The Russian Country, Part I

Last weekend I took a trip to the country with Sergei and Alfina. We drove to Alfina’s hometown, which is about 2 hours away from Ekat. We stayed in her parents’ house, which is a typically small and remarkably clean Russian house, complete with a garden that contains two banyas—the "old" one and the new one that all the male relatives are working on building.

Every weekend Alfina’s family gathers at her parents’ house; by the end of the weekend, I had met her two sisters, their husbands, one sister’s 7 month old baby, and her brother, along with many guests who dropped in from time to time. Her parents are incredibly nice and very funny—her dad has a Tartar accent and the lovely habit of Russian males to mumble, meaning that I could understand about every third word he said. I don’t think I ever saw her mom sit down the whole time I was there, unless it was to play with Liza, the baby. She stood at the kitchen all day and cooked and cooked and cooked—anytime I happened to walk through, she cornered me with the words, "Kushai, kushai, kushai…esh’, esh’, esh!" [Eat, eat, eat!]. My longing for home-cooked Russian food was fulfilled this weekend, in particular by the highest stack of blyini [Russian crepes] I have ever seen.

In between the force-feeding, Alfina and I cruised around the countryside in their car. The town sits above a large lake—the Urals roll all around it, resulting in gorgeous scenery, especially this time of year. The lake is mostly surrounded by pine trees with the occasionally birch tree that throws in a splash of yellow within the deep green tree line. We drove all around the shoreline of the lake…or, more specifically, I drove around the shoreline. When we arrived in the town, Alfina and Sergei announced that now I could drive all weekend, a fact that I was slightly surprised by. I said that I didn’t even know if it was legal for me to drive in Russia. Not surprisingly, this didn’t faze them and they immediately sat me down in the driver’s seat and told me to enjoy the Russian roads. Let me tell you, Russian roads bring a whole new challenge to driving. At one point, I was literally driving on a road of rocks—no dirt, no asphalt, no pavement. I don’t know how we didn’t get a flat tire at some point. Nevertheless, it was fun…

Each evening Alfina and I took a trip together to the banya, which is a Russian sauna. Russians have all sorts of traditions surrounding the banya; I was indoctrinated to most of them this weekend. After overcoming my American modesty, I walked into the first room, which is the "cold room." We undressed, grabbed some honey and salt [homemade face-wash], and walked into the next room, which I mistakenly identified as the "hot room." It was in fact that middle room and the hot room provided the most intense heat I have ever experienced. It is a steam sauna, so you pour heat on the rocks and then sit on the top bench and sweat and sweat and sweat [and hope that the feeling that your skin is burning off is just a heat-induced hallucination]. Then you walk back to the cold room and drink beer and gossip until you are ready for more heat. As far as I can tell, this process continues until all the beer is consumed. They also have a tradition of hitting people with branches of birch trees in the banya, a "very useful" Russian tradition that is supposed to…clear your skin and give you vitamins??? I don’t know, but I experienced it and it was only partially traumatizing.

There were many more memorable moments from the weekend. For brevity’s sake, here are the other high points:

• I overcame my fear of Russian men, a development which happened when I realized that I had just spent two hours sitting in a room with all the husbands and brothers, who—slightly under the influence of vodka—peppered me with questions about America one after another and were impressed by my ability to drop the names of Russian NHL hockey players.
• Russia is apparently not only the single place in the world where I am considered a good dancer, but also the only place where I am told that I am a good driver…
• In Russia, everyone but the driver can consume as much alcohol as s/he wants while in a car. Yes, I learned this lesson by [a slightly disturbing] experience. No one could believe that this is illegal in America.
• I was the first foreigner that most of them had met...
• For the first time, I spoke and listened only to Russian for three whole days [excepting the random words that people threw into Russian sentences in a futile effort to impress me]. By the end of the weekend, my head was spinning, but I was also thinking in Russian without effort.

The pics from the weekend are up on the facebook. I miss you all and hope you are doing well! Over and out…