Good-bye Cambridge! (sniff! sniff!)

It's official.

We've moved.

Our time in Cambridge was amazing. We had experiences there that I know we will never forget, but I can't help feeling that our time was cut short. There were things I never did (whale watching! What happened?), places I never went (Mount Auburn Cemetery! So close and yet so far!), but alas we have moved on.

To DC.

And so, even though I already miss Boston, I'm excited for the new adventures to come. I mean, I'm practically Barack Obama's next-door neighbor! I can't wait to borrow a cup of sugar.

It's gonna rock!

Leaving on a jet plane

The plan was for Brandon to leave Russia on the 22nd and be back in Cambridge by the 23rd, so he could get some things done before I came back on the 24th.

Uh...that didn't happen.

In what seems so classically "Russia," Brandon's plane was delayed because it was leaking something. We don't know what. Eventually, it was determined that they didn't have the part they needed to fix the mystery leak and the flight was canceled until the following day.

Just imagine the English announcement over the intercom: "Plane leak. No fix. Come tomorrow."

A few days in st. pete's

Best. Day. Ever.
By the time I woke up and got ready for the day it was basically time to get moving - I quickly glanced over some notes I had written down the night before and the websites of the groups I was meeting with today and got moving.
It ended up taking quite a bit of time to get to the first appointment. In all, I was about 20 minutes late -- no worries though, the lady said. She was chill. It was probably one of the better interviews I've had so far in terms of how much I enjoyed our conversation. She was really cool. She'd been to the states and had even been to Harvard, which I thought was fun. She had some really interesting stories about run-ins with the FSB - apparently life as a member of Russia's oppressed civil society is more exciting than I thought!

After that I walked up to a big church that I had seen in the distance on my way in and took some pictures. It was super neat - I wish I knew which one it was. After wandering around for a bit I realized that I was not only cold, tired, and hungry, but needed to get back to the hotel because my computer had started to run out of batteries during the last interview and needed to get plugged in and quick. So I broke down and got a taxi from where I was. I didn't have a clue what the going rate was for a taxi from where I was (I really had no clue where I was - I could get to the metro from where I was, but I knew that was a long walk, and then it would be a long metro ride, and I wasn't up for it). For those of you who may not be familiar, taxis in Russia are not like taxis in the US where there is a contraption (the name of which escapes me at the moment) that tells you how much your ride is costing you as you go. In Russia, even with "official" taxis (at least the ones I've been in) you sort of barter your way to a good price and off you go. The obvious problem for foreigners - even those of us that can put two words together in Russian - is that we have these accents that immediately equal dollar (or euro) signs to our potential taxi drivers.

I don't take taxis in the States much, and haven't been in a taxi in the FSU since 2007 - before the current financial crises and the drastic devaluation of the ruble - so I just guessed the trip might cost 300 rubles, which was the amount of 100 ruble bills I happened to have in my wallet. The taxi driver in question for today (Stepan the Ukrainian, I would come to find out) not only scoffed, but started to regale me with just how badly I had low-balled with my 300 ruble figure and went on about how all foreigners just assume things in other countries are cheap. Apparently the going rate was 400 rubles (so I was $3 off - big deal!), or so he said. But it turns out that the 400 rate was to a different hotel - he took me to the wrong one, thinking that was where I was staying (or that is his claim). When I said that I had clearly told him "Petro Palatz" and not "Nevskii Palatz" he apologized, said it would be another 100 rubles, and kept driving! I would have been annoyed, but we were seriously having a really good time, Stepan and I. Not that I would pay 500 rubles to have that conversation again, but he was a cool Ukrainian guy and we had a good time analyzing the current Russia/Ukraine gas dispute (he is, after all, a Ukrainian with a Russian passport, so he claimed he could provide an unbiased viewpoint and I, having spent a little time in Malaya Russiya, was able to hold my own with Ukrainian politics); the financial crisis; our hopes and fears for the new presidential administration in the US, and so on. Seriously, good times had by all. I just got a real kick out of the fact that he just assumed that I would have an extra 100 lying around, but as he said, all Americans are the same - we're all loaded with cash! I guess that would be an easy stereotype to make if you are a cab driver in downtown St Petersburg and the only Americans you meet are rich businessmen or tourists well off enough to afford a cab.

While the computer was charging I broke down in another way and violated my pledge not to eat at another Western chain restaurant during the remainder of my trip - I went to Pizza Hut. I was hungry and didn't have time to dilly-dally over trying to find a good, cheap, non-food-poisonous looking place near the hotel. I must say though, they have really nationalized that salad bar - there were two different types of boiled potatoes, three different types of cabbage (two coleslaws and just plain cabbage), several beet concoctions and no lettuce or tomato to be found anywhere. You've gotta love the Russian "salat" bar. And the service was the fastest I've ever had at a Russian restaurant (my waitress literally carried an arm-load of dirty dishes over to the register when I asked for my check as she was walking by) and you can't beat a good pepperoni pizza that reminds you of the free ones you used to get in grade school as part of your school's reading program. Sigh.

After that little adventure in culinary delights, it was off to my second interview. Since I was so late to my morning interview, and knowing that the people I was meeting with this afternoon were at least slightly busy, I thought I would give myself as much travel time as possible. When my computer hit 70% battery life I grabbed it and went. Funny side story: in Russia, it's not common to see people of all ages, gender, and socio-economic class carrying around plastic bags from stores that might not have locations anywhere near the FSU, not to mention the particular city that you are in. For some reason, people here prefer to carry their belongings around in these "packets" - my favorite are the women who have their purse, and then a packet of who knows what - and you know that they didn't just come from that store because there are no Old Navy's in Russia. Anyway, in packing for my trip to St. Pete's, I borrowed Anthony's big framed backpack so that I wouldn't need to use my side-bag and a packet like I did to Nizhnii. Without my side-bag, however, I had nothing to put my computer in, not to mention the maps I had printed out to get me to my appointments, etc. Anyway, I decided that I would just use a packet and look Russian like the rest of them. I had bought some groceries last night so I had a packet and it had worked fine for my morning interview - the lady I was talking to didn't even blink when I pulled my computer out of a black plastic bag. Anyway, in the elevator on the way out to my second interview my packet broke (!) and my computer went tumbling to the floor. Luckily everything still worked (and checking to make sure everything was okay in the lobby gave me a chance to use the free wifi and shoot Felicia a shout out) but I didn't have time to figure out a solution and just used the remainder of my sorry packet and started on my way to my interview. I knew that this one was near the train station and that I could find a more suitable bag - disposable or otherwise - there. That's the other thing - they have nicer plastic shopping bags that they sell at kiosks for about 50 cents. I debated whether it was worth buying a real bag, but after remembering that we have half a dozen back packs or equivalents at home in a closet in Cambridge I decided to keep my 450 rubles and opted instead for a 15 ruble black "Luisa Cosmetics" bag. It's a good bag - worth every kopek (for the record, I actually had to pay for the trashy bag that I had been using before - the grocery store I had stopped in last night was still soviet, go-to-every-counter-and-pay-for-things-separately, and they still make you buy your bags at those.

Anyway, with my handy new packet, I got to my appointment not only in plenty of time, but in style. This interview was as good as this mornings, and I not only talked to the director of the organization, but also their lawyer, which was really neat to get the different perspectives - so far it had just been the one or the other. Also, the lawyer said he had some documents that will be really useful for my paper or otherwise just really interesting, so I'm looking forward to getting those.

After that, I was time to drop off the computer, have dinner, and then take some pics of the city. It was already 5pm by the time I was leaving their office, so by the time I got back to my part of town I decided I should just get some food because once I got to the hotel I would just want to immediately go start site seeing. I withstood the temptations of not only Rostik's but also Subway (I wonder how they say "eat fresh" in Russian?); there is a restaurant that I passed a couple of times that I noticed had shawerma, so I did that instead. It was pretty dang good shawerma, especially considering the dude cooking it was clearly not from any place where cooking meats on a stick is traditional, the restaurant was (relatively) clean (I have a well-developed theory that ethnic foods from dirty food establishments taste better than similar foods from cleaner, more sanitary venues) and I therefore didn't have that thrill-seeker's excitement from eating ridiculously good food with a very real risk of an unpleasant afternoon in a second-world public water-closet (I was mocked last week when I called Russia "first world" - after some consideration, I've succumbed to pressure - I mean, can you call it "first world" if they have migrant workers using brooms that look like something from "Little House on the Prairie" to get rid of snow? Literally, there are hordes of Uzbeks SWEEPING Russia's streets with brooms made of sticks and twigs any time it snows. It's a real sight to behold).

After dinner and a quick costume change I hit the increasingly frigid streets. I took in all the major sites and sights within convenient walking distance, but two hours later, I was again tired, hungry and cold. The highlight of my night was asking a Russian lady for directions to the Spas na Krovi (Savior on the Blood) Cathedral, and she not only gave me directions but walked with me half way there and when we got to her apartment building we stopped and chatted and she told me all about her son in Mexico and about how she has been to Mexico. It was at least a good 10 minute conversation. All I know is that by the end of it I was starting to worry about what frost bite might look like on my chin and thinking that I think being a Russian in Mexico sounds like a good plot starter for a bad comedy. But yeah, St. Petersburg is one of the most beautiful cities I've ever been in - even at night and in 13F wind chill. I can't wait for the day I can come here and spend a week or two and just take it all in at my own pace instead of having to run around and just take pictures because everything is already closed. Sigh.

Cross-Country skiing in Nizhniy Novgorod

[Brandon took the train to Nizhniy to visit friends for a few days]

After driving around in some village for 20 minutes or so, we finally got to the baza ("base") where you can rent skis. I kid you not, there are four different windows that you have to go to before you can finally get your skis. First you go to one window in one room and give them your documents and pay. They give you back your documents and a receipt. Then you go to another room and another window and give them the check and your documents, and they give you back a metal number. You take that number to the hall and a third window and give them that number and tell them your shoe size and they give you your shoes and a second metal number. You put your shoes on, not losing the second metal number, and take that to a fourth window, give them that number, and they give you your skis and poles. So, four windows, two metal numbers, two rooms and a hallway. At some point I realized that the people that you talk to through the window in the second room and the two windows in the hallway are all in the same room, which makes me wonder why there isn't just two rooms and two windows, or maybe just one room. I blame Lenin.

Skiing itself was actually pretty fun. It took some time to get used to it, but by the time we were all done (after 3 hours or so) I more or less had the hang of things. However, I did fall over pretty regularly, no matter how well I was doing. I haven't done this in 20+ years, and I had only ever done it once anyway, so I think I did relatively well. Every time I thought about anything other than what I was trying to do, I would basically screw up and have to re-focus or I would lose my balance and fall over. I'm sure there is some sort of Gospel metaphor here ...

More pics

View from the apartment window

meanwhile, back in oregon...

I was just getting over my cold when, of course, Kiddo caught a worse one than I had. He's a trooper!

A few of the ins and outs of Russia

Having a cleaning lady as an ex-pat attorney in Moscow is apparently a must. When your time is worth enough that having someone else do your dishes, laundry, and overall take care of your house for you is a logical choice, you've got a good gig going. Anthony, the guy I'm staying with, has an awesome cleaning lady, Lyudmilla. She is the most jovial and hardworking babushka I've met in a long time. I sorta felt bad having her do my laundry and stuff, but when I asked her to explain the washing machine to me (Anthony doesn't know how it works - again, he has a cleaning lady) she looked at me, said that was ridiculous, and demanded that she wash my clothes for me. No arguments there . . . I want a cleaning lady someday. (For the record, Felicia and I had a cleaning lady in Moscow when we were here. It rocked.)

So, I had two interviews today with two different people. My first interview was over the phone with the staffer for an independent politician based in Barnaul, Altai Krai, Siberia. The region that he's from, the Altai Krai, is known as one of the more liberal regions. Apparently the generations of dissidents exiled there have left a very intelligent, Western leaning population in Siberia. Pretty crazy business, if you ask me. We had a good chat - in Russian - about the need for non-profits as an essential part for the flourishing of civil society and democratic institutions in Russia. There were several times when I didn't understand a word the guy was saying (I'd never heard the term "общественная палата" before, but apparently it's important for what I'm studying since both the guys that I talked to today brought it up) but overall it was extremely helpful in understanding the opposition's point of view here in Russia.

My second interview of the day was with a Russian fellow from the Heritage Foundation here in Moscow. Now, as a missionary, I was trained to avoid the police. They would always see our tags and want to check our papers hoping for a bribe. Annoying. Anyway, given the (potentially, but probably not really) sensitive topic of my research on this trip and my absent (until tomorrow at 5:00pm - more on that in a second) registration, I've been avoiding the police like crazy - walking behind them where possible; strategically placing myself behind groups of young men from Central Asia (Russian security personnel openly engage in racial profiling); etc. When I showed up to this office building today, there was a full-on cop there as a security guard. I nearly panicked and ran out the door! However, this was one of the nicest Russians I've ever interacted with - he was not only pleasant, but very helpful in showing me the right office. The interview itself went really well and it helped to solidify some of the parts of this morning's conversation that I was still trying to wrap my head around.

Between the phone call and the on-site chat, I paid a visit to the tourist agency that handled my visa to see if I could get registered. In the abstract, it was not a place that I would otherwise feel comfortable leaving my hat for a moment or two - let alone my passport overnight - but 1120 rubles and a photocopy was all they asked for. They told me to come back tomorrow for my actual registration document. Let's just say that this isn't how my visa was taken care of in the past, and I have a feeling that not everything with that organization is entirely legitimate. But then again, I've been getting that feeling a lot lately.

For dinner tonight (lunch was more street meat - I can't say no to a 70 ruble meal of chicken kabob in lavash with 'salat' - num!) was a burrito pulled from Anthony's freezer. You might be thinking to yourself "Freezer burrito, in Moscow? What?" Well, that was what I thought too. My host assures me that these are no ordinary burritos. Apparently this was some sort of black-market burrito. Not that Mexican food is prohibited here, simply that the way the burritos come about is apparently questionable. It's a little known fact that Moscow is a center for some pretty sad tales of indentured servitude. I have to remind myself at times that there are actually places in the world (lots of them, come to think of it) that people would take CRAZY chances to leave in order to look for a better life. . . in Russia. So I guess what happens is they get caught up with some group that they loan their passport to and then pay them back over time to get their passport back. Then the organization more or less pimps them out to rich families. The families, not knowing any better, pay the organization and not their actual servant, whereas most of the time (at least with the rich, American families) the families would probably rather just "buy" the servant out of freedom than perpetuate slavery. Anyway, I've been in at least one household (not the one I'm staying in - don't start thinking that Lyudmilla the cleaning lady is an indentured servant - she's not) that I'm fairly sure had an indentured servant from the Philippines. I'm not 100% sure, but fairly convinced. Anyway, Anthony's story is that there is a group of Mexican indentured servants locked away in some dark apartment somewhere in Moscow making high quality Mexican foods which are then sold by their masters to rich Western ex-pats at ridiculously high prices. Apparently there is some phone number that you get introduced through to the organization, and from then on you have your own burrito "agent" that you work through. It all seems really odd. As for the burritos - pretty good for coming out of some dude's freezer in Moscow.

Russia, Day 4: A Word about street meats

I took the opportunity to get myself a little something from a local vendor today. You know how, as a kid when your parents tell you not to do something, it sometimes makes you want to do it all the more? Well, that's how I was with street meat here in Russia. It always looked so good and so harmless, but when I got to the mission, there were some strong prohibitions against it. Over time, and with a new mission president, these prohibitions were not stressed as much, and there was even some talk that the new mission president occasionally partook of the carnivorous delights purveyed by the mostly Central Asian vendors. As a missionary, the rule against street meat is the only rule that I remember consciously violating, and I did it only twice. Well, my taste buds (not to mention my bowels) have never been the same.

That's because street meat is AWESOME! There's just something exhilarating about biting into a tasty chunk of mystery meat. From my first shawarma, I was hooked. In Ukraine there were a few "restaurants" that served shawarma, and that only fueled my addiction. When Felicia and I were in Russia last time, I know we indulged in the dangerous delights on at least a handful of occasions. What joy!

So today, on my way to Kolomenskoye, I passed a couple of the little trailer/cafes that sell street meat and couldn't help myself. I got the chicken kabob in lavash. It was excellent. Despite the fact that it got cold in my hand within the first few bites (it was about 13F today), it was still wonderful. It kept me full for my entire excursion.

Anyway, now I'm off to Mu - Mu for a dinner that is a bit more substantive.

Russia pics

Doesn't this just make you want to go there?

Email from Brandon: Trip to Moscow/first day

[B sent a travel log, of sorts, about his trip to the Motherland. Reading this made me miss Russia!]


My flight from Atlanta to Moscow was good - long, but good. I had to sit next to an unbelievably tall Russian girl named Lena from Novosibirsk. Very interesting individual who has spent the last four years in Miami as a cocktail waitress in various strip clubs. She swore up and down that she never "danced" for anyone, but she still couldn't understand why a religioznii and veruyushii person like myself had never been interested in strip clubs. One word: ick. So, it was like I was sitting next to the Western stereotype of a Russian 24-year old for 11 hours. Potential for humor was limitless.

I landed in Moscow and, unlike my last trip to the Slavic homeland where Felicia and I had to wait in passport control for over an hour, I actually got through in under 10 minutes. I even made the lady smile by how smiley I was being. I'm telling you, these people would be much happier if they didn't think that those who smile at people they don't know are simply crazy.

Everything sounds peachy keen so far, right? Despite the speed with which I made it through passport control, I ended up waiting for my one suitcase for nearly an hour. (I think the baggage handlers for Delta are either still on vacation or think they are still living in a Soviet state.) Normally I wouldn't care since I couldn't check into my hotel until 3, but my previous research had found a brand new train from the Moscow airport into town that I really wanted to try. By the time my bags finally came I had missed the train and would have to wait two hours to get on the next one. Bummer, I thought - especially since I really wanted to try the new one out ("Aero-ekspress" it's called). As I pulled out money from an ATM, a taxi driver started chatting me up, looking to rustle up some business. I asked him how much he charged for a drive into Moscow. 2000 rubles, plus tip. Yikes. Let's weigh this out: 2000 rubles to sit in traffic with not only a Russian taxi driver, but the kind who poaches unsuspecting tourists at the airport, or wait two hours to ride on a fancy new train that I've really wanted to try for a mere 250 rubles, plus a metro ride to my hotel. I opted for the train.

And let me tell you, this train is nice. I'm typing on it at this very moment. It's really big, there's hardly anyone on it, and you get to push these fancy space-age buttons to get the doors open. In a word (or two): it rocks. Moscow has apparently come a long way since 2007.

Along these same lines - the sidewalks at the airport were all shoveled! To those of you who haven't experienced a Russian winter, shoveled sidewalks, at least in my memory, were a luxury that I rarely if ever saw. I guess only time will tell if Moscow has come as far as I am thinking it has.

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As it turns out, Moscow's streets and sidewalks are more free of snow than Cambridge, by far, but are also much dirtier. I think my otherwise white shoes will be brownish gray before I leave the Slavic motherland.

After getting all set up in my hotel and buying a few necessities, I felt the need to make my nearly-annual pilgrimage to Red Square. Everything in downtown Moscow is still all spruced up from New Years, and the city looks great. In addition to the fun decorations everywhere, there are TONS of people out and about. It's really fun to see all the people. But that means that everywhere is crazy busy - it took me a good 5 to 10 minutes to find a place to sit at McD's to free ride on their internet - and that's only finding a spot for one person! Crazy. These russkies like their gamburgeri, that's for sure!

Holiday Break

Sorry for the long delay in posts. The holidays are over and we have literally moved on. I'll try and catch you up....

For Christmas, we went to Utah to spend time with family. It was the first time we've gone anywhere for the holidays since coming East and it was awesome to have almost all of Brandon's family (we miss you Brad and Kim!) together again. One of the best parts was the nativity skit put on by the nieces and nephews (the oldest is only three). I think each child was crying at least once, but it turned out great. Check out that shepard!


So Brandon flew back to Boston on New Year's Day; consequently, its eve was spent going through the boxes we had stowed in Utah and...going to bed at 10 pm. Ouch. However, in all fairness, B knew he would have ample time to celebrate all over again when he flew to Russia.

Speaking of which--Brandon is now in Russia! And I am in Oregon hanging out with the padres until B gets back from his researching overseas. We're hoping he doesn't end up in a Russian prison. And I'm only sort of joking. More about Russia soon!