A Day in the Life of Me

So, it's been a month, and I can tell that I'm starting to get settled in because time has been flying this week. Before too much more flies by, I figured that I ought to take a break and post about what a typical day in Ulan-Ude is like.
My day usually starts around 7 AM when the sun comes up and the dogs start barking. The absolute worst part about my apartment is the unbelievable number of dogs that live in and about the police holding station next door. The noise at dawn is unbelievable. Fortunately, I usually have a class at 8 or 9:30, so I rarely attempt to sleep through the ruckus. I climb out of bed, turn on my hot water heater, take a quick shower, get dressed, drink a cup of tea and eat some buderbrody (bread, cheese, and sausage), put on my coat and grab my hat and scarf, and head out the door. I live on the fourth floor of my building and my door has some awesome old-school locks; my keys look like they're from The Legend of Zelda. Another apartment building is located between my building and one of the main streets in town, so I walk around it to begin my walk to the University. It takes me about 15 minutes to get to class, including two nerve-wracking street crossings.
When I open the door to the classroom that I expect to have class in, I've found that I have about a 50 percent chance of actually having that class. You see, Buryat State University works on a biweekly system (or fortnight, as the professors like to explain in their lovely Queen's English). This means that every class occurs every other week, so I have a different schedule every week. For some reason, I've been having trouble getting used to this. I've also shown up to the correct classroom at the correct time, but the professor either forgot or decided not to attend class that day. This has happened several times. I've never attended a class to which the professor has actually shown up on time. Of course, when students show up after the professor, they are not allowed to enter the classroom.
Now, I attend two different types of classes at BSU. In an attempt to make friends, I volunteered to help out in the English department, so I have 3 classes every fortnight. One class is an American news media class, one is a literature class, and the other is a translation class. So far, my news class has been my favorite. Basically, I pick an article and then discuss it with the students. I also give them time to ask me questions, and it's been interesting to have debates about American and Russian foreign policy. I brought in an segment from the Daily Show the other day and the students had a blast. I also have a movie club that happens once every two weeks, so it'll be nice to have an excuse to pick and watch one of my favorite movies every fortnight. Of course, the best part is that while I have to speak English for 4.5 hours every two weeks with my students, outside of class we converse solely in Russian.
My real classes at BSU are a slightly different story. As I mentioned before, a good chunk of the time the professor doesn't attend and is always late. In addition, the classes are 100% lecture. No reaction, just note taking in fairly fast, scholarly Russian. I usually have a headache at the end of class. But, my notes have gotten better with each class and I have a book that I read to get an idea of the main themes before going in. I have a class on the history of ancient Buryatia, one on modern Buryatia, and one on the relations between subjects of the Russian federation. My peers are all extremely friendly and seem to find my notes fascinating. Frankly, I'm usually embarrassed to show them my notes because I pretty much write down everything that I understand, but they're usually impressed with how much I get.
I grab a bite to eat at either the cafeteria, Subway, or Apetite. Everything is located on or near Soviet Square (with Lenin's head). I never spend more than 5 dollars. After lunch, I either have one last class or work. My main research contact in Ulan-Ude is Rada Dambaevna, who is the director of a tour agency and generally knows everyone in Ulan-Ude. I've worked as a translator and advertisement narrator for her over the past several weeks. I will begin working as a translator at the Buryat History Museum soon, as well.
I usually go home for dinner and have pasta and some sort of meat dish or pelmeni. After dinner, I meet up with a group of friends on Soviet Square and we go to the Irish Pub or some other cafe. My friends are mostly 4th year students in the foreign language department, meaning that they're generally my age. Several of my friends are working on their second specialty, meaning that they've already gotten one degree and are essentially starting over. Some are aspiring hip-hop artists, some play guitar, some dance. The students that I have in class have taken it upon themselves to teach me to properly curse in Russian. They already know how to curse in English quite well. We either play foosball or just talk. Sometimes we walk around town.
I usually head home around 10. I check my internet, switch on the news. Occasionally I blog. And then I go to bed.

My First Forays into the World of Tourism

I must apologize for the length of time it's been since my last post. I've spent the last few weeks moving into my apartment and continuing to set up my class schedule, among other things. I'm including two diary entries in this post, the first about my excursion with the Baikal International Tourism Forum and the other about my trip to Baikal with the Baikal Amazons and a group of German journalist.

Baikal International Tourism Forum

On the day that I participated in the Baikal International Tourism Forum, it was more as a tag-along than as an actual participant. I was picked up from the center of the city early in the morning and a Russian journalist who is the chief editor for a tourism magazine invited me to sit next to him. This journalist spent nearly the entirety of the trip picking my brain and correcting my Russian and attempting to teach me new words.

Our first stop was at the Ivolginsky Datsan. It was odd returning to a place that I’ve recalled so often, but never truly expected to return to. In fact, it accentuated how strongly I miss the 13 other students from my Moscow Program two years of go, and of course my professor, Diane. Fortunately, I was busy enough this time to keep my mind from dwelling on the past. We repeated the same guided path we took 2 years ago, in addition to seeing a building that was built in the past year. I chatted with some Korean journalists about my research and about their interest in Buryatia. As I was preparing to walk away, a young woman with a microphone grabbed my arm and said something about an interview. Immediately flustered, all knowledge that I had of Russian flew from my mind. The appearance of a television camera did nothing to calm my nerves. The woman began asking me questions about Minnesota; I think my disconcertion was visibly obvious. As I began to calm down, the cameraman pointed the lens at me and I began my first TV interview ever... in Russian. I was only asked three or four questions, mostly revolving around my research and interest in Buryatia. My interviewer took my number and told me that she’d let me know when it was going to air (it aired later that evening), but the entirety would not be on the Internet. I was informed by friends who watched the interview that it went well and they aired my statements about the cultural aspect of tourism in Buryatia.

Once we all returned to the vehicle, we set out for the old-believer village that we went to two years ago. We stopped at the outcrop of rocks overlooking the Selenga and climbed around and took pictures. We were met by some of the Old Believers this time, bearing kvass and samogon. We then made our way to the museum and the church. The museum just opened up a second floor, so they had several new things that I didn’t see last time.

We then made our way to a house, a different family than last time, where a delicious lunch was waiting for us. And lots of samogon. I had been getting to know several of the others in my group, so when we got to eating and drinking I found my glass being filled and refilled over and over. After lunch, we watched a wedding ceremony that was absolutely as funny as two years ago, but again, I felt pangs of nostalgia for Tigan and Shane’s wedding. After that, we set off for home. I received more than my share of business cards for the day and all in all enjoyed re-experiencing that that tourism trip through Buryatia.

Barguzin

This weekend was one of the biggest and most momentous weekends that I’ve ever had. I was invited to travel to Barguzin (on Baikal) for the weekend with the Baikal Amazons and a group of German television reporters who were making a short documentary on the Amazons. I opted out of going with them to Ivolginsky and Tarbogatai because I had been there literally three days prior. I met up with the group in the center of Ulan-Ude and after addling perhaps a little too long, I set off in a small Toyota driven by Masha. The first 3 hours or so of the drive were awesome. The sun was still up and we were driving through the mountains of Buryatia and talking pretty much incessantly. Then it got dark and the road got real. While the majority of the road was paved up to entrance of the Baikal Special Economic Zone, once we got beyond it, the road was one stop above impassable. The asphalt changed levels abruptly and without warning. The road was covered in small molehills of asphalt that occasionally scraped against the underside of the car. And Masha was getting tired of driving. So with about an hour left to go, Masha decided that I should drive. The driver’s side was on the right side of the car (not the left). And it was a road in Siberia. And the last hour was definitely the worst stretch of the road that there was. Fortunately, I didn’t wreck the car and survived the trip. Upon our arrival at 12:30, we ate dinner at the hotel and quickly crashed.

We got up at 7 and ate breakfast. We then got on the road and met up with Alex and his wife, we would be escorting us and preparing food for us along the road. We crossed a river on a ferry pulled by a tugboat, and we were on our way through the Barguzin valley. I rode with Alex and the German reporters (who consisted of one German woman who was the Moscow correspondent for a German news agency and two Russian technicians). Alex and I talked about the growth of tourism in Barguzin, and I spoke with the German woman about her life in Moscow. Our first stop was at an orphanage in a small town in the valley. The orphanage was actually extremely nice, had a little museum that the children put together, and an extraordinarily nice shower. The children read us speeches that were prepared Pioneer style (the Soviet version of Scouts). I talked with the director of the orphanage and a few of the children. The director asked me one of my first hard questions here in Russia: “Why do Americans have to come to Russia to adopt children?” I honestly told him that I do not know, and he said that he’s never met anyone who could answer that question. The children I talked to wanted to be lawyers and drivers. Some things are universal.

Our next stop was a datsan a ways up the valley. A group of children at the datsan had raised money for one of the Amazons, whose son was struggling with cancer. The sum wasn’t high, but damn if those kids don’t have some initiative. They also gave us pioneer type speeches. On a side note, the Soviet Union hasn’t really left the Barguzin valley. The sign for entering the region still has a hammer and sickle, Lenin is still gesturing to the empty town squares of the valley, and people still refer to St. Petersburg as Leningrad. Returning to the story, we then made our way up a path through the woods. Apparently, this datsan is famous because it is near a stone that has a depiction of a Buddhist god in it. I can’t help but draw comparisons with Christians who see the Virgin Mary in a piece of toast. However, the area was completely beautiful and ribbons of all different colors embraced every tree and every stone in the area was part of a tower of stones. This is where we met Max, the American tourist who had been traveling from Karelia towards Ulan-Ude for almost four months. We invited him to tag along with us because he wanted to meet a shaman, and that was our plan for the next day.

We began making our way back out of the valley after the datsan. Alex stopped at all of the best views for the film crew, so I got some excellent pictures. We stopped near a stream for dinner. Alex is a fisherman and has a large garden, so he and his wife prepared one of the freshest meals that I’ve ever had. It was unbelievable. Then, Alex invited me to go along home with him to meet his son and go on a short hunt. I accepted.

As I drove back with Alex and his wife and sister, they told me that they were Russian Jews and had actually lived in Israel for a while. Upon our arrival at their home, they gave me some tea and geared me up for the hunt. I went with their son, Alyosha, and two of his friends. We hopped in the motor-boat and zoomed out towards Baikal. The sun was beginning to set and the view was, again, entirely breath-taking. We stopped in a march and set out. Alyosha was getting married soon. He also told me that he was rejected by the army because he was shot in the arm on a hunt when he was very young. As it began to get dark, we realized that we probably weren’t going to get anything because someone on the other side of the river was firing without stop. As I had never shot a gun before, Alyosha handed it to me and told me how. I fired it twice. As we were beginning to leave, a flock of ducks flew by and Alyosha managed to hit one. I got to carry it back.

When we got back to the house, Alex and his wife prepared dinner for me: eggs that were laid that very day and potatoes from the garden. They then drove me back to the hotel, insisting that I keep the duck. I had no idea what to do with it. I walked into the hotel dining room, where the rest of the group was, and was greeted like a returning war hero. They all thought that the duck was phenomenal, except for the German, who like me, was experiencing some moral qualms about the death of the duck. Alex and his wife finally agreed to take the duck off of my hands, and we all went to bed.

We got to sleep in a little bit, which was sorely needed after the previous day. We ate breakfast, and then the film crew spent about an hour taking video of the cars driving into the hotel. I talked politics with Max. We finally set off for Baikal, which was not far from the hotel by any means. We arrived and met with a shaman. The purpose of this meeting was to bless the mother with the ailing son. I was informed that this shaman specialized in stones, whereas other shamans specialize in other spheres of nature. The shaman’s assistant built a fire with aromatic wood and we presented the shaman with gifts. He placed several stones within the fire and filled a beaker with water from Baikal (I failed to mention that this all took place on a cliff overlooking Baikal, excellent choice of location). The ritual that the shaman would perform is as follows: The assistant would remove a stone from the fire with tongs. The shaman would call a member of the group to him, ask a question, lick the stone, take a swig of moonshine, and spit it in places that needed cleansing. Some of the women with back pain had him spit on their backs. He also unexpectedly spit down the pants of one of the men, and then the rest of the men requested the same treatment (the Amazons requested that I too take avail of the same treatment, but I declined. Samogon in the face was sufficient enough for me). The shaman would also whip those who requested lightly with a rope. He then blessed some ribbons and tied them to a tree (religion mixing at its finest). We then enjoyed another excellent meal, once again prepared by Alex and his wife.

After lunch, we drove down the beach (very unsuccessfully, but we made it) to find a spot with fewer rocks to go swimming. I donned my swimsuit and sprinted in and out of the lake. Max swam around for about ten minutes. Some people can just take the cold... I also saw my first mammal here in Siberia, I think it was an African black squirrel. When I first saw that it was black, I hoped that it was a sable, but no such luck.

After swimming, we hopped back in the cars and got on the road. Fall was in full swing on the drive home. It’s strange: half of the trees here have changed, the others haven’t (not including evergreens). When we got back to Ulan-Ude, we bid farewell to the journalists and I went home. It was a weekend to remember.

I also learned a lot about the potentials for tourism in the area that I will expand upon next time. For now, I think my experiences and first impressions will suffice.

The Russian Dacha

While in Moscow, I never had the opportunity to go to a dacha, which was an experience that I sorely regretted. Fortunately, I was invited to go to a dacha my first weekend in Ulan-Ude. I was gathered from the dormitory at 9am, and then we visited a local super-market to obtain the food and supplies we would need for the day. Then, we hit the road, which wound through the mountains of Buryatia. If we had stayed on the road for about 6 hours, we would have ended up in Irkutsk. However, the dacha was only about half an hour outside of Ulan-Ude. We left the main highway, drove through some back roads, honked the horn, and the gate to the dacha slowly opened.

It was wonderful. The dacha itself was a small, two story cottage with an oven inside and a primitive connection to electricity. Our water was obtained from a well with an electric pump. Surrounding the dacha, however, was one of the most magnificent gardens that I’ve ever seen. Potatoes, flowers, and all sorts of berries were to be found in the grounds of the dacha. I was immediately put to work digging up potatoes and picking berries. In particular, there were orange berries that were absolutely delicious. After gathering potatoes and vegetables, I prepared shish-kabobs from pork, onions, and peppers. In the middle of the afternoon, we sat down to a feast of fish, shish-kabobs, bread, cheese, potatoes, tea, wine, and I’m not sure what all else.

After stuffing ourselves, I went for a stroll down the banks of the Selenga. The Selenga is one of the rivers that flow through Ulan-Ude, the other being the Uda. The dacha was nestled in a valley between mountains, at the very bottom of which flowed the Selenga. There were some fisherman and a true Russian man who went for a swim in a tiny Speedo. When he emerged from the water, we asked him how the water was and he told us, “Hot!” It wasn’t. The weather was unbelievable. I’d guess that the temperature was between 65 and 70 all day and it was sunny with a few stray fluffy clouds in the sky.

After kicking a soccer ball around some, we went back to work at the dacha, this time painting the railing of the balcony. From the balcony, the Trans-Siberian Railway was visible and several trains passed by while I worked. As the sun started to set, it was finally the men’s turn in the banya.

Real Russian men like the banya hot. By the end, I could scarcely breath from the steam, heat, and of course, branches that are used to cleanse the skin. The shock of the freezing cold water that is used between sessions did nothing to help. The conversation was pleasant and afterwards, I felt the most relaxed I’ve felt since, well, the last time I was in a banya. By the time we were done in the banya, it was time to gather everything and set of for home.

While we were driving home from the dacha, I saw one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen. The road to Ulan-Ude winds around with the Selenga. The moon was veiled behind thin clouds. The Selenga glowed more brightly than the night sky. Then, slowly, the bright windows of the Trans-Siberian Train appeared one by one from around a bend in the river. The bend was located at the very base of a tall range of mountains. There is something incredibly peaceful about the sight of a train traveling at night, and if it happens to be at the base of the mountains on the Selenga, it is absolutely breath taking.

I arrived back at the dormitory late, but I brought a cup filled with berries, my body relaxed from the banya, and my mind was completely at ease following a day filled with friendship and beauty.

My Desire to Return to Buryatia is Confirmed

I don’t think words can describe how amazing these last two days have been. The unbelievable level of friendship and hospitality that I’ve encountered in Ulan-Ude is humbling and entirely without comparison. The friendships that I’ve been able to forge in the short time that I’ve been here make whatever small bureaucratic inconveniences I’ve had to endure seem petty.

So, starting from the beginning of Wednesday. I had thought that I had agreed with the history department to sit in a class on The History of Buryatia at 1:00pm. Well, I arrived early, found a seat, and waited. And waited. And waited. And no one showed up. This, of course, happens pretty often in Russia. So I went to the international office and met a few of the English students at BSU. The international office decided that we can figure out my history classes some other time, and now was as good a time as any to try to introduce me to the English department. My desire to help out in the English department has several motivators: First, I want to meet as many people as I can. Second, it will help cement a positive relationship with the university. And thirdly, many of the students in the foreign language department want to work in the tourism industry. As one of my main research questions is what motivates people to work in the tourism industry in Buryatia, I think I can learn a lot by meeting aspiring tour guides. Unfortunately, most of the professors were out, so I set a meeting with the deacon for 2:30 Thursday afternoon.

After that, I met with Masha and she helped me buy a SIM cart on BaikalVestCom, and then we visited several real estate agencies. The common story was that apartments are disappearing fast. After eating a small lunch/dinner with Masha (my meals here are hard to classify), I returned home.

The girl I met on the airplane, let’s call her Ira (again, for privacy and such), had invited me to a celebratory dinner Wednesday night. She told me that she’d pick me up around 8:30, and when I got into the car, I found out that it was her mother’s birthday celebration. Ira’s cousin drove Ira, her brother, and me to an Uzbek restaurant and when we walked in, I realized that the entire restaurant was filled with her family members. I sat close to her brother and cousin and across from an elderly gentleman who attempted to explain everything that was occurring to me throughout the evening. He also assumed the responsibility of getting me to drink as much as possible. He told me a story about how he had been in Cuba and decided to see who could drink more, a Cuban or a Russian. He said, “When I fell to the floor, and looked up the Cuban and said, ‘You!’ And then the Cuban said, ‘Although I can drink, I can’t drink as much as an American.’” The elderly gentleman looked at me expectantly, and then laughed. There were many toasts throughout the evening. Different branches of the family would stand up together, each would say something in honor of Ira’s mother, and then there would be a toast. The elderly gentleman informed me that one of the speakers was a 4-time world champion in boxing, and another was an archery champion. At the end, they asked me to give a toast in English, as Russian, Buryat, and few other languages had already been spoken. So I did my best. At the end, I rode back home with Ira’s cousin, who works in the tourism industry and was full of questions about America. He was extremely nice and lives nearby, so we’ll probably hang out sometime.

So on Thursday I woke up and went to a real estate agency again, where we found out that there was practically nothing left. So, we both had a few hours free so we got lunch together, I bought a new phone, and we took a tram to another part of town to walk around. At 2:30 I met with the deacon of the foreign language department, and talked about various ways that I can help out students.

After my meeting, I called my main contact here in Ulan-Ude, and she invited me to drop by her apartment. She almost immediately sent me to work translating for her. Next week, Ulan-Ude is hosting a huge international tourism forum. We’re trying to get me registered, but I will be helping out with a delegation from Korea, for whom my contact is organizing a few excursions. I translated the schedule of the forum for them today, and I am currently working on translating their program into Russian. It’s nice to finally feel useful. After finishing translating the program, we went to meet contact’s friend’s (let’s call her Sasha) former host son, who was arriving on a bus from Mongolia. After chatting for a while, Sasha invited me to help her with some volunteer work on Saturday, and then to her dacha on Sunday. I, of course, accepted. After watching the new fountain on Soviet Square, Sasha, who had invited me to come home with her and meet her youngest son for a little while, realized that she had mistakenly left her lights on and that her car battery was dead. Almost immediately after that, a group of young people asked Sasha for help. It turns out that they were a group of Mongolians who spoke a little Russian and a little English and hadn’t managed to catch a cab. Sasha found out where to take them, and while we waited for her son to come and jump-start the car, I chatted with the Mongolians to the extent that we were able to understand each other. They were going to catch a plane from Ulan-Ude to Turkey and were staying with a friend for the night. They let me try some of the food that they brought for the road. They had some dried fruits that were delicious, a crumbly bread-like substance that tasted like cheese, and an extremely hard substance that also tasted kind of like cheese. I rode along while Sasha drove the Mongolians to their friend’s apartment, and then she drove me to one of the highest points in the city. It was an absolutely fantastic view; the lights of the city were spread out in the valley, but didn’t drown out the stars. Afterwards she drove me home, and now here I am, writing. And the best part of all of this is: this is still just the very beginning...