France: like America with funny accents...

I’ve ended up liking France a lot more than I thought I would. Russia colored my lens so that anything less dysfunctional strikes me as boring. France is, of course, the epitome of a Western liberal democracy where everything works as designed and everyone falls in line. That’s good. That’s how it should be. But, it’s not as interesting to me.
Gambling is not my strong point because I always root for the underdog. Some unexplainable discontent pulls my heart away from the obvious bet, so that I often find myself playing against the odds. My mind knows that I’m sabotaging my game, but what if?
So, excuse the imperfect analogy, but Russia is the guy at the casino who just spent his whole paycheck on a new tv, beer, scratch-off lottery tickets, and phone-in sexlines but who has a daughter who needs money for her 8th grade field trip to Washington D.C. Well, her dad doesn’t have the money because he blew it all. So he takes his last $20 that he keeps in the sun-visor of his car in case he runs out of gas (or has a bad day at work and needs to buy more beer) and he goes to the casino because he knows no other way to get the $400 for his daughter’s trip (he’s already maxed out his credit lines). He’s at the casino to win, not for himself but for his daughter because she’s been asking about the trip for weeks and doing little jobs for the neighbors to save up money. Sure, the guy may be a self-destructive ne’er-do-well, but who are you going to root for? You want his daughter to go see the Lincoln memorial and get a picture in front of the White House. You want him to win this time.
That’s Russia. You may hate the hell out of the government because of the way it blows the country’s potential by enriching oligarchs and brutalizing anybody who complains about it. But, you’re not rooting for those guys, you’re rooting for the people who have to live with them and have to suffer the consequences of their atrocious mismanagement. You want those good Russian folk to throw off the yoke of history and win for once.
France is beautiful and clean and the guys who check tickets on the Paris metro would never dream of taking a bribe so that you can get out of the $25 fine for hopping the turnstile. France is like that guy who you see at church and you know that when he puts an envelope into the collection plate that’s being passed around, there’s a hefty sum enclosed. All of his kids are well mannered, going to university on scholarship, and they tell you about it with the utmost humility if you bring it up first. A great guy, everyone should be like him.
But come on, that’s like betting on the hare when he’s racing the tortoise; I know how the fable ends, but that isn’t real life because hares are much faster, period.
That being said, I can still appreciate Mr. France’s daughter because she’s gorgeous, smart, clean, and funny. Yes, young Ms. France is quite a catch and I wouldn’t mind visiting her for a few weeks to see her Louvre and vineyards.
But Ms. Russia has that spark. She’s not so good in school and she can be snappy and mean when she’s in a bad mood. Her and I butt heads on a lot of things and she always leaves a big mess when she comes over. What can you do though? She’s just a lot cooler than Ms. France.
The European Union as a whole is a wonderful place to live and to work. Liberal attitudes flourish and politics generally serve the betterment of human life. Hearing the lectures and learning more about the organization made me very happy to see that centuries of struggle, war and bloodshed had finally culminated into a rather boring institution with rather mundane issues to tangle with. The European Union is the dream of social order: a place where power is tempered by extreme pluralism but cohesion is maintained through economic incentives. War is unlikely to break out, beautiful churches and castles dot the landscape, pretty languages, pretty parks, and healthy people abound. I can hardly think of a structure better suited to moderation or a nicer place to have it.
My impression of France before I came was basically that it was America but with funny accents. There are plenty of English speakers and you can buy the same shampoo in a grocery store in Dijon as you can in the WalMart in Easley, SC. That’s true, but there is still a cultural divide I’ve come to find out. French are different folk and they have some different strokes. Their palettes are much more attuned to fine wines, their views on gender roles and their preparation of buttered rolls are entirely different.
Strasbourg, specifically, was a great example of a city settled into the age. It had changed hands several times between France and Germany like an ugly sweater at a Chinese gift exchange. Generations of Strasbourganites had been distressed by border disputes between pompous men in capitals far away. Yet, today border-hopping goes unhindered by any physical or legal obstacles and the inhabitants of Strasbourg no longer have to worry about how they’ll respond on SAT tests (or whatever) when the question of nationality arises.
I am genuinely proud of Europe for constructing the union. High political mindedness has achieved something that will have incalculable benefits for the continent. So, onwards to the next country and the next region! I want to be at the forefront of the effort to make things boring for all people because boring is a lot better than bad. Therefore, the East post-Soviet block is to be my stomping grounds with Western Europe as a model for how Ms. Russia should dress, behave and be.

Leaving Russia, airport

Coming through airport security at Domodedevo airport, my previous observations were confirmed. If you are a white European looking person in Russia, then security personnel don’t pay you any mind.
When I was at the American embassy I had to be screened before I came inside. I took off my jacket and sat it on the table while the guard went over me with a metal detector. He ignored my jacket though. I had to leave and come back in a few minutes later, and when I came back he gave a laugh and said, “you’re not a terrorist,” then waved me through.
I’m not saying that this bothers me exactly. I think that our enhanced security atmosphere is a bit silly and not terribly effective, but it is still strange to see the Russian security model at work.
When my bookbag went through the x-ray machine, it was a wired mess of laptop, cables, phone chargers, and cameras. It looked suspicious to me on the screen (though I’m not a trained “professional”). The lady had me open it, take two books from the top and then without a second glance passed me on- no digging or anything.
Of course, if you are someone with dark skin then you’ll go through hell at the security screenings. Central Asians and people from the Caucasus are picked out of the crowd to undergo full search. Is that justified? The liberalism churning inside me says no way, but the realist knows that individuals from these countries are usually the perpetrators of terrorist acts. Is it worth the lives of everyone on an airplane to preserve the liberties of an individual? Well, obviously not, but that’s a loaded question.
Is it right to screen certain people? To me this is only partly a question of ethics. There are ways to screen that aren’t completely racial. I’ve read about new methods being developed to run people through a “psychological security screening,” where images of known terrorists, insurgents, and other bad guys who wouldn’t be recognized by the average person but who would be known by a potential operative are flashed on a screen. The screenee’s reaction is monitored and used like a polygraph test to flag people who respond suspiciously. There are also programs- in testing I think- where frequent fliers go through expedited security screening; the reasoning is that it’s unlikely that someone who frequently flies will suddenly decide to blow up the plane.
These are imperfect solutions but they might help to speed up and improve security screening.

So, I am leaving Russia today- writing this in the airport. I can’t believe it. I am more nervous to leave Russia than I was coming. The last 3 and a half months have passed so quickly and I have had one of those experiences. The kind that you bring up in casual conversation and blabber about until people start wondering when you’ll finish so that they can stop saying “wow, that’s interesting” as an automated response. Unless you’ve had one of these experiences it will sound trite when I say that it was “life changing” and “I would do it again.” But, it’s true. This was my first big adventure and it will be the standard for adventures forevermore.
I had three good Russian friends accompany me to the airport and hang out with me in the terminal while I waited for the Air Berlin booth to open. I was charged 110 Euros for my CARRY ON BAG, but what can you do? I’ll miss Russia terribly- it’s my second motherland now. Strange to think, but Russia is more familiar and dear to me than Clemson.

Trains, again

The train to and from St. Pete’s was a Soviet relic, replete with a red star on the front and humorless staff.
I mentioned in an earlier blog how my friend, Elina, smirked at Russian trains. Now I know what she was talking about.
I’m about 6 feet tall, which must be above average because nothing made during Soviet times really fits me. I remember reading about how the Central Committee (or whoever was the authority over this) designed all toilets made in the Soviet Union around Mr. Khrushchev’s proportions: “if it fits me, it will fit everyone.” They must have taken that same spirit when they were building beds too because my feet always hang off the end.
The bunks on the train have dividers at head and foot so it’s a bit like sleeping in an open-air coffin. I woke up sweaty and feeling like my spine had been compressed a bit. For one of our Canadian fellows who is 6 foot 4” it was rather uncomfortable.
During the evening before bedtime, everyone sits on the bottom bunks around a small table and plays cards, chats, eats weird Russian sausage and herring, and drinks heavily. It’s really common in Russia to go to lunch during the middle of the day and to see people drinking alcohol. Not just beer, but liquor. The family across from me wasted no time in breaking out the beer and becoming merry.
If you want to smoke, you have to go stand between the two wagons. So of course, the passage was always full of people and when you opened the door smoke billowed out and filled the rest of the wagon.
Russia is not highly esteemed for its toilets, and the bathroom on the train definitely fell under the “only for emergencies” designation. There was no toilet seat, which is no big deal for us guys but woe to you females. There were shoe-marks on top of the toilet where evidently one is supposed to squat in a rather undignified position to excrete in a rather undignified hole.
At the end of each car there was a samovar with hot water from which the kids would make ramen noodles.
The train station in Moscow looked exactly the same as the station in St. Petersburg. It was hard to tell you had arrived. On the walls there was a big map of the different routes. You could take a train from Moscow to Budapest or Prague (about a 24 hour trip I would imagine).
I’ve been talking with friends about making a trans-Siberian trip by train- that is Moscow to Vladivostok. It takes 7 straight days to get there. Now that I know what to expect, Let’s go!

Time Travel

Being stuck in Leningrad for 3 days had me feeling homesick. Not for home, but for Moscow. I don’t know when that happened! Emotional attachment creeps up on you so that before you know it, you are “at home” in a place.
I was reading a bit about the “mental clock.” There are many many parts of our brain that interpret time in various ways. Since I’ve been here, my mind’s clocks have lost their calibration and my sense of time is all distorted.
In the old days of naval navigation, the captain (or whoever was doing the navigating) relied on “dead reckoning” to estimate the longitude. There were tremendous error margins involved with this method, but it remained the standard until the 1770’s. The difficulty of calculating longitude lied in the inability of mariners to keep accurate time on board. The rocking of the ship immediately made pendulum clocks untrue, so knowing time at the appointed meridian was impossible.
To calculate longitude is rather simple if one has an accurate clock: there is a difference of 15 minutes for every longitudinal degree. So, one must only determine the local time (at high noon) and compare it with the meridian time.
In one of my temporal perceptions, very little time has passed since I’ve been here. I remember saying goodbye to my parents and my first day in Russia like it was just a few weeks ago. I suppose it really was just a few weeks ago (almost 12), but my mental conception of what 12 weeks feels like is a lot longer than what I’ve actually experienced.
When you travel at the speed of light, time does not exist. If you head at light speed away from the earth for a few minutes (relative to you), and then turn around, you will find that years have passed on earth. My internal clock says that I haven’t been here long, yet my date of departure is near.
On the other hand, it’s like I’ve been here for years. I’ve already settled into social equilibrium- I have friends and schedules and can text in Russian as quickly as in English! I know the people who work at the grocery store, the shwarma stand, and the fruit stalls. I just ran into a Nigerian guy who I know yesterday, like, I have people who I know in Moscow! It’s all become so familiar and lovely. I suppose that because I have taken in so much these past few months- been so hyper-stimulated- that my mind assumes this must have been a longer period of time. It’s like packing many years of social, cultural, linguistic, and emotional learning into a 3-month frame. I can really say, “I lived in Moscow.” I have lived life here, not just visited as a tourist.
When you’re a child, time moves slowly. This is not just an illusion: time, relative to you, actually does pass more slowly because your brain is taking more time to process the new information. Big programs run slowly on a computer because they involve many more processes. Remember, a computer’s processor is electro-mechanical, a series of switches either in a 0 or 1 position.
Our brains are no different. Big new mental stimulation requires more brain processing. So, one’s perception of time actually slows down because it literally takes more time for the brain to interpret what is going on.
The novelty of the experience makes the brain work harder, and so time creeps like a lagging computer.

Anyway, St. Petersburg was a bit of a let down for me. To me, the interesting part of traveling is seeing how different people live. There are so many realities on the planet that it seems a waste to spend the time and money to get to a place just to see your own reality in a different location. Being stuck to a tour guide with a rigid itinerary on a pre-packaged trip has a way of killing the excitement of travel and the genuineness of observation.
Not only that, Russia is this giant country full of crumbling Soviet buildings, corruption, poverty, alcoholism, and so on. St. Petersburg is a façade to show tourists; it’s a fraud! I love Russia for what it is, and to me it is not St. Petersburg.
I’ve always disliked Washington D.C. because it’s not a proper outgrowth of human society. It was planned from the top down and so it has none of the interesting quirks that color a large urban inhabitation. Nobody even lives there except for students, young people, the super rich and the super poor. Boring. St. Petersburg was built in this same fashion, although I grant that it is a much more living-and-breathing city than D.C.
If you have or have had the chance to visit both Moscow and St. Pete’s, let me know what you think. I want to get out and see more of Russia. Moscow is like New York: a little taste of everything that the country has, but invariably detached from everyone else. So, I need more Russian experience methinks.