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.