Chapter 4: Part 1. Каргалинские корни (Kargaly roots)

Трио "Реликт" на стихи С. Есенина - "Клён ты мой опавший"

To my surprise and displeasure, the acclimatization process this time was occurring slower than I remembered 6 years ago. Perhaps due to age, I had lost the ability to integrate into the local time zone after only a day. This time, it took almost a week of not sleeping well and getting dead tired around 18:00-20:00 every night. My mood and energy levels were affected, too – I felt out of it or, as we would say in Russia, не в своей тарелке¹. So, when nana suggested on Day 2 that I come back to the village with her, I was not thrilled about the idea. Fortunately, she managed to convince me otherwise.

Even though I had planned for an extended stay (almost 8 weeks) to allow an ample window for renewing all my documents, there was still a certain time pressure. However, the 1^st through the 7^th of January were now federal holidays in Russia, so none of the administrative offices would be open for another few days. This was a fairly new development, inspired by the density of days off around the beginning of the year: historically, January 1 and 2 were always a holiday because of New Year’s, and Orthodox Christmas has been nationally celebrated on January 7 since 1991. The high likelihood of a weekend falling somewhere between those dates made the first week of the year generally an unproductive time anyway, so in 2005 Putin’s party introduced the so-called “New Year’s Vacation.” Ironically, around election time in 2012, Putin himself said he would be open to the idea of moving some vacation days to the May holidays instead (between May 1 and 9), as most people in Russia still grow vegetation on plots of land outside city limits, making spring a busy period. Labor representatives were plainly pushing to keep the New Year holidays and have more days off in May, though it was unlikely their demands would be met in full. I liked to joke when telling this to foreign friends: “While the rest of the world is dealing with recession, Russia’s biggest problem is when to have their holidays.”

As I arrived on Tuesday (Jan. 3) and there was nothing I could do until next Monday, I agreed to kill some time in the country. My grandfather, who had to stay behind to take care of our birds and livestock, was anxious to see me. Thanks to my uncle’s car ownership and improved roads between Ufa and Kargaly (a village ~100km away), it was now a casual occurrence for him to drive out for a weekend visit or give my grandmother a lift, especially in the winter. Though there is much nostalgia tied to it, I was relieved at the prospect of not getting up at an ungodly hour to catch the train (электричка) that ran twice a day and took close to 3 hours in total travel time (including getting to the station).

Some views from the car on a different trip to the village.

"Зима!.. Крестьянин, торжествуя..."

Equestrian exercise!

When we pulled up to the gates, the dogs were going crazy. Kolobok, a 12-year-old black mutt (a Schnoodle?) whom I still remembered as a puppy, greeted us with a familiar friendly bark. The other dog – a younger and less intelligent Caucasian shepherd mix – joined in the chorus. To keep with tradition, we gave each of them a treat. Back at the Ufa apartment, bones, old bread and other leftovers were collected in a freezer-kept (literally) doggy bag, to be taken to the country. In the winter, my grandmother stews the leftovers with some fat and feeds it to the dogs with a supplement of bread or bones. That way they can still get their share of liquid in freezing temperatures.

After unloading the car and grabbing a bite, my grandmother and I settled in front of the TV, while the men went to wash in the баня first. I’ve found it very difficult to get across the concept of Russian saunas to people unfamiliar with the bath house as a cultural phenomenon. But even compared with countries like Turkey and Sweden, the traditional saunas in Russia are a bit different. They are not just places for cleaning and cleansing, but socializing, as well. In the cities, at least in the Soviet days, the bath houses would serve beer and snacks (often crawfish) poolside that visitors could enjoy after the steam room. The smaller private saunas that many people have in the country or at their dachas will often feature a little entry room, called predbannik, that can serve the same purpose if weather-proof. However, more often people will relax at the house.

Yet, the bathing ritual itself is a social affair. People will go as a group and will first sit around to sweat. Then, they will soap up and wash their hair if needed. As there is often no running water in rural areas, banyas are used as a place to clean up. The most important step is known as попариться в баньке². Russians use veniki³ – bundles of young birch twigs, less frequently oak or other trees – first soaked in water, then steamed, to pat or slap each other all over the body, especially the back. Like any form of massage, it’s more pleasant than painful, especially if the twigs are sufficiently thin and leafy. They also release a pleasant birch aroma when steamed. Nana always told me to put one close to my face and breathe it in for a bit. If they feel too hot, people will jump outside any time of the year to take a break (butt naked, of course). After a final rinse, the ritual is over. Some even like to hop into an outdoor pool of water at the end instead, though that is recognized to carry a risk of heart failure.

Veniki are made in the summer and hung to dry, so they can be
preserved and used over the entire year.

Our banya was built by my grandfather when I was still a little girl, so I grew up with the customs. He’s modified the structure a bit since, but for the most part it stayed just the way I remembered it. A black stove to the left of the entrance, concealed coals glowing red or still blazing with fire; the hissing steam caused by a splash of water on the stones laid out inside the stove, above the coal chamber; a floor of wide wooden planks and wooden table to lie down on for the venik treatment; and – my favorite – a large cubic container of well water on the right, absurd-looking with its silver paint. This banya helped cure my colds and still carries special memories. I miss it periodically, no matter where I am.

Getting used to the road signs was an adjustment. Some are quite different
 and there exist more of them overall than in the US.

More pictures from the road. This winter was considered to be light on snow.
It covered the plains, but just barely. It hardly snowed in the 2 months that I was there.

I tried to capture how colorful the houses tended to be. It makes them easier to distinguish
 from each other and looks better in the seasons when nature is dying/dormant.

In my description of seemingly routine things, I was really struck with the extent of winter’s influence back home. I tend to shun stereotypes, but there truly is a multitude of unique cultural aspects related to the season, born of its length and climate. These features are profound, yet subtle, and only through explaining them to foreign friends did I realize how abundant they were. It’s not that winter in Russia is everlasting or excessively cold (mostly), as common perception abroad suggests. But it is so entwined into Russian folklore, daily life, the very consciousness and fabric of Russians, it has become inseparable from the Russian identity. I’m glad to have experienced it again.
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1 - literally, "not in one's own plate"
2 - to steam oneself in the sauna
3 - I've seen this translated as "besoms," but didn't feel it reflected the meaning properly, so I opted to use a latinization of the Russian word

Chapter 3: Welcome to the Old World

Theme song: Вальс из х/ф "Ирония Судьбы" - М. Таривердиев

I awoke (or was awakened?) groggy from my nap, around 3:30 pm. Though the date hadn’t changed, it felt to me like an entire night had passed since my trip; arriving in darkness probably only enhanced this effect. It was time to eat and go out. My nana and uncle were determined to take me shopping, having evaluated the wardrobe I packed as insufficiently warm.

Our meal of the afternoon differed little from brunch. As I mentioned in the last entry, having meat with breakfast is definitely more typical of country living; my friends confirmed that their morning meals are usually more of a snack – oatmeal, yogurt, bananas, or глазированый сырок (sweetened soft cheese encrusted with a thin chocolate-y layer; delicious). I found my uncle was an exception. He would often eat a hearty breakfast (sometimes consisting of dumplings or turkey broth), probably because of a hectic schedule that may or may not allow for a sit-down lunch. While boiled meat tends not to be what I crave first thing in the morning, it is definitely more advantageous to eat a solid breakfast, if time permits. Daytime and nighttime temperatures usually vary by as much as 10 ^oC (~20 ^oF), which means that the morning trek to work or school may occur in much lower temperatures than expected for the day. Additionally, the body not only needs more calories to function in the cold, these also need to come from substantial sources. As I told a friend via Facebook, “Nothing like a rich fatty broth to help face the -20 ^oC cold.”

Milk with 6% fat content. We normally settled for 3.2-3.5% but I was just amused that this existed.

Another attribute of the Russian winter diet that becomes more prevalent the further one gets away from large cities is a lack of fresh vegetables. Interestingly, none of the locals seemed to really notice it, but as someone who loves fresh green veggies, I can attest that there were not enough. Plant products that were easy to find: potatoes, carrots, beets and other root veggies, yellow onions, garlic, white cabbage. Plant products that were either not for sale everywhere or were not always good quality: zucchini, cucumbers, tomatoes. Plant products I don’t remember seeing at all: lettuce, bell peppers, broccoli, celery, radishes (?), green onions, etc., etc.. In all fairness, fruit were available in much better selection; and in keeping with the season, sweet-tasting mandarins were in blissful abundance. Luckily for me, vitamin deficiency was easy enough to avoid by relying on our national recipes. Russian cuisine is ripe with salads that use “winter” veggies as the base, while fermented cabbage and pickles fulfill a craving for something juicy and crunchy. There were also canned peas and corn, on top of the frozen vegetables I think I remember seeing in stores. All in all, though occasionally missing some foods, I did not mind the situation too much. Moreover, I was amused by rediscovering why it’s impossible to be a vegetarian in most parts of Russia. Not only was the selection of vegetables limited, but I had to think of creative ways and make a conscious effort to include them in my diet. …Because it’s so much easier to just boil some пельмени¹ and call it a day.

Typical dawn, around 10am. View from our kitchen window. The green building is a kindergarten/pre-school.

But returning to observations of Day 1 in the homeland: So. Many. Cars. There were at least 3-4 times as many as I remembered seeing before my departure in ’03. Our дворы² were jam-packed with them, quite a few of the parking spaces improvised. The bloated number of cars was the single most apparent change, reflected by many aspects: wider and better highways, designated parking lots and (multiple!) car dealerships. My uncles jokingly boasted that they now even had “real traffic jams.” I wasn’t sure whether to delight or despair at this new extravagance. Because gas is relatively expensive in most parts of Russia (the price comes out to about the same in $/gal, but the income there is 3-5 times lower, on average), owning a car is still a bit of a luxury. On one hand, it could mean an overall increase in the quality of life and income level for the middle class, now that more of them could afford a vehicle. On the other, it’s a triumph of consumerism, getting more people hooked on the oil needle. And it’s not necessarily a bump in salaries that has churned out more car owners, but the sheer increase in car availability. The domestic market is unpopular, so until foreign dealers opened up plants all over Russia (Nissan, Ford, GM, Peugeot, Toyota and others), decent cars all had to be imported and were therefore even more expensive. Nonetheless, some positive aspects of this auto-boom are apparent: much better and continually improving infrastructure, more jobs and a boost to tax revenue. And given the country’s size, any environmental fallout is conveniently easy to ignore. (For now...)

We hit up a couple of clothes stores to scoop out the prices and a shoe store where my uncle bought me an awesome pair of Finnish fur-lined leather boots as a belated birthday present. My footwear was actually adequate, but such boots are impossible to find in the US. (Though now that I think about it, Minnesota might be the place.) I also got a pair of black pants that looked like a more fashionable version of ski pants and proved a very useful asset over time. As I figured out that same day, the double layer of jeans and woolen tights was clearly not cuttin’ it. We passed on feather and down jackets, partly because we didn’t really see any we liked much, and partly because, well, I would have no use for one here. They also shed feathers over time and were generally more expensive over there. It just didn’t seem worth it. Besides, my Canadian sheepskin coat with raccoon fur on the hood seemed a bit special: raccoons are endemic to North America.

Finally, we headed back just as the last store was closing, and my jet-lagged self finally got to pass out after an eventful first day. But more importantly, my caring relatives probably felt a little more confident in preventing pneumonia and frozen appendages in a girl who thought she came prepared for the winter that awaited her 13^o of latitude north.

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1 - meat dumplings

2 - courtyards

Chapter 2: The Homecoming

As I was writing this post after almost 3 weeks in Russia, there were certain words that readily came to me in Russian that I could not translate. I doubt I ever actually knew them in English, but I decided to keep them as evidence of the adaptation of my language that is interesting to me and might be of interest to some of my friends. I include their translation at the bottom.

Theme song: "Родина" - ДДТ

As my plane touches down around 6am local time, I observe with excitement the snow covering most of the field. Somehow, even this snow seems familiar. It could have been just my imagination, but it was at least a welcome change after a snowless Chicago. I make my way through the small two-story airport building – passport control, luggage claim, customs. The passport lady (an officer of the police) takes a long time with my expired passport, studying the permit of entry. In Russia, passport control is a branch of the правоохранительные органы (literally, “right-protecting organs” = the police). While I waited, I thought how it might be useful to learn the different ranks reflected by the погоны¹ on the uniforms.

My uncle and second uncle greeted me at the “finish line.” As usual, it felt nice to be welcomed after a long journey. On the way home we chatted easily. They had many questions about us (me and my parents) and life over there in general. Predictably, talk of the weather came up almost instantly. My uncle asked whether I had only brought jeans and commented that my дубленка² was a bit thin. I tried to say I had brought extra layers, but they seemed unconvinced. I could understand them, seeing that it was about -15C outside. There was also snow, real snow, and trees adorned with иней³. The guys complained that it was “a little humid.” At first, I wasn’t sure what they meant, as I considered humidity impossible at any temperature below freezing. The air to me seemed perfectly normal, but I reminded myself that the climate here is normally dry, especially compared to swampy Chicago. It’s no wonder I dislike humidity so much, born and raised mostly among these steppes, close to the continental divide and well away from any large bodies of water.

It was around 8am when we finally made it home, twenty-five and a half hours after I left the Berwyn bungalow. Conveniently, there was now an exact 12-hour time difference between Ufa and Chicago; in a move completely becoming of Russian leaders, President Medvedev ended Daylight Savings in Russia in 2011. Also completely typical with such decisions, they now kept the country an hour ahead on summer time, which meant that in the winter, dawn came inconveniently late. (Pretty much everyone I’ve conversed with has expressed dissatisfaction with the situation.) Thus, at the morning hour when we reached our destination, it was still pitch black. The darkness and lack of human activity combined with my fatigue and a yet unadjusted biological clock almost convinced me it was nighttime. I was looking forward to a nap.

But before I could pay a visit to Morpheus, there was some washing up and feeding to do. Nana (as I will refer to my paternal grandmother for distinction – a term that sounds similar to the Tatar нәнәй I grew up using) offered us pieces of roasted turkey, boiled potatoes, квашеная капуста (lightly fermented cabbage), homemade pirozhki, and her signature baked dish for dessert, called “хворост” or “brushwood.” This was a somewhat unusual breakfast not only for me, but most Russian urbanites as well, but more on that later. I was too exhausted to really appreciate my grandmother cooking and running my hot bath; perhaps also because it was no surprise that she’d be waiting for me at home. Looking back, though, I feel a surge of gratitude for all my family did to make a weary traveler’s homecoming truly feel like one.

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1 - strap
2 - sheepskin coat
3 - frost

Russia Trip Chapter 1: The Travel

I am finally starting to post entries from Russia. So far they are turning out more like journal entries than articles, but I'll try to aim for a more balanced blend of impressions vs. information in the future.

Theme Song: "Из Алма-Аты" - Ногу Свело!

Jan 2, 11am (7pm local time)
Ataturk Airport, Istambul

After multiple unsuccessful attempts, I’ve given up trying to connect to the Internet. Different networks, locked and unlocked, all tell the same story: status “Connected” but “No Internet Access.” It seems like it’s a problem common among at least American users. When I approached a gentleman on his Mac who sounded like someone from the States, he testified that his attempts to get online have also failed. I’m making a mental note to ask Sevi about this.
 

Turkish mineral water disclosing its pH content

Right now I am sitting at an airport bistro with half a liter of Efes Pilsen. Like Sevi said, it does seem like it’s the only kind of beer they serve. I’m finding it quite drinkable, though an unremarkable lager.

 An exhibit of traditional wares at the airport.

Jan 11, 00:20 (12:20 pm Chicago time)

Apartment, Ufa

My notes from earlier got interrupted by the arrival of my meal. I no longer recall what it was called on the menu, something to do with “fajitas.” It consisted of grilled strips of chicken and beef served over peppers and onions, with flour tortillas, guac, salsa and sour cream on the side. The food and beer came as a combo and cost me $25, tips included. Overall, it hardly resembled the Mexican dish, but the quality was pretty good, so no complaints there.

The bistro was getting filled to capacity, and shortly after I sat at a table for two, I was joined by a middle-aged gentleman also apparently seeking to pass the time between flights. Eventually we got to talking and ended up having quite a conversation, learning about each other and touching on a variety of topics. He turned out to be a Kurdish doctor living in Holland of Iraqi origin; a highly educated and interesting man. He was waiting for a connecting flight to Suleimanyah to visit his parents for a week. In the meantime, I learned about his sister, a mechanical engineer in Iraq, and his brother also living in Holland, who, after studying political science in college, now made a living as a sculptor, unable to find employment in his field. Nzar – a name that means “shadow of the mountain” in Kurdish – also had an artistic streak. He demonstrated some examples of his artwork on his phone. What I remember most were portraits of his sister’s kids in either pencil or charcoal. They were not photographic, but each one was depicted with a distinct facial expression, which added a touch of realism.

Jan 14, 00:20

Apartment, Ufa

We ended up talking right until it was my time to board. The poor doctor’s flight was delayed by 8 hours, and he’d have to wait at the airport until about 7 AM. Towards the end, we both indulged in some Turkish ice-cream (his treat). Neither of us could tell if it was any different from other ice-cream, but it was good. The flight back was uneventful. Fortunately, the passengers were sparse, so I was able to stretch out on my row of seats for a nap.

Turkish ice cream server. Unfortunately, he didn't show off like this guy.

Overall, my experience at the Ataturk airport was pleasant, minus the Wi-Fi fiasco. Pretty good service and overall cleanliness. Though, when I was told it was a “nice” airport, I wasn’t expecting to see Hermes, Bulgari, Versace, et al. on premises. Also, it felt different to be surrounded by a hodge-podge of languages again. I heard Russian, English (US and UK), French and Italian, though I’m sure there were others I did not recognize. But seeing and hearing all the announcements in Turkish reminded me how long it had been since I visited a country where I didn’t at least have moderate knowledge of the primary language, and how it can be a bit disconcerting. Turkey seems like a beautiful country. Given its large proportion of coastline, no wonder it’s a popular vacation spot. I would definitely like to come back for a proper visit some day.