Final impressions

In my final days, I'm trying to pack as many activities into my schedule as possible. Packing my bags, however, is not part of these fun activities.

I went to a local museum--just to see an exhibition from the Peter and Paul Fortress from St. Petersburg. Then, I went to Lenin's house where he actually (gasp) lived before going to Kazan for university. I also held off from going to museums because I needed my Russian to be good enough to understand what's going on. Artifacts tell a story, but the words keep you from mistaking a guillotine with a deli slicer. (Cultural Note: For anything written in English, multiply by 100 to get the word count in Russian.)

Where Lenin slept and studied before leaving Samara for Kazan University. Compared to the rest of the house and to his family members' rooms, his room was the least decorated.

How to put a man in his place. A medieval torture device on display in the Alabin Museum in Samara. This exhibit was taken from the Peter and Paul Fortress in St. Petersburg.

A few days ago, I was invited to tour a public hospital in Samara alongside a Spanish professor and Macedonian students. I am glad that I received this tour at the end of my stay because it could have tainted my view of Russia completely. As grateful as I am that I got an insider's view of a hospital, I'm still in utter shock of what I saw. Maybe those who complain (residents, citizens, and foreigners alike) about the quality US healthcare will shut their mouths if they see what I saw.

Seeing Diego in over-sized scrubs kept my mood bright despite the dreary atmosphere. Enjoy the demeaning photo before he discovers that I've posted it and makes me take it down. In hospitals, the typical uniform is not that much different from US hospitals, but they wear sandals and chef-like caps.

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I'm going home. The time is right to leave and I haven't become jaded yet. In Tolstoy's "War and Peace," a character named Pierre discovers that he lost a great fortune but feels richer after a life-changing experience. If you know the story, then it's obvious that I didn't have the same experiences as Pierre (he was in prison, and I'm not comparing Russia to a prison). How Tolstoy translates to me: It sucks that I'm going home because it feels like I'm leaving a lot behind, but I feel richer and 'fuller' after being here.

This isn't a good bye, of course. I'm only changing my location.

Throw your gang signs up

Please read about 'gopniks' because I couldn't have done a better job regarding this subject.

NOT an example of a gopnik, just a ladies' man in the making.

They know drama

There is a TNT network in Russia like we have in the US. There are programs that are Russian versions of the American shows. Try and guess what the original American programs are. Have fun!

SOLUTIONS!

1. The Nanny (Моя прекрасная няня)

2. Married With Children (Счастливы вместе)

3. Scrubs (Интерны)

"Boom!" went the night

Around 12.30am last night, I heard an explosion. No one else heard it so I assumed that it was just another Russian driving somewhere. A few seconds later, I heard another explosion. Well, that's not right. From our fifth-floor window, we saw our dumpsters on fire. It didn't seem like a typical cigarette fire because it was too rapid and explosive. Of course, it was terrifying that the dumpsters were so close to the building (and could be close to a gas line), but I was afraid that the firefighters wouldn't come in a timely manner. Fortunately, they arrived 10 minutes after. That was a welcomed surprise.

Smokey the bear says it's super stupid to open the window when you're above a fire.

At 12:20am, I went down to throw away some garbage (non-flammable, all organic material) and immediately went to the courtyard for a few minutes. At 12:25ish, I went back home and there was a man standing in the entrance waiting to enter. He was there without keys and he wasn't calling anyone on the callbox. Funny thing is, Diego immediately called out this guy's suspiciousness (actually, he says that about everyone). I heard the explosions after we got home. It's probably a coincidence, but who knows. It would suck if we were the ones who let the culprit enter the building. It would have sucked more if we were still at the door when the explosion happened.

Coming out of the building today, I saw boxes "blocking" the entrance. This apparently means, "Watch out, we're throwing ashes from the rooftop."

I used to complain that the trash chute in our building doesn't work.

During this event, the neighbors were also sticking their heads out of the window. I couldn't make out what they were shouting to each other (I don't like inhaling ashes so I kept my window closed), but I was scared they were blaming the foreigners living in the building. Strange night.

Not quite 'yellow fever'

Somehow, I came across this blog a few days ago and find it interesting. The writer is an American living in the middle of Russia and dedicates his site to Russian women. At first, I was repulsed by the idea and disgusted by the fact that anyone could do this to women (from anywhere). Looking a little bit deeper, I see that he has some interesting points to make. The post about the difference between the reactions towards pregnancy in America and Russia elicits a compelling discussion.

Your opinions are your own about his site. I've written him and received this answer,

Wow.. another American as crazy as me :) I just got done browsing through your blog. Nice job and nice impressions. Obviously we differ on various aspects of Russian Femininity but that is to be expected.

FYI I believe that Russian Women have enormous levels of womanly "power" that a typical feminist would refuse to admit. When you get a chance you can read this post because I think it pretty much nails what my message is.

Take a look at this site for yourself. Though we don't share the same opinions, I certainly do respect his and I welcome different viewpoints.

Six days left...

In Moscow, a Russian-speaking, non-Moscovite man asked me for directions and I responded accordingly without hesitation. I am not a Moscovite nor am I Russian. That felt good. In my hometown in New York, travelers have asked me for directions, but I'm afraid I was only right 50% of the time. That's a bit embarrassing.

This weekend, I had the pleasure of hosting CouchSurfers (CS) for a few nights. This was my first real interaction with the CS network and it couldn't have been better. Before making judgments or getting nervous, it's credible and I've known others who have had great experiences with it. Now I am vouching for it.

We hosted a pair of young travelers--one from Moscow and the other from Chelyabinsk--who were just extremely pleasant and great cooks. The great thing about traveling is that you are constantly learning, even if it's not a goal. Maybe it was ironic that they were Russian CSers hosted by a foreigner, but we taught each other a lot. I'm not surprised that sometimes I learn more about something in a few days worth of conversation compared to a textbook.

From the left is Marina from Chelyabinsk (CS), Diego from Spain (hidden), Roma from Samara, Stass from Samara, and Sergei from Moscow (CS). Marina made sushi rolls and Sergei was making apple pierozhki.

Couchsurfers or not, I now have extremely high expectations for my guests.

It was a blessing to have new eyes see the city because it refreshed my feelings about Samara. It's a good thing.

7 Days, 7 Sins

Today starts the countdown of 7 days until I go home—if all goes as planned, of course. Though I am unbelievably excited to go home to my family, friends, steak, and US soil, I don't know how ready I am to go back to the States. It's going to be strange and honestly a little scary.

I've grown comfortable everywhere I've lived, but towards the end of my stays, I feel jaded about the city and indifferent to it. Never say goodbye on bad terms.

I was born and raised in a metro New York suburb and I was ready to bolt to university as soon as I turned 18. I immediately fell in love with Washington DC and never wanted to leave. At the end of my second year, I was again anxious to get out of the city. As an aside, I lived on the second floor of a dorm on a busy street across a hospital and metro station. The noise drove me crazy. The night before I left Washington for the summer, my roommate and I were given a private tour to the top of a church bell tower where we could see a beautiful panoramic of the city. All feelings of anxiety and urban frustrations floated away. It was the perfect way to leave DC before going the summer and a semester abroad. In Mendoza, Argentina, I was (and still am) in love with the little city until the very end—when I became irritated at small things that didn't bother me before like curious stares and questions about being a foreigner. The night before I left, my friends and I went to the lounge of the highest building in the city, where the views were endless. I made peace with the city.

There's a pattern I just noticed while writing—I like saying goodbye from a higher altitude. Today, a friend took me to a scenic location outside the city where I've never been before. The view smacked me speechless.

Photos from Vertelyotka Square:

Roman (a long-term student from Nepal), yours truly, and my CSers Marina and Sergei.

Katya (a friend to all foreigners), me a bit taller, Marina, and Sergei.

Tonight made my goodbye more real.