Back inside the comfort of the Russian Federation

So after spending a year in Georgia, Inga and I are back in our place in Anapa. The temptation when spending so much time abroad is to compare home with where you are. In this case, it is tempting to compare Georgia with Russia and Georgians with Russians. A little insider travel trip. No one likes when you do that. Where you were is where you were. Now you’re someplace else, and it is what it is. In your head, you are finding similarities or things you like or dislike about the change. It is human nature after all. But, leave those thoughts where they originate. In your head. 

We are once again doing the residency process. It makes it a great deal easier to travel and come and go as required. This was our third time going through the process, so we were well practiced and knew what to expect. All the necessary paperwork was submitted, and I was sent to a nearby city to have my medical exams performed. Six appointments in five different locations. My driver and facilitator spoke very little English but understood if he kept the Russian to a child level we could communicate. It was a great test of my newly acquired and petite practiced language skills. I think he enjoyed the experience as much as I did. He shuttled me around to different clinics in a very VIP manner, attempting to point out historical and interesting sites along the way.

The city is called; The City Of Heroes. I believe it was one of the Forbidden Cities at a time in recent Russian history. Forbidden in the sense that foreigners at one time needed special paperwork to visit. It was a lovely city with lots of public green spaces welcoming families and couples. Fancy and simple architecture mixed in new and old buildings alike. We moved through the city from one clinic to another, and my driver/guide stopped near the harbor for a coffee. Together we looked out over the parked warships, the sun was high overhead, and I could see my guide thinking. He took a sip of coffee and in a series of simple phrases communicated a question. It took eight sentences and a few clarifications by me for him to ask. “Crimea was Russian first. It became something else. Something else that many residents didn’t like. They had a revolution, like the Arab Spring revolution. No one asked who backed the Arab revolution. The people voted. They voted democratically to return to Mother Russia (Mother Russia is expressed in one word Rodina, but has several specific meanings). Why now are American warships in the Black Sea? Is democracy only democracy if America agrees? Why when Russia put nuclear missiles on its territory in Cuba we almost went to war? America now circles Russia with these same weapons, on US Military bases in other countries,  and says it has to as President Putin is aggressive? Aggressive because he backed a democratically elected government in a territory that is 75% Russian? Why do Americans hate us so much?”

This was not an easy series of questions to answer. The general issue being why does America hate Russia so much. The previous questions adding context and situational proof so one could not only answer “they don’t it is just political.” I find myself explaining American politics a great deal more than I like, or am qualified to do. I am not American, but being neighbors and perceived to be similar I get placed into this role. To be short Russians separate people from politics, something Americans don’t do, and Canadians do to a lesser degree than Russians. So when he said Americans, he means the country and governing government, not the people. It is an essential cultural understanding of language. 

I looked at the aging destroyer parked in the harbor, now a museum to The Great War as it is called here. How to answer the question, hampered by my child-like vocabulary? My guide’s expression was communicating he understood my difficulty and the position his question put me in. I pointed to the ship and asked when did The Great War begin? He answered. An answer shared by Canada, Russia, and England. I said; “not if you ask an American.” For America, it started in December. If you Google search in English, this is history. This is the reality. The reality is shaped by those that control and distribute information. Every person fears the unknown. Things that are different create stress. People don’t like stress. Things we don’t know are different and stressful. It is easier to stay inside a box we know than look outside the box into the unknown. I don’t know how to get all these medical tests done. That is stressful. I have to tell you I don’t know. I have to show weakness. I have to trust you to help me. America is the most powerful country in the world. They can’t show weakness and remain seen as such. This hampers their ability to trust. Americans don’t hate Russians, and America doesn’t understand Russia, so they can not trust. My guide shook his head, nodding his understanding of my answer and raised the last sip of his coffee to the hulking warship. “Mira, Di Bok.” I joined him repeating in English “For God; Peace.” 

We retreated to the air-conditioned Audi and headed back up the hill to the next appointment. The next clinic took a blood sample, and I was handed a cup. The nurse pointed to a door when she gave me plastic drinking cup. I went to the door and opened it. It was a toilet. I was unclear of what she wanted and turned to look back at her. She gestured, in a very manly way, what I was supposed to do and said; “50 degrees.” I understood she wanted a urine sample and that I should fill the cup halfway. The door outside found my guide waiting for me. He pointed to an office across the hall and was smiling. I gave him a questioning look, and his smile broadened. “Trust me Canada it is all good. Go there. Do that what doctor say.”  I walked into the room, and an older man was talking with an even older nurse. He smiled and said hello and gestured for me to drop my trousers. The nurse discretely turned and looked out the window. I dropped my pants and regained his gaze. He nodded and gestured for me to continue. I pulled down my underwear dreading what was coming next. The doctor just looked and nodded and motioned for me to get dressed. I pulled up my cloths, wondering what that test was for. My answer came when I rejoined my guide. He was still smiling and with two thumbs up he said “You officially a boy.” 

My tests all came back good. I don’t have Aids, Hep, or any other social diseases. My blood tests didn’t have traces of drugs. I don’t have TB, and my blood pressure was within the ok margin. Oh!, and I am officially a man with proper man junk. So the dossier complete I read and signed all the forms and sent the pile of to Moscow. I will probably have to leave Russia two more times. A quick hop to Georgia at the end of October to get another three-month visa, and then again before my RVP (as it is called here) is decided on. If the decision is positive then I will be free to come and go to Russia for three years, so long as I am not out of the country for longer than 180 days. 

Perhaps it is the overly polite Canadian culture, but I can honestly say everyone I have had the pleasure of meeting in Russia has gone out of their way and comfort zone to make me feel welcome. Even when I was new and made social mistakes, cultural oops’s, these have been ignored. I would like to believe the same would be true if my Russian or Georgian friends tried to immigrate to Canada. But, I have too many immigrant friends that have told me differently. Perhaps infrequent immigration means Russians still have patience left for foreigners and Canadians don’t? I don’t know the answer. But I do know the feeling. So when you hear or see someone new struggling to order a coffee at Starbucks, or get directions for God’s sake help them if you can. The person is stressed, and feels like he or she is standing there with their junk hanging out! 

Back inside the comfort of the Russian Federation

So after spending a year in Georgia, Inga and I are back in our place in Anapa. The temptation when spending so much time abroad is to compare home with where you are. In this case, it is tempting to compare Georgia with Russia and Georgians with Russians. A little insider travel trip. No one likes when you do that. Where you were is where you were. Now you’re someplace else, and it is what it is. In your head, you are finding similarities or things you like or dislike about the change. It is human nature after all. But, leave those thoughts where they originate. In your head. 

We are once again doing the residency process. It makes it a great deal easier to travel and come and go as required. This was our third time going through the process, so we were well practiced and knew what to expect. All the necessary paperwork was submitted, and I was sent to a nearby city to have my medical exams performed. Six appointments in five different locations. My driver and facilitator spoke very little English but understood if he kept the Russian to a child level we could communicate. It was a great test of my newly acquired and petite practiced language skills. I think he enjoyed the experience as much as I did. He shuttled me around to different clinics in a very VIP manner, attempting to point out historical and interesting sites along the way.

The city is called; The City Of Heroes. I believe it was one of the Forbidden Cities at a time in recent Russian history. Forbidden in the sense that foreigners at one time needed special paperwork to visit. It was a lovely city with lots of public green spaces welcoming families and couples. Fancy and simple architecture mixed in new and old buildings alike. We moved through the city from one clinic to another, and my driver/guide stopped near the harbor for a coffee. Together we looked out over the parked warships, the sun was high overhead, and I could see my guide thinking. He took a sip of coffee and in a series of simple phrases communicated a question. It took eight sentences and a few clarifications by me for him to ask. “Crimea was Russian first. It became something else. Something else that many residents didn’t like. They had a revolution, like the Arab Spring revolution. No one asked who backed the Arab revolution. The people voted. They voted democratically to return to Mother Russia (Mother Russia is expressed in one word Rodina, but has several specific meanings). Why now are American warships in the Black Sea? Is democracy only democracy if America agrees? Why when Russia put nuclear missiles on its territory in Cuba we almost went to war? America now circles Russia with these same weapons, on US Military bases in other countries,  and says it has to as President Putin is aggressive? Aggressive because he backed a democratically elected government in a territory that is 75% Russian? Why do Americans hate us so much?”

This was not an easy series of questions to answer. The general issue being why does America hate Russia so much. The previous questions adding context and situational proof so one could not only answer “they don’t it is just political.” I find myself explaining American politics a great deal more than I like, or am qualified to do. I am not American, but being neighbors and perceived to be similar I get placed into this role. To be short Russians separate people from politics, something Americans don’t do, and Canadians do to a lesser degree than Russians. So when he said Americans, he means the country and governing government, not the people. It is an essential cultural understanding of language. 

I looked at the aging destroyer parked in the harbor, now a museum to The Great War as it is called here. How to answer the question, hampered by my child-like vocabulary? My guide’s expression was communicating he understood my difficulty and the position his question put me in. I pointed to the ship and asked when did The Great War begin? He answered. An answer shared by Canada, Russia, and England. I said; “not if you ask an American.” For America, it started in December. If you Google search in English, this is history. This is the reality. The reality is shaped by those that control and distribute information. Every person fears the unknown. Things that are different create stress. People don’t like stress. Things we don’t know are different and stressful. It is easier to stay inside a box we know than look outside the box into the unknown. I don’t know how to get all these medical tests done. That is stressful. I have to tell you I don’t know. I have to show weakness. I have to trust you to help me. America is the most powerful country in the world. They can’t show weakness and remain seen as such. This hampers their ability to trust. Americans don’t hate Russians, and America doesn’t understand Russia, so they can not trust. My guide shook his head, nodding his understanding of my answer and raised the last sip of his coffee to the hulking warship. “Mira, Di Bok.” I joined him repeating in English “For God; Peace.” 

We retreated to the air-conditioned Audi and headed back up the hill to the next appointment. The next clinic took a blood sample, and I was handed a cup. The nurse pointed to a door when she gave me plastic drinking cup. I went to the door and opened it. It was a toilet. I was unclear of what she wanted and turned to look back at her. She gestured, in a very manly way, what I was supposed to do and said; “50 degrees.” I understood she wanted a urine sample and that I should fill the cup halfway. The door outside found my guide waiting for me. He pointed to an office across the hall and was smiling. I gave him a questioning look, and his smile broadened. “Trust me Canada it is all good. Go there. Do that what doctor say.”  I walked into the room, and an older man was talking with an even older nurse. He smiled and said hello and gestured for me to drop my trousers. The nurse discretely turned and looked out the window. I dropped my pants and regained his gaze. He nodded and gestured for me to continue. I pulled down my underwear dreading what was coming next. The doctor just looked and nodded and motioned for me to get dressed. I pulled up my cloths, wondering what that test was for. My answer came when I rejoined my guide. He was still smiling and with two thumbs up he said “You officially a boy.” 

My tests all came back good. I don’t have Aids, Hep, or any other social diseases. My blood tests didn’t have traces of drugs. I don’t have TB, and my blood pressure was within the ok margin. Oh!, and I am officially a man with proper man junk. So the dossier complete I read and signed all the forms and sent the pile of to Moscow. I will probably have to leave Russia two more times. A quick hop to Georgia at the end of October to get another three-month visa, and then again before my RVP (as it is called here) is decided on. If the decision is positive then I will be free to come and go to Russia for three years, so long as I am not out of the country for longer than 180 days. 

Perhaps it is the overly polite Canadian culture, but I can honestly say everyone I have had the pleasure of meeting in Russia has gone out of their way and comfort zone to make me feel welcome. Even when I was new and made social mistakes, cultural oops’s, these have been ignored. I would like to believe the same would be true if my Russian or Georgian friends tried to immigrate to Canada. But, I have too many immigrant friends that have told me differently. Perhaps infrequent immigration means Russians still have patience left for foreigners and Canadians don’t? I don’t know the answer. But I do know the feeling. So when you hear or see someone new struggling to order a coffee at Starbucks, or get directions for God’s sake help them if you can. The person is stressed, and feels like he or she is standing there with their junk hanging out! 

Russian Celebrations and Parties!

Hey Everyone, Ok it has been almost a month since I last wrote.  I have a bunch of good stuff to let you in on, or at least I think it is good stuff that you’ll enjoy reading. I have been posting a fair bit of things on my public Facebook account about trusting the news and stuff that some may construe as a conspiracy theory ideology. I really don’t think that it actually falls into that genre of writing, but I am comfortable with the moniker if people still look at it and make up their own ideas.

I try not to push any ideology or attempt to change minds on this forum. I do a great deal of research and as a result of this study find interesting tidbits of information. Sometimes I share this on Facebook and other times I just keep it for the book. Well, most correctly the current MSS that will one day be shaved down to be a sequel to Grey Redemption. Yes, I am writing! Ok, so to keep this tight I will try to avoid the rambling style of that last two blogs.

Most Russians really like America/Canada culture. They haven’t met too many Canadians and I am trying to maintain that polite reputation we have all over the world. What I find really odd about Russian views on our two countries is that they seem to easily separate our political ideology, and the things we do guided by that ideology, and the people. To be more correct they easily separate our personal culture from our ideological culture. It is quite a feat if you think about it and something we Western cultures fail to be able to do. We lump it all together and racially stereotype the whole by the actions of a few or by the few powerful. Russians don’t and while educated on the west more than we are educated about them, still have odd beliefs.

I will use Rostik, a magnificent friend of mine, as an example. He honestly believes his life would be better in Canada than it is here in Anapa. Anapa is, you know if you read my blog, a resort city on the Black Sea and is truly beautiful. Comprised mostly of Armenians and Russians it is by most Russian standards a very affluent city. There is some dissent among the ethnically different people, but on the whole they get along. If you read the blog, you know Rostik recently married and he and his new wife have a very lovely one bedroom apartment and are miles ahead of any couple I know living in Vancouver. If you add to the equation their jobs and then compare it to life in Vancouver or the surrounding valley, they would be renting for life. They would never be able to own something and raise a family as they are doing here. I am not suggesting they haven’t got good jobs or are in anyway lazy. Quite the contrary actually, they work very hard and save on par with my mother. But we all know if your household income is below a hundred grand a year Vancouver is out of the equation, if you intend on having a stay at home spouse.  Here that goal is easily reached and without the use of credit.

I have been in credit hell as has most North Americans. Some learn right away how to use credit and others, like me, take a little longer to internalize that lesson.  That isn’t something that people do here. Credit is hard to get and for the most part not culturally used.

I explained these things to him and how our taxation system works and he still has this view that Canada would be the place to live. Then I ask him why he thinks I came to Anapa. This is the only thing that causes him to have some doubts.

Don’t read into this that I dislike Canada or that I don’t love living in one of the most beautiful places on earth. I am not suggesting anything like this. I am just pointing out that Canada and life in Canada, is very expensive by any standard. While it is true that Moscow is one of the most expensive cities to live in the comparison isn’t really about house prices. The added costs of utilities and tax-like surcharges add up to severely deplete one's disposable income. The culture of buying new everything and owning a car for each member of the household furthers this personal drain.

Russia has a flat tax, no added sales taxes, and a culture of reduce, reuse, and recycle. It is not uncommon to see a Lada made in the CCCP days rolling down the road. Designer fashion is in, but hey Adidas tracksuits aren’t expensive.  Seriously, see I poke fun at Russians too, fashion is important and people do save to buy the "in" shoes or shirts but you don’t have too. So long as the stuff you are wearing is clean, and taken care of, the requirement to fit in is largely not fashion based. When guests come over they do so to see you, and they ALWAYS bring a sweet, bottle, or something to enjoy with you as they visit. They really are just friends and do not care what they sit on while they share your company.  It is a different way of life from the average Canadian one. I am not saying one is better than the other, which is for you to decide, but it is less expensive.

 December brings the start of the holiday season, running the gambit of religious and cultural observances. For me it also brings an anniversary and birthdays. As this was our first anniversary, we wanted to stay in Russia and celebrate the occasion with Inga’s family. Las Vegas is a long way away for them and so they couldn’t actually make the trip for the wedding so we wanted to have a big party here in Anapa. We also share three birthdays in December and so we decided to roll them all together and toss a huge party instead of heading for the warmth of South East Asia.

It is really very inexpensive to have this type of party in Anapa. Restaurants are used to large gatherings and have set menu pricing that allow you to bring your own drinks. Celebrations are a common thing and everyone gets caught up in the atmosphere of fun. We picked a date and I flew Inga’s sister out for the fun from Moscow after we received word Mom and Dad were on the train from Vladikavkaz.

So with 13 for dinner and toasts flowing, we shared a multimedia show of the wedding and the year from when we met till we arrived in Moscow. It was a blast and everyone had a great time. Another birthday party was going on as well and we all joined together dancing and celebrating. It was only after the party that I was told of a little racism issue.

Russia is vast and has many ethnic, religious, and cultural differences. So big that the USA, Spain, and France could fit in Siberia alone! Despite all coming from Russia, many people still describe themselves regionally. For example, my wife describes herself as Ossetian and chides me when I say she is Russian. But for me it is like saying you’re a BC person and not a Canadian. Canada is huge as well and we all just say we’re Canadians, rarely breaking it down to ethnic regions. Russia is a little different as there are ethnic traditions between the areas. This being said I was oblivious to any real racism, until that night.

The Kavkaz  region includes Georgia, Armenia, and Azerbaijan. The Russian areas include Krasnodar Krai, Stavropol Krai, and the autonomous republics of Adygea, Karachay–Cherkessia, Kabardino-Balkaria, North Ossetia, Ingushetia, Chechnya, and Dagestan. Three territories in the region claim independence but are not recognized by any independent states and these are Abkhazia, Nagorno-Karabakh, and South Ossetia.

The owner of the restaurant had initially agreed that, as her live music person was in Moscow, the DJ would play anything we wanted. On
the night of the party she commented that she hated Kavkaz music and wanted to charge100 rubles a song. I only found out about this after the party but what is very odd is this owner grew up in Siberia and the restaurant is in Krasnodar Krai! What makes this more bizarre is the birthday party, which was going on at the same time, was attended by mostly young Chechen boys here to study at the technology college. They joined us on the dance floor and toasted us and ours.   Ossetians, Georgians, Chechens, Armenians, Russians, and Canadians dancing together having a great time despite the painful history some of them share. Then one person from a vast distance away, having no connection to the historical pain and recent immigrant into the Kavkaz area sows old hatred. Hatred and history many, if not most, have moved past for the greater good. Some things remain the same no matter which country you find yourself living in.

Mom, Dad and Liana Stayed with us and together we had a good time. Dad set himself busy fixing little, yet annoying, issues in the apartment and I helped as I could. Reminded me of my own father, never able to sit still and just enjoy a lazy day. Mom made all my favorite Ossetian dishes with Inga and Liana’s help and we enjoyed my birthday on the day, even though I thought we had done the combined thing. My birthday present from Inga was some new ink for my arm and a great wind breaker.

The lull between those celebrations and the upcoming exodus to Thailand seems like a long one, but that’s deceptive. Christmas will be a quiet one with just Inga and I relaxing with each other. Then we have the first New Years to enjoy with friends here on the 31st before traveling to the cold of Moscow to celebrate the Russian New Year in the heart of Russia.  Then it is off to Thailand for three months in the jungle, doing research and lots of writing! Stay tuned for more updates and perhaps a rant or two.

Merry Christmas to those that observe, Happy Holidays to the others, and Best Dead Turkey Day to the rest.

To one of the Dead Cities

    There are still areas in Russia that are forbidden to tourists. But then those areas are pretty much forbidden to locals too. Some areas need special permission permits and paperwork to insure you don’t get lost, hurt, or preyed upon by the wildlife. This is not so different than Canada. We too have areas like this and while the locals at home are pretty much unaware of these restrictions, the people here are not.

So venturing into the mountains close to the disputed border of Georgia along the main roads is fine but taking the path less traveled is a little riskier. Having made the trip into Georgia, and seeing these gorgeous mountains had me doing research into the types and composition. Along the way, I found out that this area was kind of part of the Silk Road in ancient times. The Ossetian leopard and other local furs where coveted the world over by Kings and other royals alike. Access to the Black Sea gave this pass a great deal of traffic along the lowland and much gentler slopes than the ones directly south.

But ancients and armies both adore easy rolling hills and so this specific pass was one of those areas if not forbidden to tourists then to use a Russian saying “not easy."  Yet, I really wanted to see it. Dargavs is one of the most famous or well known but our chances of being questioned and detained was high. The locals shunned the area based on superstitions held as real today as then. However, grave robbers did frequent the area and disturbed the dead and locals alike. Ossetians placed coins; some of them gold, in wells outside of these crypts and so some would be drawn to steal from these dead. Some later crypts contained mothers still with babies in cribs both going into quarantine to protect the village and so you can imagine the locals outrage at the discovery of these being disturbed.

We decided to go to a different area that contained these Nakh towers and crypts. One of our local friends had friends of his own in this village and knew the area well. It is in the same mountain range as Dargavs about three hours from Vladikavkaz. The day was cold and overcast in city and we drove through the mist and fog through small towns and smaller villages. We took an unmarked side road that followed the river and as we drove through the trees silvered with ice, I noticed the outside temperature was rising. It had showed –5 in the city and was now hovering around 0. As the car climbed higher, the rivers path became more spectacular, cutting deep twists and creating tall pillars in the mountainside. Asland our friend and driver pointed out interesting formations with increased frequency and when we turned a corner into the shining sun, I looked at the temperature and saw it was +5 degrees. The man’s name and connection to the famous book The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe only added to my increasing sense of amazement.

Like so much of history in Russia, it is difficult to get a “searchable” three-source answer to things.  Some say these Nakh towers date back to the 16th Century and others 12th. Some maintain the Nakh people built them all and others claim that the Alania-Ossetian people of the time simply copied the design. What is certain is that they were used as burial chambers and as quarantine structures. What had caused many villagers to get sick was also in question but from talking with locals and research the most frequent use was from an outbreak of cholera.

There had been a cholera outbreak and entire families had been moved from the river floor and village site and walled up in sick houses and towers on the surrounding hills. Left to die in quarantine, or survive, as the gods they worshiped dictated. Their friends and family brought food and delivered it via long poles and small windows.  Perhaps a dour reason to wish to see a place on the face of it but let me continue, part of survival as a society and species are making hard choices. This concept is used very well in the popular TV drama The Walking Dead. Our modern society has gotten used to the easy life it has provided us and so these life and death hard choices create massive tension between humanity and societal continuance.

Just like in the TV Drama these early Russians were faced with extinction as they had no idea how to deal or control this event. Cholera today is easily treated yet it still kills in Africa and I have personally witnessed a cholera outbreak and the effects on the village. So I can only imagine what these early people would have thought as they watched their loved ones bowels let go and they starting wasting away. It is easy to draw a connection to the Zombie fiction or the Ebola nonfiction. Families want to care for the sick, and the sick wished to be cared for. If quarantined and gripped with fever and fear they long for comfort and connection returning to homes and villages if they can. Spreading the infection and death as they do. 

The ancient people knew, or learned, this and took steps to survive. Hard steps and harder choices, none were spared, the sick to a person where exiled or went on their own to protect loved ones. Many mothers took their babies in cribs into these stone buildings.

Despite their age, the structures survive in relatively good repair. The site is a sacred one, remembered by the locals. The church and monastery are located on the valley floor and symbols and icons stare in remembrance toward the location of the sick towers. The towers themselves still stand and while certainly in dangerous states of decay they’re a somber sentinel to a strong people.

The towers are four stories high and  stretch in a line up the mountainside with newer stone single story buildings assembled at their base. Cows and sheep now graze peacefully amongst the ruins and the overall place has feeling of serenity.  The view up to the jagged peaks to the south or rolling peaks to the east and west contrast magnificently with the slope to the valley floor and the “village” that is quickly becoming a city.

The temperature inversion that I noticed on the cars dash a common occurrence here and the place is acquiring a name for itself as a healing town. A large Sanatorium is currently being built, with money as no object from the looks of the construction for just this purpose. Locals and visitors alike claim miraculous curative powers in the air and water. Asthma suffers with the ability to move here have done so for years.

It was with one of these new residents that Asland had arranged to host us for lunch. We arrived at a low-slung building with a large gated entrance. Our hosts were waiting for us and quickly ushered us inside and allowed us to look around. The owner had built the entire place by hand and it was truly incredible. In fact, just looking at the property walls made me wonder how many people had labored. Large natural, uncut stones were folded into a wall supported by these same stones broken into perfect halves. The building itself was similarly built and held a red tile roof. Inside the house had a small kitchen to the right of the entrance room and a common room off to the left. A bathroom was directly ahead of the main entrance and it contained a large eight person Russian sauna. This sauna formed the core of the building and actually heated the entire house. Wood was placed into a large enclosed brick fireplace and heated the stones within the sauna and the rest of the building too.

Albert, our host, and his two friends set about getting roasted wild duck and boar ready for us while we did a quick run to purchase three of the local stuffed bread. A tradition this bread comes plain or stuffed three ways. One is stuffed with cheese and potato, another with beets, and the third with ground meat. The table also contained salads and cheese made by locals, and of course three bottles of vodka.  Wine and beer where also offered and a bottle of water placed in front of Asland, our driver.  Drinking and driving have fallen as much out of favour here in the wilds of Russia as it has at home in Vancouver.

Toast were made following the traditional practices and stories told. A meal was shared and new friendships kindled as is also traditional and cultural. The people are very stern and conservative in ways and very welcoming and friendly in others. It is a rich mix of old and new and follows the script of sorts that makes you feel as welcome as family and yet toasted like a king.

London VISA run part one

Well, Monday morning has once again come to Anapa and finds me back in the Russian Federation with a new one-year multiple entry/exit visa. Don’t ask how I was able to secure such a rare visa as I will just have to use the Russian saying; “I know a guy.” Life here is like this to some degree. Friends help friends around the hoops and pitfalls that exist within the system. It is difficult for foreigners to grasp and harder still to participate. Russians warm slowly to new friends and I understand why. The expectation associated with the word friend has an entirely different meaning here. I am lucky enough to understand that from my home perspective as I have those expectations from my Canadian friends, and them from me, but I understand this is the exception rather than the rule at home. Here it is the rule.

So last week found me explaining to my Mom how things were and that I would be staying a little longer than my initial three months. Securing this type of visa could only be done in Europe. This type of visa allows me to fly home and back without the added headache of renewing and canceling existing visas as you can only have one visa active at any time. It also allows for free movement that is not allowed if I were to start a temporary resident process. So with the situation explained and the course decided on plans were set into action.

Flights out of Anapa during the height of the tourist season are as would be expected expensive. So Inga’s sister suggested flying out of Krasnodar. Krasnodar is the third largest Russian city and about three hours by bus away from the resort city of Anapa.  Promised easy connections had me feeling a little uncertain and having lived in Russia for three months I decided on leaving a day early and taking the opportunity to visit this Cossack city.

            We arrived at the Anapa city bus station, tickets in hand, an hour before our bus was scheduled to depart and it was obvious to me from the throngs of people that something was slightly amiss. Inga tried to figure out what was going on and despite speaking Russian had very little initial success. We were told that our bus was delayed till 1130, an hour and a half delay. About forty minutes later an announcement was made that the bus had broken down and passengers holding tickets had to get new tickets for a later bus. Inga went off with the mass of other passengers and got in line for new tickets. She returned with two tickets, costing slightly more, for a three pm departure. Welcome to Russia I thought. They cancel a trip, then an hour later tell people to get new tickets and after lining up for forty minutes charge you more money. If Russia is ever to attract international travelers they really have to get better at these types of things. Moreover, if the city of Anapa wants to keep the internal visitors that come to the Black Sea resort they have to address this as well. Many people we had been waiting with were now going to miss flights, trains, and bus connections. This also makes the "taxis" offering trips more tempting and these money focused drivers tend to push it, knowing they can make two trips loaded with non discounted fares.   Pushing it on the road from Anapa to Krasnodar is a very dangerous proposition. But people forced with cheap tickets that could not be changed took the risk. We waited, and Inga gave her place in line to a couple so they could arrive in time for the train. We could wait as I had secured us reservations at a nice hotel in Krasnodar for the evening.

sitting with missed flights and trains and other connections with the three to five-hour delay. This situation also added to the aggressive “taxi” trade with offers to get you there increasing in price and danger. A mini bus driver could now make two trips at high fares if he pushed it!

We arrived in Krasnodar and I forced us to take an expensive taxi to the hotel, having had my fill of a more frugal Russian style of transportation. The Hilton was like any other Hilton in the world, something I didn’t like or appreciate until this trip. I walked up to the front desk and spoke English and expected to be understood. I was and the desk staff was as organized and customer focused as any other Hilton in the world. It was refreshing and after a day of slow taxis, missed buses and hours of waiting. We checked in, handing our passports in to be registered, a custom still followed in places and retired to our room. It was clean and like any other Hilton in the world. While before this banal cookie cutter styling, and American focused décor would have irked me. This time it was a caress and I found myself feeling oddly guilty at needing this type of pampering. I took a long shower in the rainfall style separated glass shower and relaxed.

            Changed and freshly scrubbed we did what we usually liked to do and went for a walk. It was the weekend and the local main street turns into a “walking street” after the evening rush. Bikers, skaters, and walkers share the wide old streets in a very festive atmosphere. We walked north and directly across the street from the Hilton is a statue of two oddly dressed dogs made famous in

Mayakovsky's charming, playful poem about Krasnodar. We continued toward one of the old orthodox churches and noticed vendor after vendor selling honey. I had no idea that there were this many types of honey. The shops, if placed together, would have stretched half a kilometer. Along with these vendors were other vendors selling the usual and some unusual trinkets. One shop had two tables of weird art deco style lamps, ashtrays, and objects of art. One shop was serving coffee and as I had yet to discover the Starbucks that was rumored to be near I ordered a large coffee. It was a buck Canadian and rich, dark, and superb.

            We discovered a park, just before the gold topped church and a large monument and fountain. The wedding had taken place and the party was getting photographs done near the trees and fountain. There were also large groups of fresh young military types in pressed green camouflage uniforms and polished boots. I imagine that the training academy is close by but with the hostilities and Canada’s cooperation with the USA I did feel comfortable enough to ask. 

 

The fountain was pretty as fountains go and to the west was a massive monument. When we got close, I asked Inga to tell me what it was commemorating. She tired but it was written in Old Russian and she found it difficult. It had soldiers and Mongolian looking men with swords and musical instruments. On the fountain side, I noticed a British uniform and from the style and medals could ascertain it was from the Second World War.  Together we were able to decipher that it was the British and Cossack forces commemorating the lives lost in the war.

We walked back up the street past our hotel to the south and enjoyed two outside concerts. One was a traditional Cossack singing and the other a twenty piece brass band playing swing favorites of the twenties. There were lots of advertising for upcoming concerts and they were doing all the usual suspects from Macbeth to Kiss of the Spider Woman. Culturally Krasnodar seems to have a lot on offer and I did spot the Starbucks while we were walking south.

We returned to the hotel and Inga and I enjoyed a nice dinner in the hotel. It had pricing usual to non-Russian countries in that the food had a set price and was not sold by grams. I had a hamburger famous in the Hilton chain and was surprised to learn I could have it with beef, lamb, or chicken.  Inga had some duck spring rolls and we shared some nice wine. It was a perfect end after a stressful and trying start that made me glad I had learned how to travel inside Russia

 

            The next morning found us heading to the airport, which is about a thirty-five minute cab ride worth about 900 rubles. You can take minibuses, public transport, and trolley buses for a fraction of that but my frugality was about to be shattered in London so we went for a taxi. The car was clean, new, and the driver polite and professional. We arrived three hours ahead of time, as I was still stuck in North American practices and airports. We could have slept another two hours. Inga and I spent an hour together relishing the time as two people in love do when they both know they have to be apart for a while. The call came that the gate was open and I walked over to the first-class line and boarded being slightly chided by Inga, who was until then unaware I had booked the departure as first class.  I smiled that petulant and mischievous smile and kissed her saying I loved her and would see her soon. I walked down that first-class corridor, with its own security and screening and into the lounge without looking back. I knew if I did I would burst into tears and this was not culturally acceptable.