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! 

It's a Beautiful Day in the Russian Neighborhood

     “It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood…” wait this is a Canadian blog written by a Canadian so neighbourhood.   I am getting perhaps a little sensitive to the spelling differences between British, Canadian, and US English for two reasons. One I have many Russians asking questions about it and I recently switched to a new writing platform that has a learning curve. So along with my upcoming Russian test I’ve become a little sensitive!  So today is a break day. No explanations from this guru of English. Now before you toss rocks and say, very correctly, I am most certainly not a pillar of English Grammar let me explain. I am all they have! The wrench you need to change the flat is not half as useful as the one in the trunk, or boot if we were slightly west! So it is on me, and all me. My simple explanation is that the man the created the American dictionary was politically motivated. Mr. Webster perhaps one of the first patriots wanted to set the language slightly apart from the one they had just broken away from. The next line of questioning is why Canada kept some British spelling and not others. Because Canadians are polite is always my answer. This seems to satisfy the inquiring Russian minds. It is true, but I am unsure if it is the truth. But that is another grammatical nightmare.

            One of the issues facing learning all over the world is correct information. While tomes of encyclopedias are most certainly not as easy as Google, they were reviewed by peers. Now I can post something like; Russians are very superstitious people and it will be true because I will hit on Google’s first page. Now in all honesty Russians are a little more superstitious than Canadians, but my own lack of Russian language prevents me from understanding if they actually believe or just culturally observe. My own Mom used to say things like. “Someone close is going to pass away.” When she had a Crow or Raven taping on the window in the morning. Readers of George R.R. Martin will understand the origins of this belief. But she didn’t actually believe it to be a truth.  Similarly, Mr. Rogers was not a Navy SEAL or CIA operator. But some sources on the net say he was. He was a great man and won the Presidential Medal of Freedom, which is the highest award a civilian can receive. See I brought this back around to the start of this tangent. He also worked for a while in Canada and his show was filmed and aired on Canadian television with the incorrect Canadian spelling. I would love to be able to say that my confusion around spelling and grammar was as a result of these inconsistent rules and application but I would be lying. I said as much to a friend David last night when we discussed some stuff around the topic of language. I had to be honest and say I just didn’t pay attention enough in school. So now I get to pay for it by leaning on the Chicago Book of Styles far more often than I should. It slows me down creatively, but then this is what I have this blog for. I get to loosen up a little.

            So today is a break day. While Inga is still helping out friend's children wanting to improve English language skills, I get to hang by the beautiful Black Sea and enjoy the sun. In keeping with the theme; who are the people in my neighbourhood? Let us continue.

   Well to start my day I go to do some writing in the little café under our building. It is a nice little place and quiet. They have free internet, and while it is slow, it is fast enough to check some simple facts before I mislead you all. The waiter is the same guy from last year and we met with a familiarity not uncommon in Russia but would be at home. He asks about my progress on the book and introduces me to his friend a new waiter. This guy is a yoga instructor and comes from the beautiful city of Saint Petersburg. He learned his yoga skills living in a monastery in India and we shared our mutual love of Indian cooking. I told him that we have many people from India living in our area of Vancouver and explained the Sikh immigration to BC.  His English is better than my Russian, but we understand each other enough to make it work.

The walk to the beach finds us going down our usual hill past all the shops that sell everything one might need and could have easily forgotten on the trip to Anapa. At the bottom of the hill is a jovial, fun man with a shiny set of gold teeth who is quick to greet me in the swinging handshake Armenians enjoy. Next door is Irene and the medical post. She is a nurse from the Ural region and makes the eight-day pilgrimage each year to Anapa to protect and take care of the various issues that can happen at the beach. She is a calm and kind woman who is very knowledgeable.

Next to that is the bar that, if you’ve been following my blog for a while you know I like to sit. The owner is another Armenian heritage family that put on an impressive spread of food and cold beer. A little way down the beach finds another café bar that serves hot food and these people are from the Ukraine, although they have been here for years. Inga helps this ladies son with English and I enjoy her cooking.

That is my little neighbourhood. Most of the people I meet can’t speak more than a few words in English and I can only speak a little Russian. But they have made the Canadian feel welcome and take the time to make sure I understand most of what is going on or if not making sure I am included. I may not understand what we are toasting, but all are quick to offer a drink. Russia is an inclusive society that truly revels in understanding a different perspective and culture.

Today I had a guest. David the boy of a Ukrainian family that recently immigrated here joined me in the water. The waves did their best to chase us from the sea with fury and foam. It was a fun afternoon the ended far too quickly for the both of us. Yet, as I sit here in the quiet writing to all of you I feel tired and think I shall need a little Mama’s Cha Cha to ease the pain in the shoulders. No bad days is really more than an idea it is a way of life. If only you are prepared to travel, learn, and leave your bias, behind in the airport parking lot. While it has been many many years since I have seen Mr. Rogers he gave us a truth, perhaps like many things from our youth we have lost or forgotten this truth. The world would be a much better, and safer, place if we all just remembered we are all each others neighbors.

Written by Fred Rogers | © 1967, Fred M. Rogers

It's a beautiful day in the neighborhood

A beautiful day for a neighbor

Could you be mine?

Would you be mine?

It's a neighborly day in this beauty wood

A neighborly day for a beauty

Could you be mine?

Would you be mine?

I have always wanted to have a neighbor just like you

I've always wanted to live in a neighborhood with you

Let's make the most of this beautiful day

Since we're together, might as well say

Would you be my, could you be my,

Won't you be my neighbor?

Things Are a Little Harder in Russia

     Ok, so I think I have come to the conclusion that everything is harder in Russia because it can be. This is to say I believe a culture in which twelve vowels is standard and each plural adjective has as many options as a birthday card the expectations are just higher. Yet just like a birthday card only the correct plural will be accepted. So how can you tell I am getting into the second part of my Russian education? Inga is a great help, letting me study and keeping me hydrated and full as I devote hours to class trying to get the sticky grey matter to absorb at least a little of what my teachers are patiently showing me. Inga and I are speaking more Russian at home and I am finding that my daily responses are coming first in Russian in some cases. I hope it doesn’t mess with my writing, but I shall leave that for you to decide and tell me. Some things are helping my writing. We tend to take for granted sentence structure and now as I sound out a word, that I may or may not know, I have to find clues as to ‘the what’ based on the structure of the sentence. Thankfully Russian grammar rules are very strict and absolute in most cases, unlike sloppy English.

     So my Saturday finds me down on the beach, doing a little studying, and enjoying beautiful Anapa. It is a gorgeous hot day and like the locals I am enjoying a glass of beer or three and relishing a culture mature enough to allow a casual beer on the beach. No draconian law enforcement, chastising us and treating us like children for enjoying a beer here! It is normal and perhaps one of the reasons this country is not Muslim.  Back when Russia was forming into an actual self-determining country a choice had to be made. The choice was between being Orthodox Christian and Muslim and the ruling King, for lack of a more accurate descriptive, is quoted as saying; “It is the joy of every Russian to enjoy a drink.” Henceforth the Russian people’s official faith was Orthodox Christianity, as it didn’t have rules against casual drinking.  This was called the Byzantine Empire and happened in 988. Let’s think about that for a second, before America had anything resembling an organized society and Canadians of the time were worried about the size of beavers, Russia had an organized society! If we look at these people from within this framework, it is easy to see how they are a little reluctant to accept that the West knows best ideology bantered about with impunity. This country has been built, or perhaps forged is a more correct word, by revolution. We have learned from Marx that only true change comes from violent revolution. Russia has had more than a few of these while America has had, but one and we Canadians have had none. When you have paid for your current society with blood and death, you cannot help but respect it more. To add a little spice, most Russians remember the last revolution clearly while their American counterparts of the same age are digging up relics of their own or reenacting them in costumes.  I guess the difference is like the taste of a cake your Grandfather told you about and the one you ate in New York twelve years ago. One is significantly more real.

     Ok, so what have I learned in my courses? I have learned the alphabet and, for the most part, the different sounds the letters make. I never sounded out words in English. Rather I learned them on sight and I’ve had to change this process in my learning style. Sounding out words is difficult if you are unsure of the word you are attempting.  Add to this the insecurity you have with the new alphabets sound and you get my difficulty. Some of these sounds are entirely different, even alien sounding. Others letters look like English ones yet have different sounds. Multiple syllable words are the norm as well. For example, the word fridge is one syllable in English and in Russian it has five. Russian has 33 letters and believe me they use them, well except for the one letter that has no actual sound of its own. This letter looks like a B and just separates the sound of the letters on either side of it. Plurals are a new horror. If I designed an English test for plural rules and the students added an S to each answer, they would be right about seventy-five percent of the time. But this is Russian and as far as I can tell it seems that they have about sixteen different plural adjectives that depend on masculine, feminine, or neuter. It gets complicated past that as different letters modify different parts of the sentence, not just the noun or verb equally. But this is normal here and no one thinks about it. Just like in Canada when I get asked why I used an emotive adjective in my crash description and I have to think; “Shit ok which is the adjective again?” Here is a good example of some of the sound differences the SHH sound. There are two different yet close sounds to SHH. Borscht is a great example, as well as an excellent traditional soup, The last letter that looks like an upside down w in printed form has a tail and that makes it a hard sign. Like the great sports car Porsche, there is no t or ta sound after the shh sound. With such a challenging language, it is no leap to understand how accepting a little more difficulty in getting things accomplished is normal.

    We went out for a BBQ the other day. This prevented me from doing my homework and so my walk to school was very reminiscent of my high school days when I often walked to school without doing any. The difference being I rarely had to apply myself in school while here, pushing 50, I most certainly do. Luckily for me it was State holiday and the school was closed when I arrived so I was saved by the state and didn’t have to show disrespect to my teachers by not doing my lessons. My friend Vladimir and his wife Irene brought their kids and the newest addition to the family a grandchild. Lova wrestled some time from his very busy life to attend and our friend Natalie came with her brother and his wife and kids. Natalie’s little nephew is ten and has been taking English in school and greeted me in English and then had loads of fun practicing his English. He was jubilant to hear about the ease of plural adjectives in English! The BBQ was held in a little out of the way place that the locals call Snake Lake. I have never seen a snake on the three times I have been there. Drinks and food were plentiful as was catching up and enjoying each other’s company, as is the culture here in Russia. During a swim in this man-made lake, I lost my glasses and while I tried several times to find them, I was unsuccessful. Dejected I gave up and returned to the table to eat and made the statement that it was impossible to find them in the murky water and it would be like finding a needle in a haystack. Vladimir’s boy didn’t give up and searched further out and found them for me! This was an impressive demonstration of this polite and attentive culture. A guest lost something and this would not stand until it could be rectified. It also showed the never give up Russian attitude. Meanwhile, Lova was organizing a recovery team that it used to pull bodies from the lake to suit up and come help the stupid Canadian that forgot to take off his glasses! It is just the way things are here! Many people and family ask why I love it here and am working so hard to stay…this is why, friendship and comrade mean so much more. As with anything English, there are exceptions and I have friends like this at home as well and you to a person know who you are. You are in my thoughts when I go to sleep and again when I awake. I long to see you here so you can experience this wonderful Russian lifestyle personally. Russia it is not just sitting on a gorgeous beach with incredible views and cold beer. It is the ethnically diverse culture that shares the ideologies that respect and hospitality are far more than mere ideals. I am typing this and four Kavkaz boys in their late twenties are dancing to traditional Kavkaz music and trying to get their girlfriends to join them. The girls are traditionally a little more conservative and are shyly being lured into the dance. Now to go order another beer from my Armenian bartender and host at my favorite seaside bar and answer questions about the price of cigarettes and booze in Canada and watch his eyes raise in disbelief and then wonder if I understood his question. Yes, my friend I understood and understand Russian pretty well. I long for the day I can express my thoughts to you in Russian. One day I will.