more locks of love.

Elabuga.

As lovely as Kazan is, I was glad to travel to a little town called Elabuga yesterday for a taste of Tatar culture outside the big city.  Elabuga is about 200 km from Kazan on the banks of the Kama River.  It's a quaint, provincial town whose claim to fame includes many revered people of history: the great poet, Marina Tsvetayeva (who lived in Elabuga for ten days before committing suicide); landscape painter, Ivan Shishkin (who was born in Elabuga); and the "Calvary Maiden," Nadezhda Durova (who was the first female officer in the Russian military disguising herself as a man during the Napoleonic Wars, and who died in Elabuga) to name a few.  I can probably tell you most anything you want to know about the aforementioned people because upon hearing that I would be going to Elabuga, my host babushka, Nina Ivanovna, made it her mission to educate me about each of their life histories and works each night after dinner and give me books about them from her library.  So I am now very well-read on all things Elabuga.  (P.S. Have I mentioned how much I love my host babushka?)

Elabuga–the town always waiting for you!

As we arrived to the city's central square after a three and a half hour bus ride and one roadside stop for dried fish, wild berries, and a bathroom break, we were greeted by a a group of babushki dressed in traditional Tatar costumes who serenaded us with folk songs and offered us chak-chak, a super-sweet Tatar dessert made from honey and strands of dough.  I, along with a few other students, was invited to dance with the babushki, which was loads of fun, needless to say because it combined two of my favorite things in Russia: babushki+folk dancing.  If anyone watched the Buranovskiye Babushki's performance at this year's Eurovision competition, you can fully appreciate the glory of this greeting.  If not, you should really watch it.

Our welcoming party.

Chak-chak.

After our warm welcome to Elabuga, we set off to have a traditional Tatar meal at a local restaurant.  Tatar cuisine is very tasty, and while it is quite similar to Russian cuisine in my opinion, it is a little more spicy and flavorful.  Along with our first course of soup, salad, and blini, we were also served a glass of what appeared to be white wine...only, it was definitely not white wine.  Natasha, the director of our program, came around to us and said, "Oh, this is a special drink that they make here at the restaurant called khrenovukha (хреновуха)."  I hear the first part of the word and think, oh, khren=хрен=horseradish=I must not know the word for horseradish because that can't be right.  But then I smelled it and realized that, yes, in fact we would be shooting homemade horseradish vodka (I should have been shocked, but at this point nothing surprises me in Russia).  So in the spirit of adventure, cultural enrichment, and solidarity I toasted my friends and went bottoms up.  And, WHEW.  Let's just say that I have sampled a wide assortment of vodka while in Russia, but never have I consumed anything that kickin'.  I think my friend Katya's face said more about that vodka than my words ever could mainly because this vodka brought a Russian to tears.  

First course of our traditional Tatar meal (including khrenovuhka). 

The rest of the day included a trip to Marina Tsvetayeva's house and grave, a walk through downtown Elabuga, wish-making on the side of a legendary tower, and a climb to the top of really old church bell tower (which by the grace of God ended without injury because as we started climbing we realized that it wasn't as structurally sound as we originally thought...like everything else in Russia).  The weather was absolutely perfect: clear blue skies, sunshine, warm wind.  As I looked out over the Kaman River from the top of the bluff and breathed in the fresh air and stunning view,  I understood exactly where the inspiration for Shishkin's landscapes came from.  The fact that you can go from busy cities to serene countryside to untouched nature in a matter of hours or minutes in Russia never ceases to amaze me.  Some of the most beautiful things that I've ever encountered have been here in Russia, a place where I've also seen the most repulsing and most terrible things.  It is a country of contradictions, and that's why I both love it and hate it.  But mostly love it.

Even though I'm back in the hustle and bustle of the city, I'll be carrying the memories of Elabuga's fresh air, calm, and beauty with me tomorrow on the way to the institute as I stand crammed into a jerky bus that is stuck in a traffic jam, while breathing in exhaust or the B.O. of my neighbor and enduring the fussing of the displeased babushki around me.  Or at least I'll be trying to remember.

Making wishes.

Jackie and I in the top of the bell tower.

A night at the opera.

Evegeny Onegin

made in kazan.

A blessing and a curse.

My love for Russia is both my blessing and my curse.  Sometimes I can't help but wonder if the blessing is worth the curse.

I think it is.  I hope it is.

Scenes from День России (Russia Day)

It really is a small world (after all).

I've written before about how it is a small world (after all), and for those of us American students studying Russian, that is absolutely the truth.  Before I left on this little adventure to Kazan a few people asked me if I knew anyone on my program.  To this question I replied, "No.  But I'm sure that I'll realize that I do once I get there," having great faith in the strength of the Russian-speaking community.  Sure enough, as I waited in the hotel lobby in Washington DC to meet my group, I was joyfully accosted by Jackie, a girl with whom I studied in St. Petersburg.  Later at orientation, I started talking to another participant in the program Max, who I realized after a few minutes' conversation I had actually met in St. Petersburg because we have mutual friends and randomly ended up spending an evening together at a cafe called Pirogi drinking beer from tea kettles and engaging in a lively political debate with the neighboring table of Russian engineering students.  After arriving in Kazan I met up with my language partner, Aigul, who immediately asked me if I knew Keith, another kid with whom I studied in St. Pete, because her friend had been his tutor when he was in Kazan, and they had spent time hanging out.  I could keep this list of connections and 'who knows who' extending on and on, and it would include a guy who studies at the Naval Academy with someone from my high school, a friend from Rhodes returning to Kazan to conduct Ph.D. research, a Fulbright Scholar in Kazan with whom I share other mutual friends, etc, etc.  I'll end however with the most bizarre connection of all.  I walked into class yesterday, and there stood Jill, an American professor who taught me Russian at Bryn Mawr College for a summer three years ago.  As we stood catching up, neither of us could believe that fate, as the Russians would say, brought us together again on her two day visit to Kazan.  I share all these random (or not so random) connections to say that no matter where I am in the world or how far away from home I think I am, I'm never really that far from people I know.  Life is constantly coming full-circle.  Paths fork and come back together again.  The webs of our lives are wonderfully interwoven.  And there is something very comforting about that reality.