represented much of what I believe makes Buryatia a wonderful place: all major cultures and peoples were represented without any attempts to show one culture more than another.

The next morning, we set out for Baikal. We made our first stop in a Monastery in Troitskoe, a village in the Pribaikal Region of Buryatia. They are currently rebuilding the monastery, as it was used as a mental hospital in the Soviet era. One of the monks gave us a tour around the place. We then went to the shore of Baikal in the Kabansk region. Our first stop was a shamanist holy site up on a hill overlooking Baikal, Usan-Lobson. There, we danced in a circle around an evergreen tree. Finally, we got to the hotel in Enkheluk, which is one of the most well-known tourist towns in Buryatia.
In Enkheluk, the heroes participated in an event called Sagaalgan on Baikal. There were more than 60 kids there to play games and see various cultural performance. Unfortunately for me, this meant standing outside in deep snow for several hours, something my shoes were not exactly made to handle. After hearing my distress, the director of tourism of the Kabansk region reached into her purse, pulled out two sanitary napkins, and stuck them to the soles of my shoes. It worked. Apparently, Russian hunters and ice-fishers use this technique quite often.
After the games, the fairy tale heroes went ice fishing for about five minutes, but then they got too cold and decided to move on. This is when me and some of the other tour operators got separated from the group. We dropped by a Ministry of Extreme Events camp on Baikal and had some tea while we tried to regroup. After we left and were walking down the road, I saw something that I will never forget. At an intersection about 300-400 meters in front of us, a four-wheeler wizzed by. This first ATV caught my attention. A few seconds later, Santa Clause went flew by. Then Father Frost from Tuva. It was too surreal.
As we caught up with the other tour operators, we began to go on a tour of various hotels in the town. The first we went to was a hunter's cabin that one man had made entirely by himself. It was completely awesome. Then, we went to a hotel called Sakura (the owner went to Japan once), which was nice, reasonably priced, and they were building a nicely sized pool. The next hotel was the first hotel I've seen in Buryatia that was absolutely as nice as a brand-new Marriot, or something else of that calliber. It was filled with big-screen LCD TVs, tasteful decor, and they even had a Wii in the lounge. But the prices were ridiculous. The owner spent a nearly uncomfortable amount of time drooling over me, the American. As we left, one of the women who owned a different local hotel that I hadn't gotten to see, was quite let down. She was worried that the competition of such a nice hotel would make it difficult for her to do business. She asked me to come by and check out her hotel and give her advice. Which I did gladly, as she was an extremely friendly woman. I really liked her place and told her to call it a Bed and Breakfast in English. And now I'll shamelessly advertise for her: http://na-baikale.ru/ If you want to go to Baikal, stay with her. If you tell her you know me, she'll probably be even nicer than she already is.
That evening, we ate dinner at the hotel and I heard some of the most wonderful toasts that I've ever heard. But that's typical of life here in Buryatia, especially when the subject is Baikal.
The next morning, we got up early and went to a children's home. Again, we saw many different cultural presentations and the heroes got to interact with several children, which was really cute. When we got back to Ulan-Ude, I was very disappointed to say goodbye to the heroes and tour operators. Of course, several of us exchanged contact info, but such a magical few days may never repeat itself. Although, in Buryatia, you never know what can happen.

Moscow-Vladivostok

After my time in Kazan, I flew to Moscow, where all of the Fulbrighters were gathering to have our final orientation. It's actually quite disappointing that this will be our last time all together as a group. For those of you Fulbrighters that might stumble upon this post, thanks a lot for your presentations in Moscow. You helped me get mentally prepared to return to Ulan-Ude and really get some work done. Other than the orientation, I had a wonderful time in Moscow going clubbing with the Fulbrighters (and having adventures at Subway) and eating Georgian food.
I then flew to Vladivostok with two other Fulbrighters. There were several remarkable parts of the travel experience itself. First off, I've never flown out of Moscow Vnukovo airport. I was assuming that it just barely be a step up from the Kazan or Irkutsk airports, but it was actually the nicest airport I've been in in Russia. Completely new, huge, and without the insane crowds of Domodedovo. Secondly, I take great efforts to avoid flying on Russian planes, especially Tupolev planes. So, when booking this flight, I made sure to book on the Airbus plane. Unfortunately, as we approached our plane, it was the Tupolev version of the Boeing 767/Airbus A320. "Ok," I told myself at a slightly panicked pace of thought, "these planes fly all the time without too many crashes." After getting on the plane, all seemed fine. It looked almost exactly like the interior of an A320. "I'll survive this." My chair was the most uncomfortable chair that I have ever flown in. "No big deal, it's just a chair. At least they cut costs here and not somewhere else, right? Right?" After deicing and other pre-takeoff activities, we were at the end of the runway (sidenote, this is the first flight I've ever been on with no English). As we began speeding up, all seemed fine. Regular acceleration, not too bumpy. But then we left the ground. My ears immediately began popping. Weightlessness. "We're falling out of the sky. I'm going to die." The only way I can really describe the next 10 minutes of the flight is "hurtling through the air." I don't know how Boeing or Airbus does it, but my ears pop a little and everything feels under control. This was the first time I could actually tell that I was speeding through midair at upwards of 500 miles an hour. And then we reached cruising altitude (which was much lower than I've seen before). And then it was the smoothest 9 hour flight that I've ever been on. Landing was pretty uneventful as well (except I've never been in a ruder crowd at a baggage claim.)
We slept almost all day thanks to jetlag (Vladivostok is 8 hours ahead of Moscow). When we finally made it out, we went to the central square, which contains the biggest middle finger to the West (in this case, East) that I've ever scene. For those of you unfamiliar with the history of the Russian Civil War, after Russia left World War I and the Bolsheviks claimed power, the territory of Russia was embroiled in one of the bloodiest conflicts in world history. The main participants were the Red Army, the Whites (monarchists and democrats), and the Allied Intervention (Japan, USA, UK, etc.). Vladivostok was occupied by Japan. The occupation of Vladivostok by the Red Army in 1922 is considered by most historians to be the end of the Russian Civil War. The main square has a large statue facing East with text honoring the partisan forces who defended the city from intruders.
That night, I had the best sushi I've ever had. We then spent much of the night getting to know the other guests at the hostel. There was another girl from Ulan-Ude and several Koreans. There's a ferry that runs from South Korea to Vladivostok, so Vladivostok is a popular tourist destination for Asian tourists.

The next day, we took the funicular to the top of the city. A funicular is a small train that only goes up a hill. It cost about 25 cents. It took us to the top of the city. From there, it was possibile to see much of Golden Horn Bay and the Golden Horn Bridge, one of two cable-stayed bridges being built in Vladivostok (the other one will be the largest in the world).
We then descended down to the shoreline, where we found an old Soviet submarine. This sub was the most successful Soviet sub during World War II, having sunk 10 Nazi subs. You could wander around inside and see much of the original interior. I took full advantage of the photo opportunities.
That night, we got on the Trans-Siberian to head home, to Ulan-Ude. 3 days on the train is difficult to quantify. While on the train, it feels like 3 days. However, once you step off, you can't believe that three days have just passed. Most of the time on the train consisted of sleeping, playing Euchre, and watching Game of Thrones. I did venture to the restaurant car once, where I was befriended by a group of typical train-traveling Russian males and obliged to have some beers. I also managed to buy a meal and a computer charge for just one dollar (the men and the waitress were astounded by my American money). I felt guilty, but I did try to convince them to take more, and they did ask to see it in the first place!
So, that's my journey, summarized for the interwebs. Now, life is back to normal, perhaps even more so than 2 months ago. I have deadlines now, which will hopefully help me keep on task. So, if I don't post again for awhile, you understand why.

Moscow-Kazan

The last month I've had has been filled with some of the most blog-worthy moments of my time in Russia, but life on the road isn't conducive to blogging (at least in Russia, without Internet access). I recall thinking many time, oh I can't wait to blog about this, only to have that moment replaced by a new experience the next day. All I had along with me to record my trip was my camera. So, hopefully with the help of some photos, I'll be able to piece together some of my more interesting moments traveling through this unfathomably large country.
When I last posted, I was sitting in a hostel in Moscow, having just flown back to this country that I will be calling for another 5 months. Upon finishing that blog post, I embarked on one of my first major adventures of my Trans-Siberian travels. I convinced one of my Moscow friends with a car to drive me, another girl from Moscow, and another visiting friend from the States out to Sergiev Posad, the site of arguably the holiest monastery in all of Russian orthodox, the Trinity Lavra. The Trinity Lavra was founded by St. Sergius of Radonezh, one of the most venerated saints in orthodox history and the subject of one of my favorite paintings by Nesterov, and still contains his relics. The day we went to the monastery happened to be Russian Christmas Eve, so it was packed with pilgrims from all over Russia. We stood in line outside of the Trinity Cathedral (which contains the relics) for nearly an hour. Upon entering, it still took us nearly an hour to circle around the icons and get to the relics. While observing how people would light candles in front of the relics, cross themselves, and bow (because I soon would have to copy what I had seen as well as I could), I watched a man stumble up the altar. He stopped in front of the relics and managed to cross himself once before collapsing into a wailing, sobbing heap. A man who accompanied him attempted to get him to his feet, but to no avail. The main continued sobbing and clawing at the base of the gold-covered container that held St. Sergius' relics. After a few more minutes, several monks rushed in and carried the man away with extremely annoyed expressions on their faces. My two Russian Orthodox friends said that he was likely just too weak from the fasting that pious Orthodox believers often do before Christmas. My own candle lighting was much less attention-grabbing. I awkwardly crossed myself, bowed, and then waited while woman who had just cut in front me lit upwards of 10 candles.
Fast forward a few days. After my day wandering around Vladimir (which was completely non-eventful), I met an British English teacher who was taking his holidays by traveling the Golden Ring. We found out that we were both planning on traveling to Suzdal the next morning, so we agreed to band together. We hopped on the bus to Suzdal and rode through the flat, snow-covered Russian countryside for about 45 minutes. Suzdal is one of the only towns in Russia that was not Sovietized. It is filled with churches, monasteries, and old wooden cottages. It takes about 30 minutes to walk from one edge of town to the other. Very little out of the ordinary occurred during my time in Suzdal. It was really just like hopping into a time machine and seeing what Russia was like 100 years ago. Suzdal was where I began wandering places that I probably shouldn't have wandered, but I got great pictures thanks to it. For example, I wandered along the side of the small cliff that the St. Euthymius Monastery is one and ended up next to the gates of a huge, brand-new mansion with absolutely no houses near it for several hundred meters. The view from the mansion looked something like this:

I don't know much about Russian property value, but I'm pretty sure someone payed at least 10 million dollars for a place like this. My practice of wandering where I shouldn't continued in Nizhny Novgorod.
Nizhny Novgorod is the 5th largest city in Russia. It was renamed to Gorky during the Soviet era, but its original name was returned after the fall of the Soviet Union. Nizhny Novgorod is geographical interesting due to its location on the T-Intersection of two rivers: the Volga (the Russian Mississippi) and the Oka. The Oka divides the city into what I call the old side and the Soviet side. The Volga divides the city into what I call "city" and "wasteland."

Tank firing across the Volga at "Wasteland"

One of the most frustrating things about public transportation in the city is that only two bridges connect Old City to Soviet City (one of these bridges was finished only a year or two ago, I'm so glad I came after that). The Nizhny Novgorod metro has "two" lines, but right now the two ends are connected. It currently only runs on the Soviet Side. Nearly everything that I wanted to see was on the Old side. I was informed that the first metro station in the Old City will open this November. That will make getting around the city much much easier.
One of my first major concerns during my entire trip was making sure that the Gorky Train Station was actually the Nizhny Novgorod-Moscow Train Station. When your ticket says one thing and Google Maps another, it makes things worrisome. Fortunately, this trip convinced me once and for all the Google Maps is not a fit travel companion in Russia. Upon my arrival, I had little to guide me to my hostel except for my utterly worthless map from Google. So, I hopped in a cab. Upon arrival at the hostel, the hostess annoyedly informed me that I should have reserved ahead. When I showed her my receipt and reservation number, she shut up. I was the only person in the hostel.
After unpacking, I asked which places I should check out. She could only come up with the Kremlin.

Well, duh. So, I made my way to the Kremlin, stopped in the museums (which were very bland) and picked up a few maps and tour booklets. The first museum to catch my eye was the Maxim Gorky house museum. For those of you who aren't familiar with Russian literature, Gorky was extremely influential in both the late pre-Soviet era and the early years of Socialist Realism (so much so that he is considered the father of Socialist Realism). So I headed to the museum. When I walked in, it was quickly obvious that I was one of the first non-child visitors in quite some time. The fact that I was a Russian-speaking American raised the level of excitement to an even higher notch. After first eyeing me with suspicion after I requested a Russian guidebook, the museum workers quickly warmed up to me, inviting me to enter roped off areas and telling me that I was marvelous and should marry their grand-daughters. The museum itself was fantastic, filled with Gorky's library and art collection. There was even a signed picture of Chekhov on Gorky's desk. I bought all of my Nizhny Novgorod souvenirs from the museum (I have a special spot in my heart after working at a Russian museum).
Upon leaving the museum, I decided that I wanted to see the main monastery before the sun went down. This proved to be more difficult than I expected, but once again resulted in me going to somewhere off the beaten path and great picture opportunities. According to the map, the monastery was on the cliff on the Oka River, so I walked over there. Upon my arrival at the cliff, I realized that there was no path down the cliff to the monastery, but ridiculously great views of the city.

My other favorite part of Nizhny Novgorod was the Chkalov Staircase. It is the largest staircase on the Volga River (what does that mean?) and was built in honor of World War II. According to one booklet I read (I have not managed to find other information confirming this), the architect was given a blank check by Stalin to build the monument. However, once it was built, Stalin decided that the architect had actually spent too much and sent him to the GULAG. At least the staircase is actually pretty sweet.

After 2 days, I hopped on the overnight train to Kazan, the capital of Tatarstan and the home to the most Fulbrights of any other city in Russia. After a non-eventful train ride, I arrived in Kazan. I spent most of the first day sleeping and relaxing after two weeks of constant awareness of where all of my belongings were. After that, I began exploring. Kazan is super wealthy. Tatarstan has a lot of oil, and that oil money goes towards building new buildings, renovating museums, ice hockey arenas, and more. Therefore, much of Kazan is absolutely beautiful. It also has a mosque in its Kremlin.

Kazan has the nicest grocery stores I've been in in Russia as well (just throwing that out there). I spent most of my time with the other Fulbrights, just seeing how they live. In terms of actual style of life and workload, they live very much like me. But in terms of social circles, the existence of other Fulbrights in close proximity is difficult to resist. While they all have Russian friends, they also see each other fairly regularly. It doesn't help that all Fulbright fellows are awesome by definition (at least in terms of how easily we all get along with each other). Kazan gave me a good opportunity to compare my experience with that of multiple other Fellows. My quality of life might be lower here. It might be way colder out here. But I have no temptations to hang out with other Americans because there really aren't any. It's an interesting little exchange that I was only superficially aware of when I chose Ulan-Ude, but my travels have made it much more visible.

Home for the Holidays

There's no place like home. I'm allowed to say that because I'm from Kansas (or is it the other way around?).  But it really is true. And it's not even just being back in your hometown, it's about being back in your own country. Where people grew up watching Sesame Street and The Rugrats. Where I can have a conversation with a customs official or store clerk and not have to worry about language or cultural faux pas. Where I can drive and know that 1st street is after 2nd street (except in DC). And especially where I know exactly where to go to find food.
That being said, I'd like to elaborate on the meaning of vacation. For me, vacation is still associated with summer and freedom from school. During the summer, I would relax at home, see friends, and swim way too much. When I got older, I began to work during vacation. On Wikipedia, vacation is pretty much defined as taking a trip somewhere. I was actually really surprised by how short the article is, considering how many various definitions of vacation I have floating around in my mind. So, disregarding everything Wikipedia has to say, which I know is heresy to this blog, I posit that vacation is merely an escape from the normal. For your average American family, that means taking a three hour drive and sitting in a hotel in a tourist trap. For school kids, it means time off of school. And for your average adventurer in Russia, it means going home.
I have to say that I by far prefer my vacation. Whenever you leave your comfort zone, a level of chaos enters the equation. Now, of course, this level of chaos stays very low in places like Branson or Breckenridge. But think of the number of Hollywood comedies about disaster vacations. Those comedies are so funny because we can always relate. Once you leave the comfort of home, Chaos gets stronger and stronger. Of course, there are comedies about coming home for the holidays as well, but don't those always end with the family getting closer?
When you live in Siberia, Chaos reigns supreme. The equivalent of a State Capital Building in Buryatia caught fire 2 days before I left. Think about that. Last winter, they wanted to put an ice skating rink on Soviet Square in the center of town. No one thought to hire an engineer to make sure the rink was flat. No one noticed that the water was gather along one edge of the rink until it was too late and the wooden gates broke, letting loose a flood of water that led to the entire center of the city being covered in several inches of ice. My friends who work in a kiosk on Soviet Square were entirely unable to open the door of their store. That's where I live.
The United States is ruled by institution and order. You may disagree, but often times our frustrations are the result of too much double-checking and oversight. I think our rules of the road are an excellent example of this. Our roads are well-constructed and orderly. Very few people run red lights. But people hate seeing cops because of speeding tickets. In Russia, when a cop pulls you over, they want a bribe. We in America hate getting caught. In Russia, there's very little you can even do about it. If you follow the rules in America, there's little that can happen to you. And our roads are not the nightmare that Russian ones are.
So coming home to familiarity and order led to some of the most relaxing two weeks of my life. I drove around. I lay around. I played Skyward Sword like there was no tomorrow. And I basked in the utter lack of concentration that speaking English requires.
But when I landed back in Moscow, my heart began to pound and I felt a rush of adrenaline. It was similar to the feeling that I would get before a really great 200 Free. I knew I was back in my element. I understood every word of Russian, I knew every bureaucratic procedure, I knew how to travel on the subway. While I was in the States, I spent most of my time playing a game. In Russia, getting from point A to point B is a lot like solving a puzzle in Zelda. You have to study the map, but when you get to a key intersection, you find that it's closed off. So you go through your bag of items and pull out the ones you need to get around this roadblock (Russian language, knowing when to wait or when to find another way, etc.). And when the puzzle is solved, it's way more satisfying that anything that could be found in a videogame (much like getting through Skyward Sword is way better than anything in any other videogame).
Being home was perhaps the best vacation I've ever taken. But living in Russia is the best step I've ever taken in real life. And realizing that yesterday may have been the best part of the vacation that I took.

The Hambo Lama and Getting Sick

Several weeks ago, I was fortunate enough to have the opportunity to go to the Ivolginsky Datsan during a Buddhist holiday to see the body of Hambo Lama Itigilov. Itigilov is quickly becoming one of the most important religious attractions in Buryatia, and for good reason. The Hambo Lama died in 1927, after beginning a death meditation. Prior to his death, he had asked some of the other lamas to exume his body after several years. In 1955 and 1973, his body was unburied, and the lamas of the datsan shocked to find that the Hambo Lama was not subject to macroscopic decay. The lamas were unwilling to divulge the existence of the body to the Soviet authorities and the body was largely unknown until 2002, when his body was moved to the Ivolginsky Datsan. Now, his body is revealed once a month, on Buddhist holidays.
I went with several friends to the datsan. Upon our arrival, we took the rice that we had brought with and walked around the datsan, spinning the prayer wheels and sprinkling rice at each wheel. It was a pretty cold day and my hands went numb very quickly. When we arrived at the main temple, we removed our hats and scarves and entered. At first, I didn't even notice the body of the Hambo Lama. It wasn't until I began to move about the temple that I saw that the Lama was placed near the far wall in the center. He was sitting in what looked like a refridgerator with a clear door that was open. He was draped with cloths and ribbons and when you walked by, a lama would offer you a cloth for you to place your forehead on. It is said that if you make a wish, it will come true. I'm not exactly sure what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't what I saw. The body certainly did not look like it had been dead for most of a century, but it was still fairly indistinguishable. The face was mostly just plain skin, it looked almost like peach playdough. However, it cannot be denied that the temple had a very profound sense of importance, majesty, and peace. I kept trying to ask myself if being a tourist there was sacrilege, and I honestly never felt like too much of an outsider. Religious tourism is such a tricky subject.
Other than my visit to the Ivolginsky Datsan, my life has been rather bland recently. I fell ill and was accused pretty much everyday of not dressing warm enough, and I was given more suggestions on how to get well than I could possibly remember. Something worked, tho, and after about two weeks I was back to my usual self. I have also been on TV about 3 times in the last month. Once with the group in Kyakhta, another time just for being a foreigner at the university, and the other time at the opening of a clinic for invalid-children with the NGO that I translate for.
Now, I know the big news recently out of Russia is the elections. Honestly, in Buryatia it still feels like all of that is happening in a different country. I even have a few friends who worked as election monitors for various parties, such as the Communist Party, and they told me that they saw nothing fraudulent at all. While it would certainly be interesting to be in Moscow or St. Petersburg, it's nice being somewhere safe, where I don't have to worry about involvement in political events because there really aren't any.
As for the weather, well, it's cold. The sun is out for about 7 hours a day, maybe 8, but it doesn't rise until about 10 now. The forecast says that -35 windchills are in the near future. We've finally gotten some real snow, and it's beautiful outside. Today and yesterday have been in the 20s, and it's been great to be able to walk without gloves. Siberia is Siberia, however, and it will not be getting any warmer for 4 to 5 months. But part of why I chose to come is for the adventure of new places, new weather, and new temperatures, and I'm certainly getting what I came for.