twenty-something years of "what have you been up to?"

  • С лeгким пaром! congratulations on bathing!

    Banya

    A couple of girlfriends and I  went to the banya, the Russian baths. Now that we've seen other covered with coffee grounds we feel much closer.

    We arrived, rinsed, did test runs in the sauna and steam room. We were admonished for not wearing hats. Everyone wears these cute little felt elf hats, if you don't, the heat will ruin your hair, says the banya attendant. I don't get how your hair isn't getting just as hot since you are trapping the heat in the hat, but fine. I love felt, hats and anything elf-ish, I don't know why I'm resisting. Must buy hat. I now have a great excuse for my hair. I went in the Russian banya without a hat.

    After the sauna we had our choice of ways to shock our bodies back to a normal temperature: hop in a frigid bath, or pull a rope to tip a bucket of cold water over yourself, or go for a swim in the pool. The pool water was chilly, but not impossibly cold, it felt refreshing to swim under fountains in the sun filled room. Then we scrubbed, not with designer products, but with a homemade coffee ground scrub offered by a very nice Russian. It looked like the the worst spray-on tan ever and I smelled like an espresso for the rest of day, but three days later, my cuticles are still nice, so I think they may be onto something.

    Since the process is sauna, plunge, scrub, rinse, repeat, we were due to go back in the sauna. This time, the banya attendant, wearing two hats, locked the door behind us. She opened the oven with a horrific metal-on-metal screech, she poured water inside which made the room get hotter. She flung ladle-fuls of eucalyptus scented water around the room. Then she waved a towel over her head–Pittsburg Steeler fan style–drawing the hot air down. Everyone sits in silence, in the dim sauna, wearing their elf hats. Try not to have a giggle attack.

    She stokes the oven again, then dips a bouquet of evergreen branches in water and shakes Chirstmas-tree scented water over all of us. It feels like a sacrament. We are allowed to whisper "thank you." The hotter the room gets, the more giggly and claustrophobic I get. I have to finally just close my eyes and mentally watch a Youtube video of Anodyne. The banya attendant waves the towel around one more time, driving the temperature up higher–the blast of heat sort of reminds me opening the front door in Niamey–she pauses dramatically, and unlocks the sauna door.

    Whew. Pull the rope of the bucket and let icy water splash over you. Do not scream.

    We didn't want to miss out on the experience of being beaten with branches, which is suppose to open the pores and be part of the theraputic banya experience. Buying a bunch of branches, the attendant asked me, "Oak or birch leaves?" "Which are softer?" was my answer. So then my friends and I beat on each other with oak leaves. It feels pretty much how you would expect it to feel, wet and leafy. 

    Back to the curtained-off the dressing rooms where you can order pots of tea, and I've heard, in the men's facility, vodka. We walked home in a blissed-out state, even without the vodka.

  • trip to ashaun

    Images

    Yesterday I went with my friend to AWAH (pronounced "Ashaun). It's the Russian equivalent of a Walmart/Cosco store. The space is located inside a huge mall which you have to walk through to get into it. Boutiques, shoe, fur, jewelry stores, dry cleaners, and restaurants. Finally we got into AWAH with our super-sized shopping carts. The large isles are a square figure 8 with about 30 long smaller isles running through each box. The Russians are aggressive with their shopping carts and no one will hesitate to let you cut across. It felt like a roller derby.

    Yards of seeds to plant a garden, jars of marinated mushrooms, and hundreds of salami's and sausages. In addition to the usual electronics and cuts of meat was a 100 foot isle of smoked fish of every kind you could possibly imagine. Some whole with there heads on: trout, salmon, pike, mackerel, and eels. At the end of the isle was the herring and caviar section. Next time I'll have to take a picture.

  • i touched ray davie’s guitar strings

    Angel

    We finally got off the embassy compound today for the first time since we've been back from St. Pete's, I think. It's like living in a minimum security prison and I forget that I can leave–I don't know what it is! It's so easy to just stay on the ship.

    We visited the Novodivichy Convent, really a fortified village for the Tsar's sisters–another world heritage site to check off the list! A fresh dusting of snow made the place absolutely enchanting, and slippery.

    Then we went to lunch at the most contrast-y place possible, Hard Rock Cafe Moscow. Peter sat right under Paula Abdul's tassels.

    More pictures of the day at the convent at flickr.

  • mr no teeth

    Mr no teeth

    " Your tooth didn't fall out in the bathtub?"

    "Nope, maybe while I'm watching Sponge Bob. That would be so romantic," he tells me.

    Peanut butter on crackers did the job.

  • lounge weekend

    After an active week at work and Stefan being off, we went to a very nice relaxed dinner party at our friends house. Great fajitas! And dessert! The walk home literally took less than 5 minutes.

    Yesterday we had plans to go out to Red Square but one of our friends got sick and we ended up lounging around most of the day. I listened to classical music in the morning, folk rock in the afternoon, and R&B and rock in the evening. The kids played Wii and socialized out with friends on the embassy compound. I did manage to complete a continuing education course on line on diabetes (required to keep my license updated) and got to the gym with Dina for a work out. So basically a lazy weekend for us.

    We are finally getting two people on board this coming week that we hired. So hopefully the work load will ease up for the nurse and administrative assistant. It took half a year to hire them and we're still down a nurse. We've managed good patient care but the ordering of supplies and routine administrative issues have fallen to the way side. Now we can get back up to speed.

    I travel to Yekaterinburg in the Ural's in a few weeks.

  • maslenitsa

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    The sun is gaining on us, four minutes a day right now, it's the week before lent, post, time for Malenitsa. I wish I had a picture of Mrs. Issakov at the stove with her four doll-house sized iron skillets she uses specifically for blini. Traditionally we are suppose to dress in folk costumes, sing and parade around a straw "Lady Maslenitsa," visit family and friends on specific days, (in-laws one day, god parents the next) go for Troika rides, make bonfires (tossing in the Lady Maslenitsa on the last day), eat up all the meat and dairy in the house using blini as a vehicle, and have fist fights. You can run from some of it, but you can't hide from the blini. They are serving them in the Embassy cafe.

    Prost post.

  • st petersburgers

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    Now that I've had a glass of wine and kids are asleep it seems okay, but IS the worst day of travel better than the best day at home? 

    The idea was to meet Peter a 20-minute walk away for Japanese food for lunch. Then go to the Yusupov Palace to see where the best friends of the Tsars lived, and to see the room where Rasputan a. drank poisoned wine, b. was shot, c. tried to strangle the guy who shot him, and d. was tied up and dragged to the river. Amid all kinds of elaborate finery.

    I had two breakfasts, one before 8:00 with Peter and Stefan, one around 10:30 with Camille and Stefan. We spent most of the first breakfast having a guy come fix the lock of the room because I'm afraid to leave Camille asleep in the room, someone surely will kidnap her into a white slave ring while we are in the hotel dining room drinking lattes. This means we don't have time for lattes. At the second breakfast Stefan eats his 5th croissant of the day.

    Around noon, stuffed with croissants, we head towards the restaurant where we are suppose to meet Peter. The streets have no signs, and I wouldn't be able to read them anyway. It's sunny and ski-slope cold. We are underdressed in down jackets. We find a Japanese restaurant, but I'm not convinced it's the right one. We wait, Peter doesn't show, further convincing me we haven't found the right restaurant and we head home. Waiting for Peter at the restaurant, the kids comment that they aren't hungry, hmmm, I wonder why. As soon as we leave the restaurant, they are starving.

    I buy them something from a street vendor, what the heck is it? Whatever it is, it's cheap! Around 50 rubles, maybe a dollar fifty. Sausage wrapped in dough and fried. Oh my gosh, it's like crack, the food of the gods. And my kids won't eat it. 

    They want to go to McDonalds. I haven't been to McDonalds since last summer (when I needed a really good bribe) except for yesterday. So this is a record for me, supersizing my kids twice in two days. Strangely, it's the nicest McDonalds I've ever been in. In my defense, it's more like a Starbucks. Also, everyone is wearing fur, so that classes the place up somewhat. I, however, do not, in my bright orange ski jacket.

    Okay, here's the thing: in St. Petersburg, I'm not only the worst dressed person in McDonalds, I'm also the dumbest. I am so dumb, I can't order at a McDonalds. Why have I not learned the word for "chicken strips" in Russian? Forget Russian! Who needs it? "Happy Meal" and "Mcnuggets" are esperanto.

    We head to the Yusupov Palace, the very house of Rasputin's demise. (They also cut off his penis which is now on display in a jar in some museum, but we have to save something for next time.) We walk all the way down the Nevsky Prospect, we walk and walk. It starts to get dark, and really cold.  Right as we are at the Yusopov Palace I chicken mcnugget out and turn us back around. It's getting dark and Stefan's cheeks are bright red with cold. If we make it to the palace, that will an hour at least and it's freezing in the daylight along the frozen canal. And the metro here doesn't have the stops posted, you have to listen for your stop, and none of the stops is Beeg Mak. Sorry kids. 

    We fortify ourselves by stopping at grocery store for yogurt, wine, apples and cheese. When people buy flowers here, the florist wraps the flowers so they don't freeze on the walk home.

    Peter comes home and tells us that he never made it to the restaurant.

    So, what did we learn today? If you come to St. Pete's in February, stock up on fur. It's a sparkly, San Francisco-Portland kind of town, not as full of itself as Moscow. I really like it here. And I can't wait to ride the train back to Moscow. But not until we have lattes in the morning and go the Hermitage tomorrow. I hope.

    Some more pictures of us in St. Pete's here. 

  • church of the spilled blood

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    Kids don't mind looking at architecture, as long as a Tsar was murdered on the very spot. It's all about story.

  • headed for st. pete’s

    Land of my forefathers. 129 years ago, my Grandfather, Dr. Peter Soudakoff, was born in St. Petersburg. My Grandmother, Nina Grave was born there too. Both fled during the Russian revolution where they met in China. Today, we travel by train to the place of their birth. 

    It is 4AM and I can't sleep. Thoughts of my ancestors flood my mind. A symbol of who I am. Can the one way mirror look both ways? Many of the streets and boulevards will be the same. A scene from Ana Karenina. 

    There is no land to reclaim. Only a link to the past and a few souls. 

  • fresh snow for valentine’s day

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    I set up wii and Camille is a national bowling champion material.