Yass, still going strong through to November

Everything continues on the positive side of things, and if the other shoe has dropped, I probably put one of my sneaker balls in it so it would smell better.

I have a tournament I'm hoping to compete in next week, on Wednesday. It's here in Moscow, we weigh in Tuesday night, and it's in the honor of an old Soviet coach. I've been wrestling better in practice, but I still have no idea how my chances are: I could go one and out, I could start an international furor and win the thing (well, probably not that furious). I'm stronger than most wrestlers here, shorter than most here, have better looking ears than most here, but my technique is a few steps below. Brute force wins from America, right? Right?

Anyway, I'm getting all amped up for that, and it may even bring out the old sportswriter in me from high school when I recap it here next week. And if I can get someone to take the pictures, I should be able to post photos of me in a singlet. Tight in all senses of the word.

But for now I'm going to walk the dog, and so I leave a few leftover pictures, funny or nice, from the trips I've taken. Enjoy Halloween and all, and write me if you'd like, I like the email exchange thing.



There's a traveling exhibit of buddy bears: bears designed by an artist from each country in the world. The exhibit has been in Berlin, among other places, and it was in front of Karl's Church in Vienna when I got into town. I decided to fill a hole: I'm representing artsy people of the world.

Picture of a waterfall from the climb up Gellert's Hill in Budapest. Budapest was in my top tier of cities on the trip, and I have a great-uncle here who agrees with me. So there.

Petersburg: Who says Pushkin's for the birds? (drumroll, please!)

I showed you the church that looks like this in Petersburg. This is Basil the Holy Fool's Church in the Red Square.

And this is Petersburg again, from the Hermitage bridge. A little bit of Amsterdam, a little bit of Venice, a whole lot of Russia.

Dan

A Positive Jam

As my events have been spare (a birthday party here, a bunch of practices there...), here's a promised list of positive things here in Russia that I haven't discussed otherwise.

The "Everybody Gets One" Greeting- A handshake that is. It's common practice to shake hands with or, in the case of girls and men from Georgia (the one that's on Macca's mind, not Ray Charles's mind), kiss/shake/hug every person in the room upon entering and exiting.
In reality, I only encounter this custom in the wrestling room and locker room. And at first it was really intimidating, because I had to pick it up on my own, and then I was worried I would be offending people I didn't shake with, but I didn't know everybody, and it isn't quite automatic to recognize the wrestlers (close, but not quite, as boxers can have funny shoes and ears too), and besides I'm obviously a foreigner, so leave me alone, and ugh.
But, after conquering my silliness, I have gotten quite used to the shake and get a kick out of going around and saying hello or goodbye to everybody in the area. And then when they come over to do the same when they leave, well it's a mutual give and take, right? Which is more pleasant when...

The unexpected Bonus of Citizenship- Obviously it's advantageous to have the good ol' stars and stripes representing in your pocket. But while most of us (jokingly) speculated (except for me, as I desperately hoped it would prove true) that the power would be akin to an aphrodisiac, with the promise of western wealth and nationality enough to overcome my personality voids (kidding!) with Russian women, nobody predicted, anyway, that all the wrestlers would be like my best buddy. In fact, we were worried they might not be the biggest fan.
But I can sincerely say that everybody at the club has been kind to me, willing to show me moves and wrestle with me and ask about the States. I don't have too much trouble finding a partner each day, and I've even gotten to the point in my wrestling form where I'm pretty sure they're not picking me just so they can have an easy workout! Throw in the fact, as previously mentioned, that they're from all over the country, and it makes for an interesting bunch.
Of course, on the other side, some of them are expecting me to return soon (my calendar is free after May 13th or so...) and so making requests for wrestling shoes and bags and the like in the states. And many are asking for my email address and other contact info. Let's just say if you see an influx of men coming to the U.S. in their early to mid 20's with funny-looking ears, speaking either Russian or a language with a lot of "Kh" sounds, well, I won't know anything about it. I swear.

Сметана (Sour Cream) - I mentioned this offhand previously, but let me now throw my official endorsement behind the substance. Again, those who know me might wonder how I've made it this far without peanut butter (excepting the delicious peanut butter Big Kit Kats in Warsaw...hoo boy...mmm) or a nervous breakdown. I'm not going to call the sour cream here a one for one substitute, but it definitely helps. In general, I'm enjoying most aspects of Russian cuisine, even кефир ("Kefir", buttermilk), which is sour but tastes good with sugar and purports to be healthy. The sour cream is just a key part of the puzzle, a condiment to top all condiments, if you will.

Ok, I'm running out of time at this internet cafe, so that's it. I may be wrestling in a tournament on Nov. 1st, which is some sort of pagan holiday as is, so that may be a future topic. We'll see.

Dan

I was a Sitting Duck

Let me not fool you, dear friends - not everything is peaches and cream here in the East. For one, they prefer sour cream, fiending it like nobody's business (seriously, with bread, with soup, with potatoes, plain with sugar...). More to the point, Russia and Moscow has its problems. So for the sake of balance, here is a run through of some of the poorer aspects of Moscow life.

Items not listed, either because they're obvious, mundane, or secretly awesome, include: weather; lack of a dryer; the higher level of chivalry; mullets; getting thrown around in practice by 19 year olds; traffic; me.

Bureaucracy: Things in Russia just don't get done sometimes. It was enough of a pain getting an invitation for my visa - which I could have just gotten through an agency for far less concern/money - but then I had to register that visa. Sounds like something they could do in just a few days, right?
Well, it took us a few days to just figure out what we needed to do. We went to one place, needed a different document, went to another place, went to the office in the center of Moscow, found out we were missing a form, returned the next day, and finally paid a decent amount of money (About $120) to seal the deal. They promised to call us in 7-10 days, and meanwhile I went around Moscow with just a photocopy of my passport and key documents.
Which was fine, if a bit uneasy every time I saw a policeman on the street. But then that paper got more and more rumpled in my pocket (my fault but also inevitiable) and 10 days passed, and then 10 business days, and then 3 weeks, and no call. Finally, wanting to have a passport and be street legal, never mind to travel, we called them. "It's been ready for weeks, we were waiting for you to call us." Oh.
That's run of the mill, and it's annoying. Of course the policemen lead to another issue...

Racial Attitudes in Moscow: This goes beyond the obvious fact that much of Europe is more racist in attitude, if not in practice necessarily, than America. It stretches farther than the mutual exclusive identification of "Russian" or "Jew" that is more specific to Moscow, and farther than the strong national sentiment many hold here. And of course, the idea that racial profiling is not exception or underlying practice but point of fact run of the mill m.o. here is just a simple part.
People just put more stock in where you're from historically/racially/genetically. They're curious to know where you're from, because then they'll get a better feel of what you're like from the get go. And if they haven't heard of your answer, they'll lump it with a place they know.
For example (and this is fairly representative in so much as these sort of attitudes are prevalent in far more hoity-toity and learned places than a locker room), when I'm in the locker room or hanging out with wrestlers I get exposed to a lot. Firstly, most of the wrestlers are from the Caucauses - Daghestan, Checneya, Ocetia, Georgia, Armenia. Then there are wrestlers from out east, Siberia or farther, Yakutsk, and wrestlers from the west near Belarus and Ukraine. Which is to say we have a fairly international national club here, if that makes sense. And if I don't understand everything in the locker room, it's usually because they're speaking other languages.
But it's interesting to hear how often I'm asked if I'm a Christian (usually to counter against Muslim), or how one Chechen teammate said, "We respect Christians who converted to Islam much more than regular Muslims. If someone were to point to you and say, 'He converted', I'd immediately have more respect for you than a typical Muslim I didn't know." He also showed me clips on his phones (and phones are more advanced here than in the U.S., with videos, radio, mp3s, at least I don't think we have those as often back home) of Chechen fighting and nationalistic scenes, set to sad Chechen music (definitely the best part of the package). I wasn't sure how to react at all, so I kept my mouth shut either way.
Back to the main topic, which is racial views. Another day I was walking to the metro station with one of the coaches - the only one, in fact, that really looks out for me and helps me out with my wrestling, partly because he's one of the lower profile coaches there, partly because his son lives in Canada, so he considers me "a distant relative" - and somehow he got into how peoples with big noses will never catch up. Lumped into this category was, among other groups, Arabs, Africans, and most of the Mediterranean (most notably Italians). It was a flabbergasting display, in a perfectly reasoned, undramatic way. Interestingly despite correctly inferring I was Jewish, he didn't offer anything but positive views on Jews, who happen to possess both Mediterranean roots and big noses.
Anyway, this is just how these things go over here. It's not everybody, but it's more common than in the States. I'm not interested in crusading these days, but it is a little unnerving all the same.

Portable Audio Players: Ok, this isn't really serious, and I hate these in the states too. But here people tend to listen to the things even louder than at home, and the generally Russian musical taste is worse. Meaning where as at home I would run into somebody's irritating choice of heavy metal at audible levels on the bus once a week or so, here I can almost count on somebody listening to DMX or an incessant house beat loud enough for me to hear ten feet away each day on the no. 88 to practice. Not so sweet.

All in all, the feel from Moscow is that things work in spite of themselves. Anyway, really, things are good here, I just figured it's my duty to mix it up. Seriously, let's have a nice group hug, and my next non-event post will be about good things. Here's a picture to close with a smile.



I should note that my neck really hurt after this pose. It was just a few hours after practice, you know. And today in the sauna I took a complete digger stepping down the benches, leading to a landing right on my butt. Only the grace of a D-1 Athlete, I tell you.

Dan

Hi Dears, I just got back from Petersburg

Ducking away from the Bronze Horseman as if I was Nikolai Appollonovich Ableukhov. And if more than 2 people get that, I will be "v shokke", as they say here (in shock).

The story starts a week ago, last Monday. Actually, it starts before then, but I'm going to start on last Monday.

It was a typical mid-October day in Moscow, really. Crisp, a little wet, orange leaves, traffic, and winsome eyes. I left practice feeling relatively fresh, being the beginning of the week and all, and headed into town for a meeting with a fellow Dukie (Danielle R., for those of you who know her) at Pushkin's Statue. We wandered around, double-tracked a few times, and finally found the local popular Russian chain (Ёлки Палки). We ate, talked, discussed, shared our love for Duke University, and so on.

After this she had to go to one train station for a trip to the interior of Russia and I had to go to another to meet my Petersburg tripmate and buy tickets. Since my meeting point was earlier, we went together, hardly realizing that the train stations were about 200 meters apart. We met up in the middle of the Lyubanka metro station (notice the two meeting spots), then took off for the Leningradsky Train Station.

Here is where our plans hit the first bump: Alyona, tripmate, had a ticket in mind for Petersburg for Friday night, only to find tickets available for twice as much (mind you, still only about $25-30). So we gave up on our intial plan, went with Danielle over to her Train Station, looked for tickets there, failed, parted with Danielle, and headed back to the first station. There we decided to move our trip up a day to Thursday. And found the cheap tickets again (376 rubles, or about $14). Success!

Or so it seemed. Our plan was to go up, stay with Alyona's cousin, fiend the city and its nightlife, and then I would go back Sunday night, ready for practice today. And that all looked likely until I got a text on my way to practice Wednesday: my tripmate got ill something serious, didn't sleep the night before, might flat out die on the way if she goes. Despite my efforts to convince her it was just a head cold, it was out of luck. Which also meant I would now have to make my own way with rooming.

I thought I was done with hostel world and Let's Go recs, and in truth they didn't tell me much. I had one number from my father of an old friend who might be able to help me out. I cold called him Wednesday night and it sounded like he hardly knew who I was talking about. I hemmed and hawed my way to getting him to agree to meet me when I get there at some point; I am shameless to an extent, and that is not enough to get me to ask a basic stranger to put me up.

Fortunately, Alyona and her cousin were still on board to help me find a place to stay and show me around the city. In fact, they assuaged my doubts, so on Thursday all I had to do was rest, pack, and get to the station. Oh, and buy a new winter coat. While I'm usually shrewd with my money, I don't think anyone would be surprised if I reported that I went to one store, lingered a bit, got approached by the pretty woman working there, and promptly hooked to whatever they gave me. And though she noticed my accent immediately, she said she liked talking to me and that I should come back, and that I was smart for reading Pushkin. So if you want to draw positive responses, Pushkin is your wingman. (Note: the coat I bought was effective and below the price range my "host mom" here told me to expect, so it's not like I was had. But I could have been.)

My trip out was scheduled at 1:04, and the computer here was busy, so I decided to go into the center, put up a blog post and do other things, and then go to the train station. Except I got to the place and their cash register wasn't working, so they couldn't take on business. The only in Russia moment didn't stint me: one computer was on and logged in and empty, and seeing things as such, I made my move to steal about 10 minutes online. Slick, I know. It also led to this conversation:

Worker: English - Did you pay for that?

Me: Russian - What?

W: Oh, you speak Russian? Did you pay for that?

M: No, I couldn't, here's my money, would you like it?

W: Why are you using the computer if you didn't pay?

M: It was working and I needed to use it.

W: You're not allowed to do that, get off the computer. (Turning it off meanwhile).

Ok, I admit, not riveting dialogue. Anyway, the moment was over and I had to go back out to the streets. Earlier in the day I did my first photographing in the Red Square, and mentioned to my companion, a guy who I'm giving English "lessons" too, that it would probably pretty to return at night, though most successfully with a girl. So, eschewing that last part, I went back out and took some pictures, like this one of the Red Square:

Anyway, after that I finally went over to the train station, bundled up in that coat, which was warm enough to make me feel ready for war. I staggered into the station on time, bought some food to keep my internals warm, and then got on to the train.

Now, having traveled through much of Europe by train, I'd like to say I've picked up a breadth of experience. I've seen all types and sizes, and I understand what I'm getting into. And now I understand how a ticket to Petersburg overnight can go for under $15.

The train looked older than even the trains in Poland. Inside it was all metallic and dirty and Soviet looking, with no thoughts to aesthetic appeal. A wagon consisted of a smoking section, a bathroom, a conductor's room, and then about 10 compartments. Unlike most trains I've been on, the compartments here were not closed, so it was like a giant summer camp barracks. Each compartment consisted of 6 beds. As you walked in the hall, on one side would be a little open space with a table, and on either side of that table, perpendicular to the hallway, 2 beds bunked with a 3rd row holding blankets and mattresses. Then on the other side would be two seats and a little table, which together folded into a bed, with another coming out from the wall above it.

The matresses and the bedding were a nice touch as well. You pay 45 rubles for sheets (pushing the total of the ticket towards the $16 range), roll out a stale/old mattress on your bed, attach all the sheets appropriately, put a blanket on, and hope you don't fall out of your bed if you areon the top bunk. Which I was. Both times. No falls.

The bonus to this sort of train ride is that you immediately bond on some level with everybody in your compartment, sort of a sharing of this crude travel. And since most of my compartment mates were female, well...

Anyway, Petersburg itself was lovely; the cousin was a gracious and great host, I found a fine hotel (actually a hostel mentioned in Let's Go - bastards!), I met my father's friend and he proved to be an interesting, nice person. The city is better suited for summer, when they have white nights, the opportunity to see the fountains on in the city and at Peterhof, and you can stay up late to see the drawbridges across the Neva open. I missed those things, but made out ok by and large. I saw the Hermitage, a huge museum usually placed on par with Louvre, Prado, and so forth, and while its collection was a touch short of the Prado's, for instance, it was more versatile, and it was set in this glorious palace. I got out to Tsarskoye Selo, where Pushkin went to school (if I haven't mentioned it or it isn't obvious, Pushkin is just about the most beloved Russian ever, along with maybe Peter the Great and way way way way higher than Stalin) and the Tsars lived off and on. The Petersburg Moscow relationship is analagous to Barcelona Madrid or Florence Rome, but as with the Spanish example, I prefer the capital. Which is to say I'm happy to be digging into Moscow for the next month and a half.

Some Pictures:

It seems I have a tendency to be late for most of my meetings here, and in this case with tragic effect in Tsarskoye Selo (Царское Село)

If you tell someone from Petersburg this Church (of the Saviour of Spilled Blood) looks like the famous one in Moscow, they may get a little angry at you. But you'd probably be right.

I've really grown here. I have to duck out of the way so you can see the St. Isaac's Church in the background, only the largest church in Petersburg. They feed me well here, I guess.

Dan

I prefer the Party All Around

Those of you in love with the style, have no fear: The mullet is alive and thriving here out east. Admittedly, there are very few full-on, "pure" mullets - shave the sides, spike up top, flow in the back. But many of its descendants, both male and female, are still rolling here following the general principle: Business in front, Party in the back.

Anyway, things continue in almost all wonderful ways. Even the weather hasn't gotten terrible yet (though you wouldn't know based on the haranguing I get about not washing my hair before I go outside from every woman I know). I've figured out the ideal route to practice every day, I still go out in the city with friendly people at least half the week, and things are cool. Throw in that I'm going to Petersburg next weekend and it's all working out.

While I don't have a cohesive post ready, here are a few more things I thought about:

I have not yet grasped the music scene satisfactorily over here, but I do know that they call it "Russkie Rock" (it translates, no?), that I have a DVD full of bands to listen to and cannot claim to be thrilled by any of them, and that one of the bands on that list is from Ukraine, plays reggae, and is named "Friday", except in a punful way (involving the number 5). To repeat, a punny Ukranian reggae band. And they're supposed to be good.

The metro here is pretty fabulous at its core in that the stations are pretty, the trains run pretty frequently and on time, and it covers most of the city very efficiently. On the other hand, they're really stuffy (no AC), they're almost always packed, and if you're looking for a seat you might out of luck, which leads me to...

How to Pick out a Good Spot on the Moscow Metro:

This advice most applies to healthy males ranging from 10-50 in age with at least a small sense of conscience. If you have some of those attributes, you may do well to heed the following as well.
Also, this is best used before 9 pm. After then you can get away with sitting.

You see, the Moscow trains are filled most of the time, and they're filled with a lot of old people. So while there are plenty of seats, they fill up quickly (even when I get on the second stop going into the city), and if you as a healthy person with no visible ailments or warts are sitting down, you are liable to either get stared at or requested to get up. That's if the guilt from seeing other people standing or hearing the voice recording asking us to be polite and give up our seats doesn't eat at you.

The novice move is to take a seat and hope you can withstand all the other pressures. Unless you lack a conscience or are really determined (or can make it look like you're asleep, maybe), this is hard. So you'll take a seat at first, and then give it up and get stuck in the throngs of people in the middle of the car or, even worse, near the entry but without anything to hold onto. Uncomfortable and annoying when your poor balance causes you to fall on pretty women and such (then again...)

So what you should do is enter the car without illusions of getting a seat. Not gonna happen. Instead, work your way to the following points, in ascending order of quality:

- A relatively open space in the middle of the wagon where at least you can hold onto the rail.

- Similar place where you can hold onto the rail without reaching up over your head (especially recommended for you silly little short people).

- Next to a pretty person (there are a lot, so this isn't as high up as you might think).

- Against the wall at the end of the wagon on either side (a bonus if there's a little shelf to put any bags you might have on).

- Against a door on the side that does not open.

- Leaning against the row of seats and the door, in a corner, on either the opening side or the closed side of the wagon.

Now which side is better is a hotly contested battle. On the one hand, if you lean in the corner right where you enter there is never any trouble with getting out when your stop comes (you need to prepare at least one stop in advance otherwise, to be safe). On the other, in a crowded train you may have to deal with more jostling and possibly complaints about hogging space by the door.
The benefit to going far side is that you have more space and less people to deal with. Of course, your access to the exit is worse.

Anyway, just keep that in mind next time you get on at the end of the line and need to go a little while on the same train and see an empty seat. You conscience-less people, you.

I probably have more to say but I can't remember it. So I leave you with the best phrase I tried translating word for word into Russian: Popping a cherry. I got started at berry before I got to cherry, but I came pretty close to getting it all out. I'll probably post the remainders and thoughts on Vienna and Budapest this weekend.

Dan