Lost in Translation

Some things are just lost in translation.

For example, my babushka will likely never understand my love of Nelly, to whom she hears me shaking my tailfeather through my bedroom wall a little too often.

She will probably never comprehend my b’dazzled style or my general refusal to wear pants after May 1–she thinks that my not wearing tights with skirts makes me a Woman Of The Night and at this point I think I am okay with it.

My babushka doesn’t get why No Brush Russia is a thing (5 months of tangled mane and going strong) and tells me that knotted hair is no way for a young woman to find herself a husband. Au contraire, dear grandma, au contraire.

There are a lot of things the two of us have come across in my time here but one we’ve spent a lot of time dancing around is my veganism (and not in the Nelly way). My babushka has been great since I’ve lived with her- she makes soup (and more soup) and really just lots o’ dishes vegan-ized for me, which I appreciate immensely. I’ve tried out some classic Russian stuff and tried not to let my vegan lifestyle hold me back from experiencing the culture of this country. All of that said, vegetarianism remains a острый (sharp, spicy) topic around 4th Sovietskaya Street.

The other day I was making an anatomy model of my body and asking my babushka the names of various bones. After explaining the clavicle (the word is like “key” cuz the bone moves in the shoulder socket like a key in a lock!) she told me that you need several servings of tvorog every day for bone strength. “And you, of course, do not eat any milk products. Just don’t complain to me when your bones break.”

Now, I know better than to launch into a vegan rant with anyone, and especially not with her. I have my reasons for being vegan and I believe in them but I’m not tryna get sass-ma-frassed by a 75-year-old wearing tinted glasses with a high enough prescription to make eyes look terrifying, a shoulder-padded dress last sported on Dynasty and fuzzy leopard print slippers. The reality is that we are women of different generations, different cultures. I came to Russia to learn the language and experience life with a family and I didn’t expect it to be butterflies and rainbows (both of those things were banned when the USSR collapsed anyhow).

I guess that what I’m saying it that even after 5+ months here I’m still mastering the give and take necessary in a relationship which crosses so many unconventional boundaries. Last week was my American friend Sasha’s birthday and my babushka wasted no time in telling me that the inside-joke present I’d put together was weird and un-present-like. “Why don’t you just get her a book?”

I’m still learning a lot of Russian (yesterday my babushka’s great-granddaughter taught me how to say boogers) but my education in Russia is wound in a different, maybe even more complex scheme of how to interact with people. My babushka and I may never see eye to eye on veganism but we had a pretty great moment a few days ago when I explained quinoa to her. Quinoa is not sold in Russia but I brought a package back with me from the States and showed it to the Bab. She tasted it and decided that this kasha (universal term for porridge) looked like the corn kasha I often eat for breakfast. “But more bitter.” I laughed and said I didn’t really like the taste when I’d first tried it but I’d gotten used to it. She laughed and said that the first five times she ate olives she hated them but the sixth she decided they were her favorite food.

Tonight I came home late from a ballet. I texted my babushka on the way home so that she wouldn’t worry or stay up like she usually does when I’m out late and don’t call. I shuffled in wearing my fancy shoes and went into the kitchen for some water. In the dark I noticed a pot on the stove. My babushka had made my breakfast:

We’re getting there.

Crazy/Busy

Hello friends.

It’s been a while since we’ve talked. I’m currently so unabashedly watching the finale of Dancing with the Stars with my mom double fisting blueberries and granola #thingsIcan’tdoinRussia? All I’m sayin is if Donald Driver doesn’t win heads are gonna roll at ABC. Anyway, the last few weeks have been Crazy/Busy (I write it like that, of course, in the format of the second best Kirsten Dunst movie of all time after Bring It On, the classic piece of cinematography Crazy/Beautiful). To give you an idea, in the days of late I have:

• been on a roll of going into stores, painting my nails then leaving

• awkwardly walked in on my babushka deeply involved in conversation with her plants on more than one occasion
• celebrated Victory Day/День победы (one of the largest holidays in Russia) with fireworks and stoop beers

• passed my final exams, fingers crossed (jk mom and dad! definitely passed!!!)
• went to my first Russian doctor’s appointment where I was, upon arrival, promptly asked to remove my shirt (I had a cold.)
• said so long see ya later to Russian friends
• and said so long see ya later to Russia

• travelled on three planes for 25 glorious, sleepless hours

• came home. ate kale.

• went and celebrated my cuz’n Lucas graduating collegio in style

• aaaaaaaand obviously made some bomb new foods. After a serious lack of cooking in Russia I’ve been more productive lately than a newly married Mormon couple. I have three new recipes for you! I will post them one at a time but here’s a sneak peek…

[chickpea quinoa falafel]

[BBQ grilled tofu and portobellos with homemade BBQ sauce]

[no-bake chocolate chip cookies]

Now that’s Crazy/Beautiful.

Trip of Steppic Proportions

You know how when people talk about travel they always say stuff like “destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things,” or “experience, travel – these are as education in themselves” or “a ship in harbor is safe, but that is not what ships are built for”? Well when I say “people” I mean  “no one”, and when I say “stuff” I mean “things I would actually say only after I’d Google image searched ‘larvae’ and plucked every hair from my head,” but I digress.

Last week I took a nine day trip to the south of Russia with the group of American students studying at my university. We took a 30 hour train ride south to Rostov-on-Don, where I took the opportunity to wade in the Don River and sing the classic Sisqo hit “The Don Song” (let me see that Don-da-don-don-don).

We drove around for about 5 more days in a ghetto bus with a velour interior and outer space-themed curtains. We went camping on the Steppe (I took this opportunity to make a million “Steppe” puns- lemme see you one, two Steppe), went to the largest Buddhist temple in Europe, spit off a bridge which unites Europe and Asia (my saliva was forever lost in the continental divide), visited a place called “Chess City,” and ate delicious Armenian food.

Traveling as a vegan can be a hit-or-miss experience, depending how flexible you’re willing to be. I prepared before we left (lugged instant oats, almond butter and dried apricots around a good portion of southwestern Russia) and every time we were near a store I stopped in to stock up on whatever fresh/dried fruit, fresh/canned veg, nuts, canned beans, bread, or dark chocolate I could find. I was lucky in that I was largely in control of my meals and unlucky in that I explored the frightening world of Russian preserved vegetables. FYI, pickled cauliflower is only OK.

On the other side of this trip I can say a few things about travel.

1) Preparation is key but you can’t anticipate everything (flat tires in the middle of absolute nowhere, nothing vegan except pickles and vodka for meals, etc). Flexibility is always a good thing but especially on the high open seas

2) Unexpected friends from random places are the best friends. I met some unlikely characters along the way (re: friends who make balloon animals together on a 40 hour train ride stay together). When we were at a stop along the way in a town called Voronezh I befriended a toothless woman who felt a Christmas sweater was appropriate for the 80 degree weather and gave me a free ice cream. When she found out I was from the US she petted my dirty train hair and cooed “Amehhhhhdeeka, Amehhhhdeeka!” and told me how she had a feeling she’d see me again on the television one day.

3) Steppe softly and carry a big stick.

*Almost all of these pictures were taken by my talented friend Sashinka (known to the rest of the world as Alex Bird). GIRL GOT SKILL.

My Babushka’s Veggie Fried Rice

In our household, things run like clockwork. No, hold on, I said that wrong. Rather, clocks run like things in our household. There’s no joking around here on 4th Soviet Street, never, no way. [Particularly not when I wear my sparkly kitty sweater].

I come into the kitchen for breakfast sharply at 8:30. Breakfast table conversation can range from my dreams to whatever news is broadcasting on the TV to the weather. Yesterday we talked about her theory that aliens exist and are undoubtedly going to smite earth soon because humans suck (really). I leave for class at 9:00 and if I’m not ready my babushka stands outside my door and waits. If I can’t zip the janky zipper on my boots fast enough she hikes up her bathrobe, bends at the hips, squats on her 74 year old knees and does it for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I come home between 18:00 and 18:30 (that’s 6:00 and 6:30 PM, noobs) and within two minutes a pot of soup is on the stove heating up. I put on my slippers, wash my hands, and take my place at the table. My babushka commands information out of me regarding my day, which can vary from the weather to my classes to recounting my misadventures dealing with people in public. Yesterday she told me that women lose their ability to have babies after 25. By the time my soup is hot I have been thoroughly quizzed and am thrilled to have something to put in my mouth to turn it from a two-sided conversation to a monologue (hers).

Dinner in Russia a two-part ordeal. After soup there is always a second course. This is one of the most simple and delicious ones my Bab makes. No joking around.

My Babushka’s Veggie Fried Rice

• 1 large onion, chopped very finely
• 1 carrot, shredded
• 2-3 cloves garlic, chopped very finely
• 3 cups cold prepared rice (brown, white, wild)
• 2 Tablespoons sunflower or vegetable oil
• salt and ground black pepper to taste
• fresh dill and green onion to garnish! (optional)

As with all of my babushka’s recipes, everything is done by taste. If she knew how the internet worked and were writing this herself she would stress the importance of doing things “по вкусу.” Nothing should be rigid, you should add as much salt as you like (if you are her, this is a lot). That being said;

1. Heat a skillet over a medium-low flame. Add 1 Tablespoon oil + chopped onion and garlic. Sauté until the onions are lightly browned and smell delicious (~8 mins). Push this to the side of the skillet.

2. Add grated carrot and add a bit more oil to the skillet. Cook 5 minutes or so, stirring occasionally until lightly brown and wilted. Push to the side.

3. Add cooked rice and 1 Tablespoon oil or enough to lightly coat the rice. Cook 5 minutes, mixing occasionally, then mix to combine with the vegetables on the side of the skillet. Cook the rice and veggies all together another 5-10 minutes until lightly browned and smelling delish.

Garnish with fresh herbs and agree with your Babushka that aliens definitely exist.

Nose Soup

As I write this I have two chunk of onion wedged up my nostrils.

According to my babushka, this is a surefire way to get rid of a cold. According to me, this is a surefire way to make soup in my nose. Either way, everything in St. Petersburg is going to smell like raw onion for the next several days which may or may not be a nice change of pace from damp fur coat stench.

This past weekend I took a trip to Moscow. I would say it was “chill” but at this point cold weather jokes just make me kind of sad, it’s better not to go there. I left Petersburg on the midnight train with my friend Abra and arrived at Leningrad Station around 7 AM Wednesday. Cold and disoriented, we made a beeline to Red Square (pro: deserted and saw the sunrise. con: awake 7 am).

We spent the day wandering around the Kremlin, St. Basil’s Cathedral, and Church of Christ the Savior. Fun fact: the aforementioned church was destroyed in the 1812 war with Napoleon and was made into a swimming pool under Stalin. The church was reconstructed in its original form and place in the late 90′s. My babushka told me that she swam in said pool in the 60′s. Reason #264 why my babushka is the shit.

Thursday we went to the RUSSIAN SPACE MUSEUM. I was incredibly excited because a) I have a huge not-creepy-okay-kinda-creepy crush on young astronaut Yuri Gagarin [first man in space! c'mon, sexy!] b) I clearly love all things nerdy and Russian. The nerdier and the Russianer, the better. c) I am fascinated by space and would be on my way to becoming an astronaut if not for b.

[floating fruits, jumpsuits, Soviet hugs-this is everything I like.]

While in Moscow, Abra and I made a pact to spend as little money as possible and only indulge in necessary items (beer). We ended up eating grechka (buckwheat groats) for dinner all three nights. A 900 gram bag (2 lbs) costs 50 rubles ($1.60) and when cooked makes a huge ass pot filled to the brim. We had an eating contest which I promptly won then resolved never to eat grechka again. Until the next day.

Friday we went to the Tretyakov Gallery and the Park of Fallen Heroes. The Park is this nuts sculpture garden where they deposited a bunch of old and suddenly unwanted Soviet statues after the collapse of the Soviet Union. Basically there are a million statues/busts of Lenin, Stalin and ol’ man Gorbachev. I obviously took the opportunity to go around and pick each of their stony noses.

Obviously.

As for me, I’m off bed so this sniffle doesn’t turn into something worse. Or so it’ll turn into something better. That is, if onion soup is your thing.

New Words

It was bound to happen eventually.

This love affair of metro rides, 30 ruble beers, snowdrifts and sunflower seed halva I’ve been having lately with St. Petersburg has just been too sweet. (Seriously, have you ever tried halva? It’s what 6 future cavities taste like in the present).

Walking on the frozen Neva, ballet, cheap elektrichka rides up north to see the Bay of Finland – none of it seems entirely real and pretty much all of it seems too sophisticated and classy for my “laps are as good as napkins” self. Everything is exploding with beautiful and when free time rolls around I’m always a little flustered about what to visit. Recently I’ve been to Peter the Great’s “Cabinet of Curiosities” at Kunstkamera (proving, once again, Russia is normal and not creepy), the northern town of Vyborg, ice skating in the park at Pavlovsk, and jumping around at a ramble-rousin’ Maslenitsa celebration by Tsarskoe Selo in Pushkin.

When I said “it was bound to happen” I meant get sick. The water in St. Petersburg is notoriously bad (my host grandparents have this funky system where they collect drops from the bathroom faucet with a funnel, pour it through a filter, then boil it). I woke up this morning, downed my normal kasha* with banana and tea and hopped on the trolleybus to school. Five minutes into my first class I felt the wrath of 100,000 angry gremlins punching at my stomach and knew I wasn’t going to last there. I ended up getting sick and went home. Today I learned that “меня рвало”/”menya rvalo” means I puked! See how much I’m getting out of this experience? (Additionally “я блюю” means something a bit more crude like I’m yuking and is pronounced “ya blew-you.” Thanks, Mom and Dad for these education dollaz.

Anyway, I’m feeling a lot better and am taking this time at home to sleep and catch up on things like bloggin’. I’ve downed some crackers and am waiting for my babushka to come home from her weekly outing to feed me potions from a cauldron or rub mustard on me or something. Apparently that’s a thing.

With love and crackers crumbs,

Izzy

PS. I now have a flickr for loads more Mothaland shots!

*I am planning to do a post entirely devoted to kasha (porridge). Try to contain your excitement.

Extremely Russian and Incredibly Close

So today I went to my first yoga class in Russia. Unrelated, here’s a church.

I suppose it goes without saying that this class was, in fact, taught in Russian. For many people yoga classes are a test of mimicry to begin with; figuring out how to twist and contort your body can be straight up confusing in your native language. Add to that a different set of moves, classmates (Russian women wearing push up bras and enough makeup to paint a family of matrioshka?) and a language barrier and you might find yourself toppling out of an awkward crab inverted one-hand handstand into the person next to you.

For a while I played it cool. When the instructor acknowledged my struggles I pretended I was just really bad at yoga and not functionally slow in the head. I got in my поза собаки мордой вниз (downward facing dog) and minded my own business and smiled smugly to myself cuz none of doze bitches wuz on to me. It was only when the instructor came and said выпрямите ноги! 65 times then went ahead and straightened my legs for me, damnit, that I realized I wasn’t playing it as cool as I’d hoped. By the end of the class the dude was holding me upside down and off the ground by my feet. Seriously. I thought of all the people I would never see again when he dropped me on my head and I died in my bizarre, contorted, B.O.-stenched Russian hell.

But I survived. The rest of the class looked something like this and this  with a little bit of this. By the time the broski turned off the lights I had already settled into the floor and made the firm decision to never get up. When I finally peeled myself off of the yoga mat (OK, they had to peel the yoga mat off of me) I left with a weird sense of satisfaction. One day I’ll go to yoga and understand everything. Or at least, like, 30%.

After yoga I moved on to the bookstore and had two amazing finds:

(I tweeted about that emphatically this morning) &

!!!!!!! Two of my favs in Russki!! Opa!

I have to go write an essay about the importance of hockey in Russia’s history. Is this real life?

St. P.Diddysburg

Hello my comrads.

I am writing to you with one week of Russia under my belt. I have there also under said belt a stomach full of delicious cabbage soup (щи – “shchi”), buckwheat, (гречка – “grechka”) and some fried conglomerate of mushrooms, eggplant, and carrots. I just Googled mushroom eggplant russia soviet mushy to see if this dish has a name. It doesn’t.

My time in Russia so far has been baller. In a recent message to my friends I described it the following way:

Russia is awesome as fuck. Coldest I’ve ever been. Everything is gorgeous and sparkly. More stilettos and fur than I thought possible. Tonight we went to a club and I danced with a guy in leather pants. He picked me up and spun me around on his shoulder. I love this country.

My host family is great. I live with a set of Russian grandparents (Marina Nikolaevna and Igor Konstantinovich) in a two-bedroom apartment where nothing matches or is less than 50 years old on a street literally called Soviet Street. My room looks straight out of 1979 and per Russian custom I wear slippers in the house at all times. Marina Nikolaevna makes awesome vegan food and has only once twice thus far passive aggressively lectured me on how the body needs meat and delicious milk products. I expect many more of these lectures. I told her I sometimes eat metal to get necessary minerals. Sometimes conversation doesn’t flow super smoothly.

Petersburg itself is gorgeous. It’s hard to accurately encapsulate in some dumb blog post but basically everything seems like the best thing you’ve ever seen and absolutely larger than life. I can’t use that expression without thinking of boy bands and blonde tips but that also seems pretty relevant here. I live just off of Nevsky Prospekt which is kinda the main drag of the city and convenient for transportation and exploringtimes. I am studying at a university and have classes four days a week taught in Russian. We have excursions on Wednesdays, next week we’re going to the ballet Eugene Onegin and I am going to get dolled up. (Think this:

)

I’m also trying to swing an internship/volunteer job with the St. Petersburg Vegetarian Society, The St. Petersburg Times, or some kind of after school program with kids. I try to speak Russian with my friends here, of which I have some!!! (Сашинка, это ты?) and speak exclusively in Russian with my host babushka. [Before I go any further it’s pronounced BAH-booshka, contrary to whatever you were reading in your head.] My babushka and I speak on a variety of topics ranging from Soviet history to crosswords and the *correct* way to peel and apple. More steps than you think.

Once again, if you’re interesting in knowing what veganism is like in Russia, what Russia is like, what it’s like for snot to freeze mid-drip, or just think I’m cute and charming feel free to check out my twitter which I’m calling “St. Tweetersburg” for the next 4 months.

[amazing split pea soup my babushka makes for me. Recipe soon, in English if you’re lucky.]

Well, it’s currently -26ºC = -8ºF so I figure it’s as good a time as any to go to sleep. Sorry for the lack of pictures, I’ll get to that as soon as it seems possible to take my hands from my pockets when I’m outside.

Love and boiled beets,

Izzy