Siberian Sabbatical

I have a little less than three weeks left in my exchange program. Very soon I will be back sleeping in my own bed, eating regular cottage cheese, lunch meat, and rice cakes – some of the foods I have been craving for the last seven months. This is one of my last articles filed from Siberia, and I would like to write about where my mind has been these last couple of weeks – returning home and settling back into American culture.

I really enjoy thinking back to my first couple of days here in Russia and how naïve and inexperienced at life I was. Here was this young American coming from a very sheltered community and traveling to Russia, not Moscow or Petersburg, but Siberia, to live for a year. I sometimes wish I could go back in time and kick myself for the stupid and foreign things I did here in Russia. I also realize that I have to give myself a lot of credit for being able to learn the ways of the big city and not getting “hit” by the mafia or local gangsters, although I have quite a few interesting stories.

I remember my very first day here in Russia. Both my host parents had to work the whole day. My host brother was in school and I was at home by myself. I sat at the window and stared at the stained, grey, huge buildings that I would have to call my home for the next coming year. I recall feeling this immense pressure of realization and it almost crushed me. Soon afterwards though, my brother came home and we went to get some of the incredible Russian ice cream.

The people were almost as bad as the buildings. I saw these old babushkas without any teeth, clothed in ragged, dirty shawls selling sunflower seeds on the corner of the road. They gruffly called out something to me in Russian, and I was in shock – what was I supposed to say, how was I supposed to answer? It was very scary to say the least.

It was soon after that I met my own babushka and got acquainted with her babushka friends. They turned out to be some of the most interesting and friendliest people I have met. I love drinking tea with them and hearing the stories of the Great Patriotic War and the difficulties they faced in the Soviet Union.

School was also among the daunting tasks that I had to face. I came from a public school in the United States to a private Lyceum in Russia. It was incredibly strict, going to school six days a week with the very specific dress code – a suit and polished shoes everyday. The first time I visited the school I was wearing jeans and a tee-shirt; the teacher guiding me saw what I was wearing, rolled her eyes and said, “You better not be planning on wearing that tomorrow.”

I befriended many people at that school. From the little eighth graders who were always asking me for nickels and dimes from the United States, to the security guard who always let me in late. My friends held my hand the first couple of months. They showed me everything from what teachers to avoid at school to good night clubs in the city. I owe a huge part of my happiness, and probably safety, to those people.

I sit here writing this today, and after thinking about what I had to face, I have no idea how I did it. This year in Russia has been the hardest thing I have ever done and, most likely, ever will do. I have had to rely on myself for so much and have been very surprised by how much I can withstand. From living in a three-room apartment for seven months to the -40 degree winter, I have survived. It may have been hard but I enjoyed every minute of it.

This year in Russia has been an incredible experience, but I am looking forward to returning home. During the beginning and middle parts of my year here in Russia, I was in love with the adventures and opportunities given to me. I got to see Lake Baikal as no other foreigner has seen it. I spent my New Year in a tiny Siberian village. I traveled to China and Mongolia. But as time dragged on, I started to miss my native culture and land. I felt that I needed to be able to order food without getting out of my car, buy everything I needed in one super store, and eat good pizza, as well as the homemade food my mother makes. I felt an incredible longing for my homeland, which of course is only natural.

It was then that I realized that I would not be returning to the same home as the one I left. I would be seeing it through completely different eyes with completely different values. I would question why I can’t buy cigarettes for 20 cents? Why wasn’t there a Lenin and Karl Marks street in my city? Where were all the babushkas? I knew that I would be returning to a place where people had never lived under a communist government, where people don’t consider jellied pigs feet a delicacy, but more importantly to a place where people won’t understand what I had to do to survive in Russia.

That being said, I don’t think the place any worse because of it. In fact, it should be a better place than when I left. I will be returning home and seeing the United States with completely different eyes. I will be returning a completely different person; I will be returning an American Comrade from Russia – my Russian name Semyon Mihajlovick Maxsimov. I am very excited to become that new person in the new place called “home” I will be returning to.

Until that day, Udachi vam i do svidaniye (Good luck to you and see you later).