Odessa Taxi Rip-Off

On my most recent trip to visit MCC partners, my bus got caught in traffic in Odessa. The streets in larger Ukrainian cities are not made for even half the volume of cars that fill them. That morning I was supposed to arrive by eight; then I could catch public transport across town to the other bus station by 9:15, when my bus to Kiliya was scheduled to leave. I had a tight schedule, wanting to make the 7-8-hour round trip yet that day, along with having a meeting with the partners there.

We arrived around 8:45 and I thought I might be able to catch a taxi across town for around $4 (significantly more than the $0.10 I would have spent on public transport). Taxi drivers know the side streets and would probably be able to get me to my bus on time. I chose one guy from the swarm of taxi drivers waiting for their prey at the bottom of the bus steps. I asked if he would be able to get me across town in a less than 30 minutes: and how much it would cost. He thought we would make it, and—acknowledging my accent—said it would be “less than $100.” He laughed and I began to walk away, but he pursued his potential client, saying he had been joking. I asked again for an approximate price, this time asking if it would be around $4. He said it would be a “bit more” because the rates were raised on April 1^st. But his taxi was “metered” and it would be “all good.”

As we left the station I noticed that the meter already read over half my projected price—we weren’t even headed in the right direction. I told him to stop, saying I didn’t have enough money. He smiled and said he would give me a rate of $10. By N. American standards this would have been reasonable but by Ukrainian standards it was a rip-off. But, wanting to get there already, I accepted. I was fuming for the remainder of the ride.

Being ripped off for my accent and nationality really upsets me. I am uncertain why this is the case. Ten bucks isn’t that much to pay and people here do have far less money than N. Americans. Part of it is my being upset because, when I’m being ripped off, I am oftentimes spending MCC constituents’ money. So they are being ripped off because of my incompetence. But it’s more depressing because it’s just another indicator that I don’t fit in.

I paid the $10 and missed my bus anyway.

Dave

Easter in Moscow

On April 7-8, Jaap, Lucie and I attended the first hour-and-a-half of the Easter service at the local Orthodox church. We were there from 11 p.m. until 12:30 a.m., long enough to make several laps around the church with the rest of the congregation as well as participate in the first rounds of the priest saying “Christ is Risen” and the congregational responds “He has risen, indeed.”

Sunday morning Jaap and I made Easter eggs. Here is a photo of our Easter breakfast. It includes the do-it-yourself Ukrainian eggs (they are encased in plastic shrink-wrap sleeves you slide the egg into and then drop into boiling water), painted eggs (which were not only fun, but really messy too), and a loaf of Paska (the bread named after the holiday - "Paska" is the world for Easter in Russian).

Dave

Moscow Trip III

The day before Easter my Dutch friend, Jaap, and I did some sightseeing in Moscow. I guess you could say I did some sightseeing because he lives there and had already seen the sites countless times. However he was able to visit one site he had never before visited. We arrived at Red Square at around 12:30 and saw it was mainly blocked off, with a long line formed along the Kremlin wall. Being somewhat accustomed to Russian/Ukrainian culture (if there’s a line, one must join because there must be something worth waiting for) we went and queued up. We asked some of our queue mates what it was we were waiting for, and they said that this happened to be one of the days that people could visit Lenin’s tomb (from 10-1 p.m.) Fabulous.

When Lenin died, more than 83 years ago, his written wishes were for burial in a cemetery in Petrograd (renamed Leningrad three days after his death and more recently St. Petersburg), next to his mother. He did not want any sort of monuments dedicated to him. Joseph Stalin, the general secretary, had other ideas. Statues of Lenin were raised in almost all major Soviet cities (there is still one standing in Donetsk’s central square) and a mausoleum was built on Red Square. Lenin’s body was to be preserved. This proved to be an interesting task. He died in January and Stalin decreed that some sort of corpse-preservation technique be developed. Some biochemists took up the task and produced a successful formula six months later. Needless to say they also had to do some bleaching and touching up on the body to account for those months. The composition of the chemical mixture is, from what I understand, a state secret. It does contain a lot of wax and is reapplied every 18 months, but that’s about all I could find out.

Before being admitted to the Mauseleum we were required to check our cameras in the Russian history museum (adjacent the mausoleum). We proceeded and a guard quite firmly told me “take off your hat and get your hands out of your pockets” before we entered. It was almost pitch-black in the entrance, which made the descent down a handful of steps somewhat treacherous. The only things that were visible were the countless guards; who were posted at each corner, under 1-watt (my estimation) light bulbs. After weaving around several corners we found a strong contrast to the darkness; the glass lid on top of Lenin’s coffin was brightly lit (I found the picture online; I did not attempt to take in a camera and try my luck). The first picture is of Jaap and me outside the mausoleum. Notice our looks of pride in accomplishment, after having visited the tomb.

Rumor has it that Russian President Vladimir Putin is considering, after Lenin has laid in the tomb for 83+ years, moving the body to the cemetery in St. Petersburg, to fulfill Lenin's original wishes. That rumor has probably been circulating for some decades and who knows if it will ever be carried out. Lenin’s corpse and mausoleum have a very interesting history that I have only begun to address. If it interest’s any of you, do an Internet search and check it out.

Dave

Moscow Trip II

Alina and Natalia are recent graduates of Ulyanovsk State University. They are in the process of getting jobs at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Moscow. They have been to the United States twice for practicums and speak English fluently. Alina also speaks French, while Natalia speaks German. Natalia bears a striking resemblance to my sister-in-law, Sara.

They were also my neighbors on the train from Ulyanovsk to Moscow. They were traveling there for the day, to drop off some documents at their future employer, and would be boarding their return train later that afternoon. They graciously offered to show me around Moscow if, immediately upon arrival, I would be willing to wander around the Arbat (one of the souvenir streets in Moscow) while they took care of their business at the ministry.

It was interesting to get a tour from some locals who were born during Perestroika. Their knowledge of Russian/Soviet history was not as vast as that of the generations older than them. They didn’t know who many of the statues were commemorating or the names of all the towers in the Kremlin, but they did know their way around the metro, where the best shopping centers were, where to get the best Russian pancakes, and that the ice cream in the Univermag GUM (a mall-type place) on Red Square, along with being the only affordable thing in the place, was the best ice cream in Moscow, bar none.

I was thankful for their hospitality as well as their willingness to help me pick out some amber earrings for Laura (a small consolation for not being able to make the trip)—no one gives tours/advice quite like locals.

Dave

Moscow Trip

I spent Easter with some Dutch friends of ours who live in Moscow. I needed to travel to Russia for my job and it worked out that I could spend a weekend in Moscow. It was a great time, I visited all the standard sites and will describe two significant impressions/reflections here.

First, shortly after getting back to Donetsk we met with Marina, our language teacher. I brought along a book of art from the Tretyakov Gallery, the main Russian gallery in Moscow. I had spent about three hours there and was impressed by the scope of their collection.

Marina was educated in an art school and could have spent hours talking about any one of the paintings, ranging from Orthodox icons to more contemporary Russian paintings. I am always fascinated by the little audio guides that are available at many art galleries which point out the history and symbolism in the paintings. But Marina was more thorough than that; she must have talked for 30 minutes about one painting of Peter the Great (who she says could be viewed as more “terrible” than Ivan the Terrible).

Marina said that when she was in Moscow, she was in awe. She remembers thinking to herself that the same stones on which she walked were “tread by Pushkin and Tolstoy.” In general it seems to me that the Soviets did a more thorough job of teaching history than was my experience in N. America. Nonetheless, it is amazing to stand on Red Square and then see the same square in that painting of Peter the Great. Laura and I have already decided that we will invite Marina to be our personal guide next time we go to Moscow and St. Petersburg. Who knows when that will be.

Second, I was not aware of how sprawling Moscow is. I was told that the Moscow metro is the largest underground train network in the world. I believe it. My train back to Donetsk left from one of the eight major train stations. It is on the “circle” line and, on the map, doesn’t appear to be too far from the place where I was staying. I allowed myself an hour to travel there and that was a mistake. I began to realize this about half way down the “green” line, before even making my switch to the “circle” line.

The rest of this is going to sound exaggerated, but it is the truth. I ran to switch stations and metro-trains and arrived at my metro stop a full five minutes before my train was scheduled to depart. I ran up the escalator and asked the first random person I saw where the train station was. He pointed me in the right direction and I ran. I arrived at the first platform one and a half minutes before my train was to depart … from the 7^th platform. I couldn’t figure out where the tunnel under the tracks was and am sure I looked like a total fool running all over the first platform (the signage wasn’t too helpful). As I came up the stairs to the 7^th platform the train was already chugging away. I jumped in the door of the last wagon, number 18, just as the conductor was shutting it. I proceeded, sweaty and with my heart beating twice as fast as it should, through the last ten cars to my bunk, the eighth bunk in the eighth wagon. After that it took me a while to calm down.

Dave

Photo: Me at the "center" of Moscow marker

The Russian Banya Experience

During my several-day stay in Ulyanovsk, Russia, (named for Vladimir Lenin’s birth name Vladimir Ulyanov) I stayed at the “Christian Missionary Center” just outside of the city. It serves as the office of the “Light of the Gospel” association of churches in that region and also houses a small college similar to DCU. Fortunately for me they have a Russian banya built on to the main building and it was in use three of the four nights that I stayed there.

The Russian banya is winter tradition in much of the former Soviet Union. It is cleansing and relaxing and probably helps some people survive winter in some of the colder regions. When in the company of other foreigners; we have visited several (and their Finnish counterparts) during our time here. However, as one of MCC’s partners in Ulyanovsk put it, “we had never had the real experience.” There is a certain protocol that apparently must be followed to qualify for this. I will attempt to describe.

In Ulyanovsk I only participated in the experience one night. The banya consists of a small, wood-paneled room (similar to sauna’s in some hotels in N. America) where a woodstove heats it to the temperature of 100C (boiling). Right outside the door is a shower or cold pool, and adjacent to that is a sitting room. Participants strip down (in the sitting room) and go sit in the banya until they "feel uncomfortable.” For me this would have been the point when everyone stripped down, but it is supposed to mean the point when a person has a good sweat going, yet hasn’t started to feel light-headed. The person exits and goes to the sitting room, to rehydrate by drinking some water and resalinate by eating some salty fish. They sit there until all their sweat has dried, then go in for round two.

Upon entering the second time, someone pours a significant amount of water on the stove, dropping the temperature to around 85C but raising the humidity to an almost unbearable level. People take bundles of small branches (traditionally birch, but we used oak) and either beat themselves or each other. This seemed a bit strange to me, but I laid down, face first as directed, and got the typical lashing, although it seemed like more like a form of punishment then of relaxation. The wind from the branches was like a wall of even hotter air and the beating was not especially fun, but I was determined to get the full "experience." Just before the person gets light-headed (which seems like a strange indicator to me) they exit and take a cold shower. This process is repeated, usually 2-6 times.

I participated in this experience with a group of men but, back in Donetsk; when I tell of the adventure I have been told several times that it wasn’t the “real experience”… to get that there must be “girls and vodka.” I’ll take their word for it.

Dave

Nikolai is from Kerch

Nikolai is from Kerch (on the Crimean Peninsula in southern Ukraine). His wife of 30 years lives there year-round and Nikolai lives there about six months per year. Every other month he travels to Tumen, in Siberia, to work on an oil rig. His decades of working in the “North” as an excavator have taken a toll on him.

In all honesty, Nikolai’s rough and tough appearance made me a bit nervous when I first met him (on one of the longer train rides of my time here). He was already settled in his bunk across from my own when I boarded in Makeevka at 2:30 a.m. I was beginning my 31-hour journey; across the Russian border to the city of Sizran (about 700 miles south of Moscow). It was my first trip to Russia and I was excited to make the trip after spending a significant amount of time and energy (with the assistance of a Ukrainian friend) jumping through all the hoops to get my invitation letter and visa.

As he had done many times before, Nikolai was traveling from his home in Kerch to Ufa (50+ hours by train), then flying another 2-3 hours to Tumen. To make that round trip monthly is something I can hardly imagine. He, however, seemed prepared. He and I were alone in our six-person compartment for most of my trip, but his wife had sent enough fried fish, turkey, hard-boiled eggs, and radishes to feed a small army. The two of us barely made a dent and it was unfortunate that, due to luggage restrictions, he had to dispose of the leftovers before boarding his plane in Ufa.

Nikolai assumed the responsibility of watching the dumb foreigner. As mentioned above, he graciously shared his food with me (which was far more substantial than the few bags of chips and the bottle of water that I had brought). He pointed out several of the major attractions along the way, the main one being a huge Soviet statue (with a scary-looking sword) in Volgograd; to commemorate the spot where the tide changed in WWII and the Soviets began to chase the Nazis out. He also helped me at the border, the part of the trip that I was a most nervous about (and I’m sure it showed). He explained where we were, how long we would be there, who would check my documents and, most importantly, made small talk with the border agents just made the atmosphere a little more calm.

When we arrived at Sizran, even though he wasn’t getting off there himself, he pointed out that there were two stations there and I may need to travel to the other one in order to continue my journey. He would remain on the train another 16 hours. We said our good-byes and well wishes and parted. I never would have guessed, when boarding the train, that this guy would have such a hospitable spirit. I hope that it is neighbors like this and not the ones who want me to drink a whole bottle of vodka with them (to understand the “Russian soul,” they say) that I remember from my many trips on the train.

Dave