Dispatches from the middle

Meta-blogging interjection – is it better to describe a trip in minute detail, or to concentrate on the more interesting thought processes stemming from certain events and encounters, or both? At this point, given that trying to relate the minutae would take far more time than I have and would produce a great deal more text than anyone wants to read, I’ll opt for concentrating on the more interesting points.

My arrival was a bit ill-fated. Flight delays and a certain Air Canada employee who shall remain nameless had me arriving about 30 hours late and sans luggage. The Siberian Air employees in Munich swore up and down my bag was on the plane, but then again, the aforementioned AC employee swore up and down she’d booked me all the way through to Moscow. Lesson learned. Though, in all honesty, I really did enjoy the last leg of the journey. I ended up sitting next to an incredibly sweet lady returning home from visiting her daughter in Marburg. We chatted as much as we could given my non-existent Russian and her limited English. Really, it’s Liliya I have to thank for fortifying me through the Domodedovo lost and found odyssey that waited for me at the airport. I’d fallen asleep by the time dinner was served, but Liliya would have none of that.

“It’s dinner.”

“Huh? It’s o.k. I’m not really hungry.”

“But it’s dinner. You EAT.”

“Well, I’d rather sleep, but fine. I’m awake now, I’ll take one.”

And you better believe I ate that entire dinner. Every time I’d pause or start to fall asleep, I’d feel a gentle poke and receive a good-natured, but increasingly stern, “EAT”. In the end, I was glad I did as I didn’t get to my hotel until many hours later, at which point, I gobbled the wee chocolate bar Liliya had insisted I take from her meal. So. Sweet.

Liliya made one point I’d like to concentrate on for a minute. When describing Russia, she said that the people were wonderful (and they are!), but that it was not really a comfortable place. Now, I can imagine what she means, but spending my time in hotels, coffee shops, tourist destinations, and shopping malls in major metropolitan centers, I can hardly say I’ve come even close to the national brand of discomfort. But my journey, coupled with the newness and scariness of navigating a huge city, and doing so in 3-day-old socks under a barrage of panicked emails from work, got me thinking about comfort in general. One of the best things about travel is that it tends to make one uncomfortable. Pushing oneself to navigate new professional situations is anything but comfortable. The more comfortable life is on a daily basis, the more we tend to rebel against discomfort, but discomfort is precisely what is necessary to grow. So, I’m thinking perhaps a mental readjustment is necessary with respect to comfort. It should not be such a priority (and it takes consistent effort to keep it from becoming a priority)! I think being tired, anxious, confused, and out of one’s element are things to be welcomed, relished even, rather than avoided. And, being uncomfortable has the added advantage of turning small comforts (e.g. finding an extremely fuzzy blanket stashed in the cupboard in one’s hotel room) into absolute delights. I’ve never been so happy to have an extra blanket!

Once we landed, passport control – the part I’d been most worried about (visions of every Eastern European interrogation room I’d ever seen in the movies swimming in my head) – was thankfully the laxest I’ve ever passed through. When I realized my luggage hadn’t arrived, I cornered an airport employee out of sheer ignorance and desperation, but that turned out to be exactly the right move. It kept me from spending what would have doubtless been even more hours lost in the crowd milling around outside the lost and found. After a fair bit of back and forth, I was told to return to the airport the following day to claim my luggage. Come back to the airport? Yes, we don’t deliver. Ah. Gotcha.

The ride to my hotel in a random taxi procured for me by scrawny-dude-with-an-unfortunate-skin-condition was the last straw for the evening. Incidentally, I was told before I left home not to ride in any unofficial taxis. I broke that rule right off, but have noticed since that none of the transport arranged for me by either hotels or the travel agency I worked with have borne any sort of marking. They have no meters, and the drivers wear no identification. There’s a remarkably consistent fleet of Ford Foci, but besides that, nothing. Curious. In any case, I was happy to get to my hotel having kept my promise to my sister not to get kidnapped.

I’ll interject here, while we’re on the subject of kidnapping, with a point I find particularly regrettable and admit up front that I was, and still largely am, completely ignorant about Russia (don’t tell my boss!). There are so many places in the world about which I’ve heard next to nothing positive. While Russia is not necessarily one of these places, my lack of actual knowledge coupled with vastly pervasive stereotypes, has left me not much better off. I’ll admit I was more than a little nervous about this trip. However, on the homestretch, I can say I’ve not once felt unsafe. And I am learning! Kazan, for example, is the capital of the Republic of Tartarstan. It’s a city of about 1.2 million people, comparable to Edmonton, but containing 15 different institutions of higher education. Talk about a university town! It’s home to one of seven new Federal Universities in Russia, amalgamations of groups of state universities into comprehensive units covering all areas of study. Education is a huge priority here! Kazan is also well known for cooperation and peaceful coexistence between religious demographics. Being situated on the (conceptual) border between Europe and Asia, the population is approximately 45% Christian and 45% Muslim, with 10% falling under “other”. I had not known this! Not to mention the fact that the city is 1000 years old – to an Edmontonian, well ‘nigh inconceivable – and Tartar cuisine is to die for. I have never in my life had such delicious and elaborate breakfasts as I enjoyed in Kazan, and the Tartars are the first of the long line of Europeans who’ve tried that could convince me to eat horse meat (twinge of guilt). Institutional culture is certainly different here; that is, unis function differently. On the whole, everything is much more spontaneous. I’m starting to catch shades of broader cultural differences as well. People will not give you directions on the street, for example, at least not in Moscow. I’ve asked a number of times and have been told every time (often in perfect English) that my chosen victim does not understand me. Invariably, they shake their heads and hurry away. It’s like I’ve startled and disturbed them, rudely plucking them out of their commuter reverie. Mind you, I’ve been approached for directions a couple of times as well, and ironically enough, give exactly the same answer and scuttle off, though I maintain I have an excuse! This could simply be a fact of wandering around large cities, but I’m not the only one who’s identified the Russian tendency towards introspection (See Russia by Johnathan Dimbleby. Hell, see Dostoevsky, author and/or works).

Lastly for this entry, this trip has made me realize that I need to learn Russian. Not only will it be an excellent move professionally, but it will provide vastly improved “access” to Russia and the former Soviet states. Reading Russian literature in the original would be an amazing experience as well, though likely years down the road. I am getting better at deciphering Cyrillic, and have picked up a few phrases, but it’s far from functional. I always feel slightly guilty going to a country where I can’t function in the local language, so Russian and Spanish will be my language projects for 2012. It’s definitely an adventure not speaking the language, and much more of a challenge, but it requires others to put in a great deal of effort to accommodate me. Tossing in a few words here and there is a nice gesture, and I do it whenever I can, but it doesn’t feel sufficient. The capacity for at least simple conversation should be there.

And with that, I’ll sign off for the evening. Soon to come, fashion, femininity, and the Moscow subway!