Traveling back to the beginning

During the past five years, I must have been asked at least a thousand times why I study Russian language. My answer is different every time, but one piece is almost always included: when I was in third grade, these Russian hockey players came to my town and my family hosted a couple of Russian boys in my home for a week. Sometimes I include more information: their names were Sergei and Alexei and they were amazed by McDonalds and American supermarkets…it was my first international experience…I didn’t understand that other cultures existed until that moment… The story then turns to Concordia Language Villages, U of C, Petersburg, and usually ends with “and here I am today.”

Many of you have already had to listen to this story at least once—why do I bring it up now, you ask? Well, as it turns out, Sergei lives in Ekaterinburg. And, since my sister Katie is simply a molodets and has kept in contact with Sergei on and off for the past 14 years, she was able to track him down and let him know that I am in town. Last week Sergei emailed Katie his cell phone number and said in classic English-Russian that it was “obligatory for me to call him.” A couple nights ago I worked up the courage to fulfill that obligation; when I called, we agreed to meet up and, thus, I spent 5 hours last night hanging out with him and his wife, Alfina. They met me at my dorm in their car, greeted me in Russian style with a huge bouquet of flowers, and took me out to dinner at the only “sports bar” in town [it has an excellent brewery, but the huge TVs more often than not show Russian fashion TV]. We sat there for at least two hours, drinking beer and eating tons of food that they ordered, talking about their lives here in Russia, my life in the states and here, and about the week that Sergei spent in Bemidji so many years ago. It was amazing to listen to what he remembered about American and Bemidji and what his impressions as a 13-year-old boy had been.

Being hospital Russians, the night could not end with dinner. We drove around the town until 10:00 PM, stopping at all the sights to take pictures and admire the views. Sergei and Alfina told me a lot about the history of the town, as well as about what there is to do in the town now. As the night went on, it became clear that as far as they are concerned, I am their guest for the year. We made plans to go watch hockey once the professional season starts and to all go skating together sometime. They also invited me to their parents’ place in the country this weekend, an invitation which I gladly accepted [finally, I am going to a dacha and a banya!]. Alfina is Tartar, which means that she is Muslim and that she grew up speaking both Tartar and Russian. I cannot wait to meet her parents and to get a chance to hear and learn about Tartar culture. I also am excited to see the Russian countryside and to take my first car road-trip in Russia [okay, so that actually petrifies me, but I’m willing to take the risk]. The trip also means a whole weekend of speaking only Russian—my brain might implode by the end of it, but both Sergei and Alfina are great about speaking slowly and helping me understand what they are saying. After coming all this way, it feels great to have such nice people who are ready and willing to take care of me and help me out.

So that’s my crazy news. I have never believed in fate, but standing out on the bank of the perfectly calm river last night, looking across the water at a massive Russian cathedral, and talking with the person who planted the tiny origins of this journey so many years ago—well, it was simply unreal. I have lately found myself often saying that it is a small world and I am more and more starting to believe that it is the kind and interesting people that enter and reenter our lives that make it so comfortably small, no matter how far away from home we travel.