A Lost Email from the First Semester

Dear readers,

I have recently found two emails from the first semester that I had lost at some point. I make a great many unfair generalisations about Russians in both of them, and my anger at other aspects of my life is reflected in them. Still, they contain some funny stories and anecdotes that should give a slightly fuller picture of my year abroad. I cannot answer for the attitudes reflected in this email, as my views on Russia have changed significantly since the time of the email's being written. (Get ready for some racist stereotypes.)

Of life in general I could write a great deal if I had more time and imagined that you would have time to read a long email. The biggest event of the new year, by far (this happened on December 30th, which is cheating, I suppose), is that both of our showers, one of which no longer even had a head, were fixed: we now have two functioning showers with high-powered, still shining fixtures. (Since then, one of the sinks has been fixed, and the gaping hole beneath one of the mirrors in the bathroom has been fitted with a sink.) I did not celebrate New Year's, partly because I had a ton of work, and partly because it would not have been that interesting. Russians go nuts on New Year's eve, often celebrating it until 7:00 or 8:00 AM the next day. They feel that the mood with which they greet the new year will define the year to come. (They have also told me not to cook when I am in a bad mood, as your bad mood will transfer itself to your food--no joke.) Russians away their January holidays (from the 1st through the 10th) with such anticipation that try seem to be trying to cram a whole year's enjoyment, to no avail, into ten days to make up for the fact that the rest of their lives is miserable. I had a good time celebrating Christmas with the other foreigners in the dormitory and was glad to pass on any New Year's festivities.

I do not have too many salient cultural notes. People's animosity toward one another here is reflected in how they drive and walk their dogs. The old ladies here, essentially all of whom are widows, as not marrying is looked down upon and men die young, are a phenomenal worth writing about. I was surprised, at first, to discover that grocery stores and the subway floor get flooded with dirty slush when it snows, but I have now grown used to the fact that Russians will never bother to improve upon anything that is not irremediably broken (sure, people might slip and slide everywhere, they might have to wade through pools of water to pass through the turnstiles, and the overall effect of all of the slush might negatively impact their moods, but they are not physically prevented from buying groceries or taking the subway). I find myself increasingly less interested in Russian culture every time I reflect on it, but I am looking forward to my classes in the second semester and plan to visit the museums, art galleries, and theatres for which I lacked the energy last week so as to get as much as I can out of my time here. (I hate how people constantly take advantage of one another here, how they never smile or say 'thanks,' how closed-off they are, how closed-minded they are, and how indifferent they are to the world around them.)

I just remembered two anecdotes, one incredible, that I wanted to relate to you. The way in which Russians treat the little weight room downstairs may reflect something about their attitude toward life in general. Earlier in the year, the institute's trainer (who manages fitness classes, looks after the gym, &c.) said that he was going to remake the gym entirely and upgrade it to unseen heights. He started moving the bikes in the storage room across the hall from it around so as to make a sort of studio with floor matting, resistance bands, Bosu balls, and the like, and he ordered a bunch of new equipment. Time passed. A few new sections of rubber matting appeared. The little wastebasket overflowed with discarded cardboard packaging and boxing tape. Perhaps two months after our conversation, one of those machines with handles for doing dips and a chin-up bar attached showed up, and another few weeks later it was attached to the wall.

That was it. After months of feverish planning and excitement, the gym was fitted with a new chin-up bar, of which it already had one, and handles for doing dips, which were not really necessary. One or two of the dumbbells disappeared, if I am not mistaken, and a few new squares of matting were added. Alfred, the trainer, spoke to me some time ago about designing a studio on the second floor, mostly for girls, he said, as it will be oriented toward gymnastics; I have not bothered to check it out. When Russians go to the gym, they usually show up in those Nike sandals that have a broad strap of material across the front of the foot and nothing to secure them at the heels. They shuffle up to the punching bag, hit it for a while, and often work on the bench press before doing a few chin-ups and leaving. People's lackadaisicalness with respect to exercise is just as enchanting to me as girls' clomping around on six-inch high heels and smearing make-up on their faces like crumbling plaster in an effort to look good--this country is so ridiculous that one almost comes to like it.

My better story is too brilliant to have been made up. A friend of mine who moved from Moscow to Vancouver a few years ago was back here to visit his wife, for whom they have to submit a bunch more documentation in order for her to join him, as they married after he moved, a couple of weeks ago for the January holidays that Russians celebrate instead of Christmas (which was rejected, when the Soviet Union assumed power, as being a superstitious relic of the past). You might imagine that when he and I met, we visited Red Square, one of the old neighbourhoods where merchants used to live, or Gorky Park, which stretches along the Moscow River and has all sorts of stuff to see. Nothing of the sort! My friend arranged for me to meet his wife and him at a famous fairgrounds filled with all sorts of horrific buildings from Soviet times (look up ВДНХ москва; I am not going to bother finding out its name in English). OK, I figured; we are going to walk through the fairgrounds, which is composed of large pedestrian-only boulevards that are pleasant for walking, on a fine winter day. Again, nothing doing. When I met my friend and his wife in the subway and we walked out into the city, he said that she was not in much of a mood for walking and led us on a beeline to the nearest McDonald's, which was packed to the gills (Russians love McDonald's). I ordered the least offensive item on the menu and went upstairs to where my friends were waiting for me, only to learn that they did not much like the look of the pace, as a result of which we relocated to a Pizza Hut next door and sat chatting for about an hour. This was, I should think, one of the most culturally enriching experiences of my visit--Russians are insane. No foreigner would imagine that two friends would meet at McDonald's before repairing to Pizza Hut as a way to spend time in Moscow after several months without regular contact. I do not quite know how to explain this except that the culture is foreign to me and that I am still struggling to understand it.

From another email:

Over the past several weeks, people have started leaving their cookware out to dry in the kitchen, and common dish soap, hand soap, and sponges have appeared (in addition to the common broom, dustpan, and lighter for the stove). The wing in which I live is the only one with a washing machine, as residents of every other wing (there being two wings per floor) broke theirs, and we often share food with one another. I doubt that this is the most damning condemnation of communism possible (that is, as it was practised in the Soviet Union), but it is still funny that people from loathsome, democratic countries, where all that people every think about is the acquisition and hoarding of wealth, are able to live much more socialistically than people from a country whose philosophy was, for many years, some variant of "all for one, and one for all!" I once forgot a friend's soap by the sink, and, when I went back to get it five minutes later, it was gone. (I wish that I had more anecdotes like this one, but I have, mercifully, spent little enough time on the Russians' floors not to have run up so much against their way of life.) [Edit: people started leaving food out in the kitchen in the second semester (non-perishables) without its ever being stolen.]

In short, a Russian would steal the last shirt off of his brother's back, while people from capitalistic countries are perfectly happy to share and work together. A friend's mother, visiting from Ireland, commented that it would take Russians several generations to recover from the mindset into which forced communism drove them. They despise their neighbours, despise people in general, and separate material goods into two categories: those which are their own and which they will, as a result, defend to the death from the encroachment of foreign parties, and those which are not their own, which they will steal, ruin, or otherwise abuse as they see fit, since they have no sense of civil unity. I have run out of things to say and have to get back to work. Russians are nuts.

Sincerely,

Max

P.S. I disagree with many of these generalisations, at this point, as I realise that they are inaccurate. The problems that I noted in the dormitory and in Russia as a whole do not, naturally, apply to everyone in the country. I will, again, try to stick ever more to anecdotes as I visit more exotic countries, as I am bound to run up against things that I do not like and to project my dislike onto the people in these countries, which is a patent mistake.

Smoking kills.

My favourite tree during the fall.