how Russian girls turn into babushkas

This weekend was very busy. A lot of things happened, some of which I will recount soon. But one of the more interesting things that occurred was my realization—aha! This is where little Russian girls begin to turn into their grandmothers.

I had just returned home from a very busy Saturday-Sunday. I wasn’t exactly home yet… I wanted to call my parents. First I tried a bookstore. No luck. So many people were using the wifi, the call was dropping every few minutes. So I walked over to my secret internet spot. I say it’s a secret because it probably ought to be, because it’s kind of embarrassing and not entirely legal, not because it’s actually secret. As a matter of fact, this secret spot means standing outside of the back of a row of cafes (all of which have wifi) and making calls from there. This way I don’t have to buy anything, there aren’t tables of people just sitting and listening to me talk, and the annoying music inevitably playing doesn’t bother me… as would be the case if I, you know, went inside any of these cafes.

As I was standing there talking to my parents, Nastya and Lina walked by, going home from the grocery store. Nastya turned and smiled and waved. I waved back.

On arriving to the apartment, Nastya intercepted me. She proceeded to lecture me on how that was really not a good place to stand and talk on the phone. People walking by could see me, it was too near the street, it was too far away from home… etc. I don’t particularly agree with any of her concerns (it’s part of the same courtyard our apartment is in; there’s the cafes on one side and a kindergarten on the other, so I don’t think it’s a sketchy area at all), and I pushed back a little. But she kept on. She was very certain that my decision was wrong. Kind of like her grandmother had been last Wednesday, when she realized I went to the ballet without tights and wanted me to promise to wear tights all the time.

Later that evening, Nastya was recounting a story about getting ice cream with her friend. The story went kind of like: “I got this kind of ice cream, with hot caramel sauce. It was awesome. Polya got that other kind of ice cream, and it was good too, but she had only cold toppings. That’s why she got sick the next week and I didn’t, because I had the hot caramel sauce, and her ice cream was just cold.” It’s basically babushka, telling me I need to microwave my fruit juice so it’s not too cold.

Conclusion: Russian girls don’t become babushkas. They are born babushkas. If they ever pass a period of life in which they seem normal and willing to let other people make stupid decisions like talking on the phone outside or eating ice cream without something hot on top, it’s probably because they are trying to hide their true nature. They become babushkas for a second and final the moment they give that pursuit up.

host family updates

It’s been a while since I’ve talked about my host family here. Now that I’ve had over two months with them, let me offer you some insight on What It’s Like To Live With A Russian Family.

First, the members of the family:

Natasha. She is the matriarch of the family, and the one who is officially listed as my “host.” She is the one who is technically obligated to feed me, talk to me, etc. Feed me she does, often enough. Talk to me she does, not frequently but also enough. Our conversations seem to be the same every time, and always very benign. But that’s okay. I’m learning about the 8 different kinds of kasha, and the names for all of the ridiculous parts of a Russian bedding set.

Andrei. He is, unexpectedly, the one I have the most and most interesting conversations with. At first, it seemed like all he wanted to talk about was sports, and if you know me at all you’re probably laughing out loud at the idea of me having a conversation about sports. But we found common ground in our enjoyment of jazz, of all things, and since then finding topics of conversation has been easier. Sometimes talking to him is frustrating, though, because I will be saying something that is actually correct, but he will not agree with the substance of what I’m communicating, and so assume that I just don’t know how to form the sentence. So he’ll correct me, but the correction is more content-based than grammar-based.

Lina. She and I don’t really talk. She’s very private. 80% of our communication is her telling me to put a hat on, because it’s cold outside, and me explaining that I will wear a hood just like last time, and me trying to avoid admitting that I don’t actually own the sort of hat she wants me to wear.

Nastya. We have lots of mutual respect. I think she’s one of the most enjoyable 11-year-olds I’ve ever met (mostly because she’s not trying to act 13), and she thinks I’m a genius (mostly because I can multiply double-digit numbers in my head). Natasha and Lina seem to live in perpetual fear that she is bothering me, despite my protests that no, it’s really fine, so we don’t get to hang out too often. But she’s fun.

It’s interesting—living with a family-family (as opposed to a babushka and her cat) looks very different than I thought. I have to work much harder to get significant interaction time, because they are busy with family responsibilities, Nastya’s French homework, Andrei’s old-and-ailing mother across town, ironing… lots of things that would not be eating on the time of a retired 80-year-old woman. While this was very hard at the beginning, and I was jealous of my friends with their guaranteed conversation partners and neverending rotation of gourmet Russian dishes, I’ve acclimated. It’s actually very nice as far as my independence goes.

Also, I’ve gotten to observe a bit of how they interact with each other. They often use a tone of voice that, in my house, would mean that somebody was in trouble (or at least very, very displeased). But here it’s just normal interaction. Despite the complete benignity of my interactions with the family, it seems that, on the whole, emotions are higher than I’m used to.

…But this also means that they are rather affectionate with each other. Russian lends itself very well to cutesy nicknames, and they certainly make use of them. I can barely imagine maintaining happy relationships with my grandparents and mother if we all essentially lived in two rooms together… and I had to share a bed with my mom. Somehow, for them, it works out.

Ukraine from the language-learner’s perspective

This may just be the most dangerous blog post I’ve ever written. –Not that it’s dangerous in the same way Akhmatova’s or Mandelstam’s poetry in the Stalinist era was dangerous. It’s just that usually I talk about very benign topics to which no one has any emotional reactions (except maybe when I talk about dill), and Ukraine is… tricky.

First, on the whole, from the perspective of an American in Russia:

No one is telling me the truth. Russian, British, and American news sources are all reporting vastly different things, and rather than sweating over which one is the least biased, I’ve landed on the decision that they’ve all got their own agendas, and the fact is that I cannot fully believe any of them. Why? Because all of them claim, “Ukraine wants x,” or, “The Ukrainian people want y.” But who is Ukraine, anyway? This isn’t 1984; people all have their own opinions. Any article that claims to represent the feelings of the whole country is just kidding itself, and I don’t need to bother myself trying to figure out if it’s true.

That’s interesting. That’s journalism. That’s politics. What I’m really interested in is the connection between the situation in Ukraine and language, specifically the Russian language.

Prepositions

The Russian language has two prepositions roughly equivalent to the English “to,” namely, в and на.

В is used for enclosed spaces… it’s the preposition used to refer to stores, churches, pretty much all buildings. It’s also used for countries, because while the whole country is not under some kind of ceiling, there are specific boundaries/borders which define the space.

На is used for open spaces… it is used when talking about going to the market, to the beach, etc. And interestingly enough, it is also used when talking about Ukraine.

I asked one of my professors about this in class at the beginning of the semester. Why do people refer to Ukraine using на? Isn’t it kind of weird, politically, now that Ukraine is its own sovereign entity, with borders just like any other country?

She explained to me that Украина (Ukraine) is pretty much straight from the Russian у края (by the edge). The word “край” (edge) always takes на, because an edge is not an enclosed space. Therefore, it is proper to say на in reference to Ukraine. It is not a political question, but a linguistic one.

This consideration does elucidate an idea about Ukraine inherent to the Russian language: it is more an edge than it is an enclosed territory. And every time a Russian talks about Ukraine, that is blatantly obvious.

Cultural Identity

On a less technical note, something I’ve realized since being here is how much of the Russian culture is tied up in its language. From Pushkin to Lenin, all that is considered genuinely Russian was delivered in that very language: the French speech and literature of the Imperial Court is considered to be separate from what is truly Russia, just because it was French.

Even for Americans, it’s hard to think of something being written or spoken in French and being representative of Russia, and much more of something being written or spoken in Russian-the-language and not being representative of Russia-the-country. For example, Nabokov was not actually particularly Russian. He left the country at the age of 17, and all of his writing was done elsewhere. Still, we consider him Russian, just because he wrote in that language.

Lest you protest that it is the same for other languages, think: what other great empires have connected their language so closely to the source country? When literature is written in English in India or South Africa, that literature is not considered British. When literature is written in French in North Africa or Canada, it is not tied to France-the-country. When literature was written in Latin anywhere in the ancient world, it did not mark itself forever as Italian.

Russian is different. You couldn’t have Russia-the-country without the Russian-the-language. And the argument goes, you can’t have the language without the country.

That’s one of the reasons this Ukraine/Crimea situation is so difficult for Russians. If they speak Russian, especially since they’re right next-door, they must be (inherently, essentially) Russian. After all, 20 years ago the border between Russia and Ukraine didn’t really mean anything. The gift of Crimea to Ukraine in the 50s definitely didn’t mean anything. By reabsorbing the Russian-speaking parts of Ukraine, Russia would only be offering integrity to those people whose life’s blood and cultural thought is Russian.

My conclusion? The Ukraine question goes deeper than economics. It’s intriguing to see it happening from this side of the line, to talk to people from Russia and Ukraine about what’s going on… specifically, to talk about it in Russian. I wonder if the conversations would go any differently in English?

when I like Russia better than America: food

Note: The following blog post has been affected by the (empty) stomach of its writer.

Probably at least once a day here, I think something along the lines of, “Man, I’m going to miss this when I go back to America. I wonder where the closest Russian grocery store is to me.” Or, “Next on the to-buy list: Russian cookbook.” From what I hear, this is abnormal, but I don’t much care. Вот пожалуйста, some things I’m super thrilled about:

1. soup. In Russia, soup is not a cup of flavored water with some cardboard/chicken material and a few soggy noodles floating around in it. It is flavorful and filling, and I can’t say much more beyond (a) I want to continue eating soup for two meals a day, forever, and (b) Hizzy 2014, weekly soup-making parties, who wants in?
2. black bread. There’s this really cheap, really dense, really spongy black bread that is sold absolutely everywhere, and it’s delicious. Especially with soup.
3. dill. To all of you who despise the stuff: I want to understand, but I don’t. They say it’s an acquired taste, but since coming here I have never had a problem with it, and between meals I probably consume 2 tablespoons a day. Whenever I smell dill in the kitchen, and my heart smiles.
4. chocolate. The stuff we eat in America is a stain on the name of chocolate. And that doesn’t just go for regular chocolate bars… the candy here is amazing. There’s this one that is fabled (but I have not yet tried) called Золотая Лилия (Golden Lily), which is nougat smeared with Nutella and then dipped in dark chocolate. These things are possible because the candy market here is not dominated by two companies, as it is in America… so people with good ideas can just go ahead and make their candy. Voila! Deliciousness.
5. pickles. I have never in my whole life enjoyed pickles. There are pictures of me as a small child eating a pickle and making the most revolted face (why did my parents do/document this? good question). But when my host mom put some pickles on my dinner plate, I wasn’t about to toss them, so I tried them… and what do you know, they’re an entirely different vegetable here than in America! I think they use less vinegar.
6. macaroni. Butter and salt, friends. That’s how they serve pasta here. It’s like they know me or something.
7. sour cream. It’s so thick and tasty, and it’s in everything! I absolutely love sour cream. Wow. Of course, maybe drawing a comparison between the lowfat stuff my mom buys and the full-fat health-hazard I’m eating here is unfair.
8. tvorog. There is no good translation for this food. It’s a milk product with a texture sort of like feta and a taste sort of like sweet cheese, but in both aspects better than their American counterparts. It’s amazing. I like it in pastries, with blini, or just scooped in a bowl with sour cream and jam.
9. cutlets. I actually don’t know if this is the right translation for what I’m talking about, because I’ve never had an American cutlet. I do know that my host mom makes these amazing fish cakes, and I want to continue eating them forever. Her meat cakes are also delicious. I don’t know what sort of seasoning she uses, but somehow the texture and the taste just work.
10. sirok. Again, there is no translation. I could have filed sirki under chocolate or tvorog, but they deserve a category of their own. A cirok is basically tvorog-product mixed with anything from chocolate, to coconut, to cream that tastes like donut glaze… and then dipped in chocolate. Words do not describe the beauty of this food. It’s probably my favorite new-thing I’ve tried here.

There we are... I will be attempting to make or buy all of these things next year, so if you're in the mood for Russian food, let me know. We'll try it together.

gender relations, as observed in the metro

Now, most of my time here I spend with one of three groups of people: (1) the other American students in the program, (2) my host family, or (3) the girls from church and/or Cru. While this is awesome and very comfortable for me, it means that I don’t get a lot of time to observe standard, “normal” interactions between Russian men and Russian women. The time I do get for such an activity is pretty much exclusively in the metro. Here’s what I’ve gleaned:

1. chivalry lives. Yes, I sometimes have to stand in the metro. That’s fine. But I’ve very rarely seen an older woman standing, and, in fact, it’s uncommon to see many women at all standing if there are men sitting down. And if there is a group of Russian men and women travelling together, it is very normal for the men to let the women sit, and then stand in front of them, even if the metro is empty enough that they too could sit. (Note: this is immensely helpful to conversation.)
2. so does physical affection. The metro feels so very public to me—it’s strange to see couples cuddling for the duration of five stops on the metro line and apparently oblivious to the masses of society around them. And then there’s the escalator. In the course of riding from the bottom to the top, I once counted four couples making out on the escalator opposite me.
3. flowers are very serious business. I have actually gathered this other places, but it’s especially clear in the metro. Most metro stations in the city have at least one flower shop directly outside. Usually, it’s a 24-hour flower shop (who buys flowers at 3am, please tell me). On “International Women’s Day” (which is apparently not quite international to have made its way to America?), about 70% of the women I saw in the metro were carrying flowers they’d been given. That’s a lot of flowers.
4. why stop a woman? Considering the proportion of women-men in this country (I’ve heard as high as 3-1), the proportion of women-men who get “randomly” stopped and searched by the police in the metro is very very very low. I’d guess 1-8, at least. This is probably because…
5. women are automatically less sketchy than men. It’s not very common, but you will see people begging in the metro. Maybe this is not solely due to gender, but Russians are much more likely to give money to the babushka with an icon in a tupperware container or even the young woman sitting on a pillow than to the old man with a sign asking for help to buy medicine.

I probably could have included a point about the way people here dress, but (a) a list of 5 points is about 200% better than a list of 6, and (b) you definitely don’t need to go into the metro to notice something about that.