How can I even begin to describe it? In some ways, it was like my freshman orientation for high school, except longer, colder, and mostly incomprehensible. We had several "trainings," as they were called, in which we broke into groups and did various team building activities, scavenger hunts, games, and assignments, most of which were totally lost on me. Then we sat around and talked about them for what seemed like hours...it was a grueling test of my aural skills, and often miserable. They kept us very busy at Yalchik; we got up in the morning for "physical education," which turned out to be a kind of outdoor, seemingly eternal, discotheque, and we also broke into groups and prepared skits, songs and dances for a concert, and ate simple but long-anticipated meals.
The constant structure, the trainings, the disco at seven in the morning and the techno at all hours of the night, all the clapping and chanting and singing together, all contributed to a sense of ubiquitous, (to me) oppressive, collectivism. Everything was done in a group, and any stragglers or people who went off on their own, usually the Americans, were quickly led back into the fold. All this made us Americans feel irritable and slightly rebellious, but the Russian kids seemed to love it. It makes sense after decades of a communist society. Maybe it's even older than that.
On the last night, after a concert in which the American men performed Monty Python's "Lumberjack Song" ("Pesnya pro lesnikov"), there was a long meeting , in which we sat in a circle and talked about our experience, passing a candle around. I was amazed at how emotional everyone was; after four days, and with five years of togetherness to look forward too, these kids were crying! It felt like a collective expression of emotion, just another part of the shared experience of the camp, of the class, of the university in general. The act of sharing these dance parties and treasure hunts was more important than those experiences themselves; the togetherness of it all was the experience.
That's what it seemed like to me, but how do I know? I only understood half of what was being said in the candle circle, and when I asked a Russian friend who speaks fluent, impeccable English, she said she couldn't explain why everyone was crying when everything was just beginning; she said she didn't have the English words.
After the candle circle, we put all the candles into the lake, and then we trekked off into the forest to a camp fire. As the fire was dying down, we chanted one of the several slogans that we had been chanting for the past few days: "Vmeste ne strashno!" Roughly, this means "Together, it's not awful!" This seemed to neatly sum up the past few days; we'd been hungry and tired and cold as hell, but what was important was the togetherness. Even for us Americans. This experience brought out all our American cynicism, criticism, and utilitarianism. ("Why are we doing this? This sucks. What is it for?") Still, we made close friends across a cultural chasm that's wide and narrow by turns. We learned Russian folk songs and Russian slang, and somewhere out there, some kids in Kazan are singing:
"I cut down trees, I skip and jump, I like to press wild flowers. I put on women's clothing, and hang around in bars!"
Well, maybe.
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