Ok I'm back with part two of the 2011 Russian bonanza - the summer edition. And by the way right now I'm listening to "Smooth Operator" by Sade. Great song. Which reminds me I was at a free Sting concert last night in Palace Square. I think the whole city showed up. Russians are crazy about Sting. They don't know a thing about The Police, but they love their Sting. Funny drunk Russian male mullett dancing galore.
So... winter came and went and now its pretty uncomfortably hot. This Russian weather can never get it right. Either too cold or too hot. Too wet or too dry. Land of extremes. And I love it. But now that it's hot you play the game of "spot the old Russian man dressed in head to toe bright white - including hat and moccasins." By the way I've temporarily forgotten if periods go inside or outside of "quotation marks.". So it's hot. I walk to and from work every day (about a 40 min. walk) and many times I'm forced to remove the shirt from my body. Well, no I'm not forced. Actually it's not uncomfortable at all to wear the shirt. But sunny days feel like a gift from God and I want as much as my vitamin D-deprived skin to get in on the action. And Russians don't really wear summer clothes well. Winter clothes they got down pat. Nobody can mess with a Russian’s sense of winter fashion. But summer clothes? Eh, they just look a little out of place. They like these very colorful, outlandish, oversized shorts and shirts. It’s as if they are over-compensating for their lack of good weather by filling all of their summer desires into one day and one outfit. Tommy Bahama eat ur heart out. Well actually when its sunny everyone becomes kind of a gushy goopy tourist here because its such a rare and joyful occasion. The hills are alive with the sound of balalaika and accordion.
I've still been doing my double time as a teacher and foreign relations/PR manager at BioVitrum. But now in the summer im just going full time BioVitrum. Thank heavens. Honestly I'm a little sick of teaching. The people I meet in my classes are always a treat but if I have to give another lesson on the present perfect or try to explain what the words "conscientious" or “assertive” mean I'm gonna hurl. But things have been going very nice for me at BioVitrum. I’m getting schooled on international finance, taxation, and laws right quick. Not to mention the constant marketing and PR activity I do. Got me a couple nice suits also. By the way the Russian word for "business suit" is "costume." Literally it's pronounced "costume." So when I wear a suit and people say "ooh, nice costume," I have to remember that I'm not on the set of a gala presentation of Phantom of the Opera.
Our company had a shashlik (BBQ) party the other week which is funny because you get to see all of your colleagues get trashed. Just one instance I'd like to share. The head of our IT department. He's a very quiet, serious, IT sort of guy who looks strikingly similar to Oliver Platt. He rarely socializes with anybody and just stays stuck to his computer all day. Anyway, I got to this shashlik party and the first thing I see is this IT guy groveling in the grass like a fish on dry land and I think he was drooling on himself. Next he was literally crawling around the party trying to catch girls. Again making very strange noises. Then his subordinates, I repeat subordinates, lifted him up by hands and legs and basically played a kind of demented jumprope with him, using him as the rope. Classic. And now my favorte part. Does anybody remember that scene in Police Academy where the uptight head police officer was sunbathing and the great Steve Guttenberg wrote the word "Dork" on him with suntan lotion? Well towards the end of the party our IT guy was shirtless and again groveling in the grass and making strange giggly noises in an attempt to sunbathe and his subordinates wrote the word "Xui" on him with lotion. "Xui" is one of the worst curse words in Russian. I would translate it as a stronger version of "foolish asshead". So yeah it was pretty funny. Priceless photos going around the office. Most of the time I was teaching people how to play baseball which I think is more difficult than trying to teach the entire English languange in a day. Baseball just doesn't translate into a Russian's mind. Chopping wood, yes. Baseball, no. The most important rule I told them was to "never let go of the bat." I think I said that about 50 times that day. Then of course I got into a hardcore conversation with our CFO about Stalin and WWII. Fun times.
One more funny sunny story I want to tell. In Russia there is a great and old tradition of the banya. It's basically a sauna/steamroom on steroids. It's Russian physical therapy. Everybody has told me I must experience the banya to get a proper Russian experience. In my more than 2 years here I'd managed to avoid the banya but not anymore. Olga's father invited me to his dacha (country house) specifically to join in on the banya. How could I refuse? So we got there, I was wearing fairly decent clothes, and expecting just to go in the banya, whatever that meant. But no, this was to be a truly Russian day. First thing I was made to do was strap on some huge Frankenstein boots and help the father and his son-in-law with the yardwork. Hardcore yardwork. Like shovels and drills and saws and the whole works. I was not prepared for this. Not to mention that these guys spoke almost no English so they had to grunt and mime their instructions to me. Tilling the soil in the hot sun with some old time Russians. Lord almighty. All we needed were some oxen and the picture would be complete. But I can't say that it was all bad because in true Russian fashion they were supplying me with my fair share of alcohol.
So after the work it was banya time. The banya was a seperate shack-like thing with two rooms, the steam room and the sitting (drinking) room. First thing we had to do, to my utter horror, was strip completely butt naked. This was not up for discussion. Drop your pants or get back to chopping wood. So there I was naked with Olga's father and his son-in-law, who I barely knew and who was a HUGE bear of a man. We got the steam going by pouring water on scalding hot big charcoal looking things. It was hot and drenching in there. We stayed in there for about 8 minutes soaking up the steam and sweat, then poured extremely cold water on ourselves and went back into the other room for some beer. At this time we were all a little drunk and the Russian conversation was flowing like pools of sweat from our naked bodies. Then we went back in the steam room and the real fun began. What makes a banya a banya is the tradition for all the participants to whack each other with "veniki" or branches from a birch tree. I was first up to lay down flat on my stomach on the banya table. I had no idea what to expect. The other guys were getting their veniki wet and ready to pound my unprepared naked body. So then it began. The huge son-in-law literally let out a "ROAR!" and began whacking me up and down with these branches. Literally "ROAR!!". The veniki felt like extremely hot pin needles all over your body. At first it was quite shockingly uncomfortable but after I got used to it the burning hot birch branches felt rather nice. Then it was time to turn over on my back. Wait a minute guys. They mimed me to cover up my stuff and began again. "ROAR!!" And while the huge son-in-law was whacking me, the father was whacking hime. It was this savage chain of naked guys whacking each other like the dickens. I don't think this would fly in southern California. We rotated turns whacking each other (I'd be lying if I didn't let out a sort of Roar when I was doing the whacking). In between turns we'd always pour cold water all over us, which felt great and is a necessary part of the banya therapy, then we'd go drink and bullshit with each other. It was quite a unique experience. The banya baby. In winter they mix it up a bit by substituting cold water for jumping and rolling around in the snow naked. Not kidding.
So that's about all. The last little morsel I will leave you with is that in Russia they have an exact replica of the cleaning product Mr. Clean, bald guy with arms folded and all. Except he's not called Mr. Clean, he's called....Mr. Proper! Sounds like an evil yet seductive James Bond villainous henchman. If it can't be clean it might as well be proper. So it goes in Russia.
The saga continues...
Until next time
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