Fun at Border Crossings

When the Soviet Union dissolved and 15 independent nations laid claim to their territory, one of the early tasks was to set up miles and miles of borders. Thus, it’s somewhat ironic that in the age of globalization, it actually became much more time-consuming and tedious to travel within the former Soviet Union. Today, border crossings in the former Soviet Union are pretty uniformly irritating. It usually takes at least an hour to cross the border in a bus, and sometimes much longer.

For some reason, I always seem to get stuck with the bus driver that the border guards have decided to punish. On the way to Odessa from Chisinau, we discovered, much to our dismay, that the driver’s passport was expired. Let me repeat that one more time: THE DRIVER’S PASSPORT WAS EXPIRED. It was truly the height of incompetence. He claimed to have “grabbed the wrong documents” on the way out the door. The border guards said that this driver had tried to cross with expired documents before and they weren’t letting him through.

When the middle-aged women standing next to me heard this, she uttered the Russian curse word пиздец. When the middle-aged ladies are swearing, you know you’re screwed. So, we the passengers were left to try and figure out what to do. I should add that it was extremely hot and humid, which didn’t help anyone’s mood. People started arguing with the driver, who steadfastly refused to take responsibility for the passengers whom he had just stranded at the border. Understandably, people started swearing at the driver. Meanwhile, other passengers started working things out with the border guards to get their documents stamped so that they could hop on other buses that were going through the crossing. About half of the passengers figured out how to do this. None of this was actually organized and half of the conversations were in Moldovan, so I was quite confused and starting to seriously worry.

After two hours of sorting out this ridiculous situation, finally the border guards decided they had punished the errant driver enough and decided to let him go through the crossing. The guards on the Ukrainian side weren’t as assiduous as the Moldovan guards and let us pass without any trouble. We arrived in Odessa two hours late. Situations like these that remind me why neither of these countries are major tourist destinations yet.

On the way back, I had even more entertainment on the border. In Odessa I made the mistake of getting on a bus that was going to Chisinau through Transnistria. 

For those of you not familiar with the historical/geographical/political oddity that is Transnistria, it is what we in the biz like to call a “frozen conflict.” Transnistria actually was incorporated into the Soviet Union in the 1920s (instead of after World War II like the rest of Moldova) so it was and is culturally, economically, and politically different from the rest of Moldova. It was more industrial, more Russophone, more ethnically-diverse: in a word, more Soviet. Basically, the authorities in Tiraspol, the second-largest city in Moldova and the capital of today’s breakaway state of Transnistria, decided they didn’t like where the country was heading when Moldova became independent and decided to set up their own country instead. The Russian military division stationed in Transnistria decided to help out, and after a brief and bloody conflict, the Moldovan authorities in Chisinau lost control over Transnistria.

Considering that Transnistria is in the north and I am in the south, it hardly ever affects my life in Moldova. Except, of course, when I travel to Ukraine and accidentally get on a bus going through Transnistria. Transnistria is smack-dab between Chisinau and Odessa. The main problem is that you have to go through two Transnistrian border crossings on the way from Odessa to Chisinau. In Transnistria, they’re still much more egregiously corrupt than other border guards in the former Soviet Union.

I was pretty nervous about going through Transnistria. It’s generally not a big deal, but it is known that if you get into trouble in Transnistria, the U.S. Embassy has no pull in this pseudo-country and cannot help you. I kept fussing on the border about every detail, and the other people in the bus were actually very nice about helping me out and telling me not to worry too much.

So, what ended up happening was that I got solicited for bribes twice. On both the entry and exit borders, the guards made me get off the bus, go into their sketchy office, and then tried to tell me that I didn’t have the correct stamps for entering Moldova (because I crossed through Transnistria...duh) so I would have to pay a “fine.” At the first border crossing the guy in charge told the guard who was giving me trouble to cut it out so I was free to go. (I’m guessing the Transnistrian authorities have sent out the word that guards shouldn’t be quite so overtly corrupt anymore.) 

At the second border crossing I had a more involved conversation because this time there was no boss around to tell the guard to give it a rest. After being asked to pay a “fine,” I pointed out, with that devastating logic I learned in high school debate, that it made no sense for me to pay a fine for “breaking” a Moldovan “law” in Transnistria, which is (from their point of view at least) a different country. I was able to wiggle my way out of a bribe in the end. I’m guessing that most of this guard’s foreign tourist marks haven’t taken 6 years of Russian, and he decided it wasn’t worth arguing with me.

When I got to the Moldovan side of the border, the guards asked to speak to me again. They told me I hadn’t broken any Moldovan laws, but I should register my passport with the authorities in Comrat to avoid any trouble. They asked if I had paid anything in Transnistria and were happy that I had avoided paying a bribe. In general, I have a positive view of Moldovan border guards, as they seem to be pretty decent human beings. 

The bus ride through Transnistria was pretty underwhelming. They are known for hanging on to all the old Soviet monuments and slogans. I did see some Soviet throwback stuff, but Comrat has a statue of Lenin, so that stuff hardly knocks my socks off. Other than that, it’s the same as any other poor Moldovan region. The most exciting thing, I suppose, was seeing the Russian tanks that guard the Transnistrian border against Moldovan aggression. Now I get to tell people that I've been to Transnistria, which for some reason is cool among the Eastern European backpacker set.

So, in conclusion, “frozen conflicts” cause headaches and travel delays. On the upside, I now know that the right strategy in a bribe situation is to stand your ground and show that, despite your American passport, you can actually speak Russian and thus are not easily cowed. All in all, it was much better than the time that we were stuck on the Armenian border for hours and I had to fend off the romantic advances of an Armenian border guard for a good 40 minutes (at 3:00 AM!) while my friends tried to convince the border guards to let us through. But that’s a story for another blog post.

Dnepropetrovsk

After I left Odessa, I headed east to Dnepropetrovsk, where my friend and fellow ASU Russian alumnus Derek lives with his wife Katya. Dnepropetrovsk is a city in eastern Ukraine. If you know anything about eastern Ukraine, you probably know that there are a lot of Russian speakers and factories. Both of these are quite accurate descriptions of Dnepropetrovsk. During the Soviet period, Dnepropetrovsk was a closed city, which meant that due to the strategic and military importance of its industries, it was closed to foreigners. I got a very thorough tour from Derek and Katya, which I'll attempt to reproduce for you through my pictures.

Dnepropetrovsk was originally named Yekaterinoslav in honor of Catherine the Great. The Bolsheviks put the kibosh on imperial names and renamed the city in 1926 after one of the most prominent Bolshevik revolutionaries from Ukraine, Grigory Petrovsky. Despite being an old Bolshevik, Petrovsky managed to avoid being purged in the Terror, and the city still bears his name.

Derek and Katya running to catch the tram to the industrial district.

We took the tram past the main factory district, which for some reason felt like a ride on the monorail though a dystopian Disneyland. I believe this factory makes pipes. I find industrial wastelands endlessly fascinating. It's like the ruins of ancient Rome.

The factory's Hall of Fame, with pictures of the very best workers. I wonder if we could get one of these in Mesa. Dad, get on it.

Keeping with our Soviet theme, this decaying building was at one time something of a workers' palace. Now it's falling down and nobody has the money to just tear it down. I wonder what's inside...

Lest you think it is all gloom and doom in Dnepro, there is a very nice island in the Dnepr River that was once called Komsomolskiy Island (after the communist youth league) and now is named Monastirskiy after the newly-built monastery. There is a even a nice sandy beach. Derek and I took a break from our tour to enjoy a cup of cold kvas (a fermented, carbonated beverage that tastes like liquid bread) on draft. Swimming is prohibited...so of course the beach is packed.

Playing chess in the park.

Derek lives in a part of town that used to be an independent village but was absorbed into the city as Dnepropetrovsk grew. I found the patchwork nature of the city quite charming.

No city in the former Soviet Union is complete without an odd circus building.

Me and my friends Винни Пух и Пятачок (Russian Winnie the Pooh and Piglet). Thanks, Dnepropetrovsk, for a great visit!

Trains!

Chisinau Train Station

While I wouldn’t describe taking a train in the former Soviet Union as a particularly luxurious experience, it does have a certain charm. The compartments are almost invariably creaky and old, but nevertheless fairly well-designed. Plus, there is something undeniably charming about the fact that the trains come equipped with water heaters especially for making tea. I find that the best music for watching fields fly by through the window is Akvarium’s Russian Album, which I would urge you to listen to on YouTube while reading this post to get the full effect. (Plus the lead singer's beard is epic.)

Sleeper trains in the former Soviet Union usually have three different kinds of wagons: coupé (купе), platzkart (плацкарт), and “sitting” (сидящий). The first one is a private compartment with bunks for four people. All my previous trips in the former Soviet Union were in coupé compartments. Your typical coupé is a somewhat spartan, but well-equipped. They are particularly excellent if you can buy up the whole compartment and then throw a party with your travel companions. I once had a particularly fun time in a coupé on a trip from Nizhny Novgorod to Kazan which involved an intoxicated recitation of “Kubla Khan” by Coleridge. However, if you can’t buy up the entire compartment, you are better off taking platzkart as you never know what creepers you might end up with.

Two of my travel companions in a coupé on the Nizhny Novgorod-Kazan train

Our coupé party feast

Platzkart from Odessa to Dnepropetrovsk

Since I was traveling alone in Ukraine, I decided to take platzkart. In a platzkart compartment there are sleeping berths, but the entire wagon is open. The main advantage of platzkart for the solo traveler is actually the lack of privacy. You’re unlikely to be bothered by anyone because the entire wagon is open and there are old ladies and family around to defend you. It is pretty weird that everyone sleeps in full view of everyone else. Walking down the wagon to the bathroom always involves dodging people’s feet hanging off the top bunks.

My friend Derek once suggested that in order to graduate with a degree in Russian, you should be required to travel platzkart across the former Soviet Union. It would definitely be a good way to test if you really know Russian, as you do certainly rub elbows with a broad range of people. (Or, as Derek called them, “гопники и быдло,” which roughly translates as “gangsters and the unwashed masses.”)

Guy selling salted fish to train passengers.
This is the sort of thing you only see here.

Platzkart is not exactly for those with delicate sensibilities. There are definitely moments when you look around and ask yourself questions like, “Is that family really going to drop trou right now in front of everyone?” (The answer is yes.) The trains aren’t air-conditioned, so men generally go shirtless, which means you get to check out a broad range of army/prison tats. Additionally, you have to make sure to avert your gaze if there are any libidinous couples sharing a bunk.

Sometimes you get the pleasant experience of talking to a babushka, which is always entertaining. On my way to Ukraine I had a top bunk, which meant it was rather hard to find a place to eat the snacks I brought with me. An old lady let me sit on her bunk. I tried to talk with her, but I think she was speaking in surzhyk (a combination of Russian and Ukrainian) because I couldn’t understand around a third of the words. (That or she just mumbled everything.) The one problem with being surrounded by old ladies, however, is that at night they saw logs like nobody’s business.

Occasionally you get a good chance to people-watch. I saw a mother-daughter pair play cards for hours, which made me wish I was traveling with my own mom, who once traveled with me in a coupé from Chisinau to Kiev. Instead I read Master and Margarita and Nabokov’s memoir Speak, Memory for hours. I’m convinced that with a fully-loaded Kindle and iPod, even the Trans-Siberian Railroad would pass in a wink.

Overall, going platzkart was a great way to cross the enormous football field that is Ukraine, certainly much better than a cramped bus. I’m a big fan of trains in general, and I try to take them whenever I can. For those interested in traveling by train anywhere in the world, I highly recommend the site The Man in Seat 61, which I depend on for all my train adventures.

Photo of me taken by my mother in a coupé from Chisinau to Kiev

Crimea: First Impressions

As I'm writing from a hostel computer, I'll keep this brief, but I wanted to record my initial impressions of Crimea. I hadn't thought much about Crimea before coming here, really, but it has definitely exceeded expectations.

Crimea doesn't feel like the rest of Ukraine because it wasn't really part of Ukraine historically and culturally. The Crimean Peninsula was historically pretty multicultural, and in ancient times the Black Sea was home to Greek settlements. Later on, it was the home of the Crimean Tatars, the remnants of the Mongol Golden Horde that terrorized the Slavic population for centuries. Russia conquered this area under Catherine the Great, who wanted to draw on Crimea's Greek roots to legitimize her claim to being the heir of Byzantium (and her designs on Ottoman territory). The Russian Empire devoted a great deal of resources to building up and Russifying these valuable new imperial possessions on the Black Sea, which they called "New Russia."

All of these historical factors are felt in Crimea, and particularly in Sevastopol. You don't immediately feel like you are in a former Soviet city because of the lush vegetation and sea breezes. The architecture here is very neoclassical because of the Russian Empire's efforts to portay itself as ancient Greece's successor, and the white columns for some reason match perfectly with the beautiful bay views. The city is full of Russian tourists, so I'm not the only shutterbug around. It is a great place to walk around, people-watch, and take in as much ocean air as your lungs can hold.

Another legacy of empire is the presence of the Russian Black Sea Fleet here. Catherine the Great ordered the founding of Sevastopol in order to be the main Russian fortress on the Crimean Peninsula. In the early Soviet period, Crimea was part of the RSFSR (Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic) and thus not included in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. Khrushchev transferred the territory to the Ukrainian SSR, and thus the territory became part of independent Ukraine when the USSR collapsed in 1991. The Russian government now has an agreement with Ukraine to keep this base open for about the next 25 years. As a result, the city has a very Russian feel, with lots of Russian flags flying and plenty of Soviet monuments commemorating the heroic defense of Sevastopol in the Crimean War and World War II. The presence of the Russian language is definitely more felt here than in other parts of eastern Ukraine. Maybe the military presence also explains why this place feels more orderly and clean than, say, Dnepropetrovsk.

During the summer there is a great beach-town atmosphere in Sevastopol. This evening I strolled through the gardens on the edge of Sevastopol Bay and had a great time watching people enjoy themselves. I stumbled across a band playing one of my favorite Russian songs, "Videli noch'" by '80s cult favorite Kino. The band's version of the song actually sounded more like the cover by the Moldovan group Zdob si Zdub. Old people, middle-aged women and children were dancing like crazy. The lead singer was bantering with the crowd. A guy was passing around a frying pan for donations. I would have stayed another hour but the sky was starting to get dark so I headed back to the hostel.

That's all for now, but I'm hoping to have some picture posts up in a week when I get back to home sweet home in Comrat.

In the Footsteps of Catherine the Great

So I won't be posting regularly for the next week and a half or so because I'm in Ukraine! I have spent the last weekend hanging out in Odessa with Harvard and ASU folks. Odessa is even better than I remembered it. It remains the perfect combination of neoclassical architecture, cafe nightlife and seedy beaches. And, wow, have German tourists discovered Odessa.

This afternoon I'm heading to Dnepropetrovsk to visit Derek, another ASU Russian alum, and meet his Ukrainian wife. Very exciting. I've been told that honey wine and blood sausage will be served. Eat your heart out, foodies.

Then the three of us are going to Crimea to check out the Crimean Tatar city of Bakhchisarai and the Russian neoclassical city of Sevastopol. My trip has unintentionally turned into a tour of "Novorossiya," which was the name for the territories, mostly in present-day Ukraine but also including Moldova, that were acquired from the Ottoman Empire during the Russo-Turkish Wars of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. (I hope that fact is right since I haven't taken Imperial Russian history since 2006.)

So, I won't be blogging much, but I hope to post pictures on Facebook.

This is How We Roll

This last Wednesday I went to the Gagauz village of Kazaklia to do some interviews with school principals for my research project. Kazaklia is a bit out of the way, so we had to hop on one of Moldova’s many minibuses to get there.

For those who have not traveled much in the developing world, minibuses are how people get around. The usual brand here in Moldova is a Mercedes Sprinter. Imagine a big school van that has be refitted to jam in as many people as possible and you have the right idea. In the former USSR these minibuses are called marshrutky. The word actually comes from the French marche route. Russians turned this French phrase into the noun marshrutka in order to indicate that these minibuses travel along a fixed route. 

Marshrutky on Abovyan Street in Yerevan, Armenia.

In urban areas, minibuses are used for intracity transportation. In Armenia I rode a minibus to university every day. I even wrote a pseudo-poem about it which I will dig up and post here at some point. In rural areas they travel between towns and villages. 

The main advantage of traveling by minibus is the price. The two-hour trip to Chisinau costs about $3. The smaller size of minibuses means that they run trips more frequently. Minibuses also stop anywhere along the route in order to pick up passengers, which is convenient for people in small villages along the route. Villagers just stand by the side of the rode and flag down a passing minibus.

Our trip to Kazaklia on a marshrutka was...a unique cultural experience. First of all it was incredibly hot during because they had no A/C. Secondly, the thing was stuffed. The drivers have an incentive to pick up as many people as possible in order to make money. Adam counted 33 people in a bus that should really hold about 20.

This is when the minibus was moving. 

Photo by Adam Julian.

Being in such close contact with people is always...interesting. Sometimes people are nice, sometimes they are grouchy, sometimes they are a bit smelly. Come to think of it, it’s not all that different from riding the bus in the U.S., except everyone is much closer to each other. This can get awkward fast. I once had a drunk guy fall asleep on me. Not cool. When we got on the bus there was this strange political argument going on between two extremely unhappy women. One cursed out the city of Tiraspol, the other leapt to its defense, and sure enough they started yelling about the war in Transnistria in the early ‘90s. Fun.

I think marshrutka drivers are probably the former Soviet Union’s biggest badasses. There’s really no way to describe them without swearing. This particular driver was pretty cool. He managed to pick up people in one of the towns we passed while simultaneously getting himself a cold cup of kvas (a traditional beverage) from a roadside stand. All without leaving his seat. Smooth. 

My view from the front seat.

Note the icon made out of CDs. Strangely ubiquitous.

After arriving in Kazaklia after our sweaty tour through the Moldovan countryside, we were pretty exhausted. Luckily on the way back we managed to hitchhike. In the former USSR, hitchhiking is one of the best ways to travel. You just stick out your hand and pick up a passing car. It’s customary to pitch in a few bucks. The driver gets money for gas, you get a nice, quick ride home. Mutually beneficial. The only problem is that, of course, hitchhiking alone is sketchy. But doing it in groups is just fine. This particular car had what my mom calls “4 by 40” air conditioning. 4 windows down, 40 miles per hour. After our uncomfortable ride to Kazaklia, it was positively refreshing.

For those who'd like to try this form of transportation for themselves, I wrote a post about important Russian phrases for to travelling by minibus on my short-lived Russian language blog.

Making Language Learning Fun

Over the years, I’ve developed the philosophy that the most effective way to study a foreign language is to have fun while doing it. One of the main reasons I came to Moldova was that I knew it would be a good, fun way to immerse myself in Russian again. Although I’ve learned a tremendous amount from my language classes this past year at Harvard, I needed to put down the flashcards and just practice Russian in the real world. 

Early in the summer I read a post on the blog “All Japanese, All the Time” that inspired me to work towards “having wide standards, not high standards.” One of the main themes of this blog is that people set very high goals for themselves in language learning and then burn out quickly. They set a tough work schedule and then can’t live up to it. The blog post advocates absorbing the language in as many entertaining ways as possible. Even just having the TV on in the background is valuable. And you don’t have to kill yourself trying to understand every word. So I approached this summer in Moldova as a chance to put this philosophy in action.

This is what I do on a daily basis to work on Russian:

• Speak with host family and acquaintances in Russian
• Read 10 pages of the Russian classic novel Master and Margarita
• Work on Russian homework to prepare for my thrice-weekly tutoring sessions in which we discuss the philosophical implications of Master and Margarita
• Go to city library and read sources for my project in Russian for 1-2 hours
• Listen to Russian music while walking around the city
• Watch a bit of Russian TV

The problem with taking such a hardcore approach is that sometimes...you get sick of Russian! Especially considering that Russian is an integral part of my research here, Russian can really feel like...ugh...work. My latest challenge is making my Russian routine more fun.

I used to have an extremely entertaining Russian reading routine: reading Harry Potter. Although it may not compare to Tolstoy in literary value, it makes up for it in sheer entertainment! It’s easy to keep reading when you get to read something with jokes. I remember plowing through sixty pages in a day at the end of the sixth Harry Potter book one day in 2010. While my current reading, Mikhail Bulgakov’s classic satirical critique of Stalinist Russia, is intensely rewarding, it can also be a bit of a chore. The book is extremely funny, but the farcical descriptions can be hard to follow. As anyone who has read Mikhail Bulgakov in any language can tell you, he’s not easy to understand! Nevertheless, I’m determined to keep up with it because it is my life goal to someday become an honorary member of the Russian intelligentsia.

...but I will be relieved to go back to Harry, Hermione and Ron at the end of the summer.

Reading Russian sources at the city library is actually pretty interesting. I always like learning local history. It is nice that my historical research also helps to reinforce my Russian. I’m certainly learning a lot of Russian terms for “state grain requisitioning.” Can’t wait to bust that out with a babushka one day.

Another goal of mine for the summer is to turn my iPod into a Russian learning machine. Since it takes me about fifteen minutes to walk into town from my house, I have to listen to something or be bored out of my mind. First I was listening to the awesome podcast “A Taste of Russian,” but they’re a little bit easy for me now. 

Then I switched to listening to my extensive collection of my favorite Russian rock group DDT on random. I consider DDT to be something of a Russian Pearl Jam. They started making music in the ‘80s and became extremely popular in the mid-‘90s. Their lyrics are sometimes philosophical, sometimes political, sometimes incomprehensible. The lead singer Yurii Shevchuk reminds me of a teddy bear. He is certainly the most lovable member of the political opposition to Putin. 

Don't you just want to hug him?

I stole this picture of Yurii Shevchuk from Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty.

Anyways, listening to DDT is great language practice, but after 2 weeks of straight DDT I needed a break. Luckily my Fulbright friend Adam Julian (you can read his Gagauzia blog here) saved the day by providing me his extremely comprehensive stash of MP3s from Kino, another classic Russian rock group from the ‘80s. This is helpful not just from a language standpoint, but also a cultural standpoint. The late lead singer of Kino, Victor Tsoi, is a cult figure in Russia and Kino’s fans collect home recordings of Kino recordings à la Deadheads. Knowing Kino should be a good way to connect with people.

Finally, I’ve decided to take the plunge into the world of Russian podcasting. iTunes and the Russian site podFM.ru have been pretty helpful. So far I’ve found an entertaining Russian movie review podcast with the amusing title “Inglorious Film Critics.” I’m also checking out ArbatPodcast, which consists of 3 Russian guys sitting around and complaining in a cafe on the Arbat in Moscow every week. The translation of the description of the podcast on iTunes was pretty inspired:

Three friends-grumblers every Sunday, going early Sunday morning in Moscow, Old Arbat, and sip tea in one of the Arbat caffe. Sit, enjoy green tea on a Sunday early in the Arbat morning, while grumbling. Always something it's not okay. Always they are all trying to make out the bones, they are always shoved his nose everywhere.

So those are my language learning strategies right now. Anyone with additional suggestions, please let me know!