Na Lager!

Hello friends; I've just returned from the "lager" (camp) at Yalchik, a village about two hours away from Kazan by train. It was a kind of orientation/team-building camp for the freshman class at the TGGPU University, led by some upperclassmen.

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.

Week Three?

This week's gone by really fast. We've buckled down to the serious Russian grammar, media literacy, phonetics, and "speech practice." This week we've been delving into the wonderful world of the Prepositional Case, which I learned two or three years ago. What I really need is more practice speaking and listening, and tons more vocabulary. Russian teachers tend to emphasis grammar over vocabulary, and theory over practice, so that's been frustrating. It's hard to stay engaged in classes where I'm mostly not speaking very much, just listening and writing stuff down, learning and re-learning the ins and outs of the prepositional case.

On Tuesday, we had our first P.E. class at the university. It consisted of running a mile, maybe a mile and a half, and most of the Russians started walking after the first few hundred feet. For once I was running up front, along with a couple other Americans and a couple other Russians, and I left the class feeling pleasantly competent.

Not so with the sambo class we had later that evening. It was the first class, so we did mostly strength and agility training, falls and rolls. I'm pretty good at the falls, but I can't seem to do the rolls right; our instructor, miming without words so as to be perfectly understood, told me I was rolling over like a dead person. My whole body is still pretty sore from our Tuesday class, and I have another class tomorrow.

On Wednesday after classes, we went to Millenium Park and played a rousing game of Frisbee Post League, a frisbee sport we've invented that can be easily played in the small, thickly wooded parks of Kazan. Then on Thursday, I had an audition for the university "violin ensemble," a group of seven or eight violinists with piano accompaniment.

I arrived at the music department early. The conductor was very late. When he arrived, I was deep in conversation with a Russian student about race relations in America and the proper usage of the words "slick" and "cool."

The conductor, Oscar, is an energetic, eccentric man with a crazy sense of humor. I'd been told that he was "strange;" as I suspected, he's just a typical conductor. After I played part of the Beethoven sonata I'd prepared, he asked if I could play him something "technical," then took my violin, saying, "for example:"

He played a ridiculous Paganini caprice. I said, "Net." He laughed and said, "Xorosho, yasno."

He was very friendly, if a little intimidating, and it sounds like he's going to let me play.

The other violinists started to arrive. They were all really good, conservatory-level violinists, and they played some awesome arrangements of pieces by Dinicu, Khachaturian, and Shostakovich. I sat and listened; there was no way I could keep up sightreading. Oscar conducted, sometimes beating time with an orange comb that snapped in half under the weight of his exertions, sometimes waving his arms, almost dancing, sometimes, when the spirit moved him, picking up my violin and playing along from memory. I was fascinated and moved; I stopped worrying about my Russian, and suddenly I was understanding everything. I was speaking, as the Russians say, "freely," if not totally fluently.

It's that old saw again - "music is a universal language." I would assert that it's more like a universal community; all my life I've felt at home among musicians, and Kazan is no exception. Once you share something as deep as music, everything else seems easy.

Second Week

The second week in Kazan has been a good one...after September 1st, we really only had three days of class, culminating in a grueling grammar, reading comprehension, listening and writing exam. I've been sick, but I'm getting better. Things are beginning to fall into place...we will likely start sambo classes next week, we'll be going to some kind of team-building camp with the freshman class of the university later in September, we should be starting our university classes soon, and we might be doing some volunteer work with Russian kids. I've also found out that there is an orchestra at my university, and that the conductor is "strange."

Maybe conductors are like small children...the same in every country.

Yesterday I went to the Kremlin for a film-and-music festival. The films were pretty good; the music less so. We went to this awesome bliniy place on Bauman Street (bliniy are a kind of Russian pancake-type thing). Then we went to the park, played some frisbee, and continued an epic grass-throwing war that's been going on for days now. Then we got dinner and went home.

Just when I think I have the public transportation system figured out...it turns out the buses stop running at 10. This I learned last night when I got off the bus and walked a friend part of the way to her home, since she didn't know exactly how to get back from that bus stop. Then by the time I got back to the bus stop, the buses weren't running anymore, and people were flagging down the other kind of the taxi, the unmarked kind. So I ended up walking home from there. This being-a-gentleman business is harder than it looks. But life goes on. I got home and had shoma, which is a really good Turkish burrito-type thing. And today I'm going to see a string quartet at the Kremlin.

Den' Respubliki (c fotografami)

Privet, all. This weekend was a series of holidays...Sunday was Den' Respubliki (Day of the Republic), a holiday celebrating the Republic of Tatarstan and its capital, Kazan. We all met up with our host families at a cafe on Bauman Street, and I ordered peach juice and a desert called chak-chak, which has the consistency of Rice Krispies but tastes like honey. Then we walked around the center of town. All the roads were closed to cars, and there was music and lots of excellent street food to be had.

Then our group split up, and some of us went to the Kladbische (Cemetery). It was a long walk, but definitely worth seeing. It was a riot of color; the dead were festooned with flowers, trees, vines and other living things. It seemed almost festive. Some of the graves were locked up in what looked like metal cages. It was kind of a downer...I couldn't help but remember the last time I'd been in a cemetery, at a friend's funeral. But it was well worth the trip.

When we got back to Bauman, we went to a cafe called Meat House, where we got really good, really cheap Turkish food. Then we walked over the bridge over the Kazanka river at sunset, since the roads were closed. Then later that night I went out with my family to see the fireworks.

Yesterday I got up and went running with Liliya, and then went to the university, where we practiced our Soldja Boy extravaganza. Then some of us went and hung out on Bauman Street. Then I went home and played some basketball with Marat, which I haven't done since I was younger than he is. We played a shooting game called "33," which I eventually figured out after playing it a few times. That night I worked on the Mendelssohn violin concerto, which was and remains an impenetrable fortress of double-stops and perilous shifts. I need to find a teacher.

Today was Den' Znanii (Day of Work). On the First of September, throughout Russia, school and university begins. There are no classes; it's basically a big holiday. We all gathered, along with all the Russian students and faculty, in the square in front of the Tatar State University of Humanities and Education. There was a big stage set up, and it was here that we would share our traditional American dance, as part of a big beginning-of-the-year show.

We met several students majoring in foreign languages; they all wanted to talk to us in English. We also met a couple Korean students, which, for me, felt like coming home; there were a lot of Korean kids at my school, especially in orchestra and on the ultimate team.

The show began; it featured lots of singing, dancing, and speeches both in Tatar and Russian. Our dance was well received...we did the superman part more or less at the same time, and then we were joined by the other international students, and the Korean guys beatboxed to "Amazing Grace."

That afternoon, we checked out a couple gyms and looked into taking sambo classes. Then we went to the Millenium Park and sat in the grace and played frisbee. More than anything, I've missed just chillin in the grass with no shoes on and tossing the mellow earth biscuit. Old hippie yearnings die hard.

Here are some photos for you:

First week

Hello friends...it's been a long, intense first week, in Washington, Frankfurt and now in Kazan. We had a three-day orientation in Washington, and then we flew to Frankfurt and had a long layover there. We had a great day wandering around the city, and flew to Kazan that night.
Kazan is a beautiful city with a lot of history. Known as Russia's Third Capital, it is the capital of the Republic of Tatarstan. There are lots of beautiful statues, lakes, and parks, and the Kazan Kremlin is amazing, with Orthodox cathedrals and Muslim mosques standing side by side.
My host family has been wonderful. They're inifinitely hospitable and very patient with my primitive Russian. I can understand a lot of what I hear at home, but speaking is very challenging for me...sometimes I'll get halfway through a sentence only to remember that I don't know the verb I need, and sometimes the grammar totally deserts me and I feel completely lost. I'm used to being really talkative, even verbose, so it's been hard for me. But I've been learning a lot, in class and out of class.
Our Russian classes here at the university are a lot like my Russian classes in high school, minus the constant threats of death-by-defenestration. We learn new vocabulary, read short dialogues, and talk about our days, asking how to say whatever we're trying to say, and always getting good answers. Our teacher is really nice and patient with us, and has a great sense of humor. Usually we have class for three hours in the morning, have lunch at the cafe "Trali-Vali," and then go on excursions into the city in the afternoon. Yesterday, our group of Americans, along with some Russian friends, went to see "Inglorious Bastards" in Russian. I didn't understand most of the dialogue...people talked really fast for a long time and then shot each other. Tarantino is Tarantino, no matter what the language. After the movie, we practiced our presentation for September 1st, the beginning of the Russian school year. We're going to perform our rendition of the "Soldja Boy" dance for the Russian university students.We did a preview performance in the main university square for our Russian friends and whoever else was passing by.
Living in another culture with another language is one giant challenge for me. But living in a city, after spending 15 years in Conway, MA, has been just as hard. I miss being outside all the time. I feel out of place in my ratty thrift-store clothes in a city where people dress to kill. The other day I got totally lost trying to take the bus home, and I wandered around for an hour and a half asking every babushka I could find. People were very nice to me, and very good about giving directions, but I only understood about half of what they were saying. Eventually I got back on the bus and asked the bus conductor, the bus driver, and random people on the bus several times how to get to my stop. They were all very patient and kind, and I found my way home. So, for those of you who think of Russia as a cold, bleak, inhospitable place, I urge you to get lost in a strange city and discover a culture of people who care about each other's well-being, even if they don't smile at strangers on the street.
More blogging soon,
Lysander

An absurd beginning...

In other words, "Ya durak." ("I am a fool.")

Early this morning I said my good-byes and drove to the airport in Hartford, CT. Then I was trying to check in on the computer, but it wouldn't accept my e-ticket number. So I waited in line for the manual check, and I was getting really nervous about making my flight in time.

Then the woman behind the counter informed me that my 10:15 flight is, in fact, tomorrow. Which I would have figured out if I just read my itinerary all the way through.

So here I am, back in Conway, and I have to say, I didn't expect to be back so soon. But it's good to have another day to collect myself; I've had tons of friends around these past few days, and it's been great, but I haven't really had a moment to myself.

So, I will blog tomorrow about: "The Great Kazan Expedition: Take 2."

Preparation

I've just gotten in touch with my host family. They have a daughter around my age and a son around my brother's age, so I'll be in good company. I'll be bringing my violin along, and my host family is going to let me practice, so that's very exciting.

Liliya, my host, who has done a similar exchange program in America, wrote me a Facebook message in very good English, so I'll probably feel the usual embarassment speaking primitive Russian to Russians who speak close-to-fluent English. Now, absurdly, I want to break out my high school Russian textbook, "Nachalo," mere days before I leave for Kazan, and try to make sense of the Genitive case once and for all. I guess that's what plane rides are for.

Anyway, hearing from Liliya about her family inspired me to write a little about my family. We live in an old, terminally funky house in Conway, MA:

There it is (Conway, that is), sitting squarely in Franklin County, with its large amount of land and small amount of people.

This is my dad, and my gecko, Milo. My dad likes to sleep. Milo likes to climb on people, with or without their knowledge or consent.

This is my sister and I, several years ago at my cousin's bat mitzvah. She is several years older than me and also a musician.

This is my family at my school's prize assembly: My brother is on the left. He's 15, and is currently into bass playing, frisbee playing, piano playing, and running.

I depart for the orientation tomorrow. I'm writing this from the coffeeshop in Conway where I actually get internet, and soon, too soon, I will have to walk back to the house and start the packing frenzy.

Do svidanye,

Lysander