Holiday Gift-Givers

'Twas the night before New Year's, when all through the flat

Not a creature was sleeping, not even a cat;

No stockings were hung by the chimney with care,

'Cause they knew Ded Moroz soon would be there;

In other words, holiday traditions in Russia are different than those in North America. For starters, the major holidays are New Year's Eve and New Year's Day--not Christmas. Their trees are New Year's trees and that's when gifts are exchanged. I like this idea because it's a very inclusive holiday; anyone can celebrate the New Year regardless of one's religious persuasion. Theoretically, this is also a good thing because Christmas is presumably less commercial and material. I do, however, get the vibe that New Year's gift-giving isn't done to the extent that it's done in North America anyway. And by the way, Christmas is on January 7 because the Russian Orthodox Church follows the Julian Calendar.

This fellow looks eerily reminiscent of a certain Western gift-giver, doesn't he? Meet Дед Мороз, which is transliterated as Ded Moroz, nearly pronounced as Dead Morose, and translated as Father Frost, or more literally, as Old Man Frost.

He has a good deal in common with Santa Claus; however, there are some marked differences. Ded Moroz is usually clad in a a semi-round fur Boyar hat; either a blue, red, or white embroidered heel-length robe; mittens; and valenki, which are traditional Russian felt boots. He has a tall, slender figure and a long, straight beard. He also carries a magical staff that can be used to freeze people.

Ded Moroz lives in Veliky Ustyug, so that's where Russian children send their letters instead of the North Pole. He travels overland in a тройка, or troika, a traditional Russian sleigh pulled by three horses. Unlike Santa, who comes down the chimney to clandestinely stuff stockings and place presents under the tree, Ded Moroz goes door-to-door and delivers his gifts in person. He is often accompanied by his granddaughter Снегу́рочка, or Snegurochka, the Snow Maiden.

Although Ded Moroz is a popular Russian character, I wonder if over time he will be transformed into and ultimately replaced by Santa Claus.

Workplace Relationships

Here's a list of things that you probably shouldn't do with your coworkers or higher-ups in American culture.

• Have a romantic relationship
• Cohabitate temporarily with the Director of Studies (the academic supervisor)
• Go to a restaurant / bar / dance club and drink with your coworkers and Director of Studies
• Drink when the Director (the big boss) doesn't
• Smoke shisha with the Director and the Administrative Manager
• Watch belly dancers with the Director, Director of Studies, and Administrative Manager
• Listen to sexually explicit music with the Director, Director of Studies, and Administrative Manager

Oops. 

I'm married to a coworker. Patrick and I let our Director of Studies stay with us for a few days. It was sort of weird to be in my pajamas and such around her. Our first weekend, we went to a restaurant / bar / dance club with fog machines called Petrovich, where I split a bottle of wine with a coworker although I did decline to dance and to try the local spirit that my coworkers were mixing with red wine. Last weekend, the Director took me, Patrick, the Director of Studies, and the Administrative Manager on an excursion to Pyatigorsk. While we were there we did the last four bullets on the list, and let me tell you, it's really awkward to watch belly dancers with your higher-ups. I want to look to show them that I'm interested in the performance and that I appreciate it, but at the same time, it's a little uncomfortable. Regarding the music, the Director didn't realize that it was explicit. I mean, can you imagine trying to understand rap in another language?

Other interesting differences are that I'm paid in cash and that I'm considered a very positive person in the office. Maybe all of that positive framing while I worked at Citizen Schools did make me more positive. Who knows? Also, family members of the Director and my coworkers often swing by the office with food or milk. They sometimes bring their children to the cramped teachers' room--much to my delight.

With all that being said, I really enjoyed the outings and I definitely like my coworkers and higher-ups. Workplace relationships outside the office are just a bit different here, and it'll be interesting to navigate all sorts of interactions.

Stavropol

It's (nearly) official. Pending the successful completion of our CELTA certification course with Teaching House on August 16, Patrick and I will be English Foreign Language Teachers in Russia! I am so relieved to have jobs lined up. The entire job search was far less stressful and far shorter than I had envisioned it would be. We applied jointly to a total of nineteen companies in Russia, had four interviews each, received two job offers (with two more likely on the way), and accepted one all within three weeks.

Our placement is Stavropol, a regional capital in the North Caucasus. You won't find information on this city in your Lonely Planet guidebook, and its Wikipedia page is pretty skimpy. There is some information on the city's official website and here. Anyway, here are some of the basics.

• Population: 400,000
• Founded in 1777 as a fortress
• Industry: Machinery, food processing, pharmaceuticals, construction materials
• Climate: Short, cold winters and hot summers; little precipitation

I expect many of my relatives to ask, "Is it safe there?" Well, I expect it's about as safe as any American city. I do, however, anticipate some ethnic tension. Politically speaking, Stavropol Krai, the Republic of Dagestan, the Republic of Ingushetia, the Kabardino-Balkar Republic, the Karachay-Cherkess Republic, the Republic of North Ossetia-Alania, and the Chechen Republic constitute the North Caucasian Federal District. About 30% of the district's population is ethnically Russian and most ethnic Russians live in Stavropol Krai. People who are ethnically North Caucasian are not well liked by ethnic Russians. Rather than go into the history of that here, I'll direct you to a few articles.

Frontline between Stavropol and the North Caucasus
Hijab ban
Cossacks

One thing that I really like about Stavropol is how green it is. If you look on Google Maps, you can see how many trees there are. From what I've been able to find, Stavropol has lovely parks, lots of trees, and beautiful flower gardens. There also appear to be lots of small houses. Another draw is that Patrick and I will be able to visit Georgia after our nine-month contract is up. Going through Abkhazia is risky and the Sochi-Batumi ferry is only for CIS citizens, so we'll go Sochi-Trabzon-Batumi.

I've yet to set foot in Russia, but I'm intrigued by Stavropol and excited to arrive in September.

Looking Back, Forging Ahead

A year and two months ago, on the eve of my journey to Georgia, I was somewhat resigned to the fact that my experience there would be my last opportunity to live abroad. Being a ducks-in-a-row kind of gal, I was quite certain of my life trajectory until July of 2014, and after that, I had a fairly concrete plan of what would happen next. When I returned from Georgia, I would be with Citizen Schools in New Bedford for two years, and during that time, I expected to move in with my boyfriend and his family, to get engaged, and to marry. After completing my AmeriCorps service, I would go to graduate school or go back for a second undergraduate degree, graduate, and begin my career.

Well, that's not exactly how things turned out. I did get engaged in July and married in November, but not to that boyfriend. I was lucky enough to meet my other half and life partner, Patrick, in Georgia. To clarify for those of you that are doing the math, yes, I was engaged to a man that I had known for four months, and we married after knowing each other for ten months. Honestly, I couldn't be happier or feel better about our decision, but I could have never forseen this.

Because I am married to Patrick, I know that I will live abroad again. Our interest in different cultures and languages is what got us out of North America and brought us together in the first place. So, Georgia wasn't my last hurrah, but rather the beginning of a new, more adventurous chapter in my life. Due to some changes at work, which are still under wraps, I will be leaving Citizen Schools on positive terms at the end of June. This means that instead of waiting until 2014 to go abroad, Patrick and I will be teaching English abroad, hopefully in Russia, this fall. That's about five months away.

These days, I'm counting down to the end of a few parts of my life and the beginning of others.
6 program days until the on-campus WOW!
8 program days until the Mock Trials WOW!
19 program days remaining
9 weeks of work remaining (one of which is a vacation week)
9 weeks until Patrick and I are together and ideally done with being in a long-distance marriage
12 weeks until our CELTA certification class begins at Teaching House Boston

Truthfully, as soon as the after-school program is over, I know I'll feel alive again. Until then, I'll be counting down the days and hours until the daily grind is over and real life begins again.

A Georgian Birthnapping

Last Monday was my twenty-third birthday, and I can honestly say that it was the most memorable one I've ever had. In the morning my host mother, host grandfather, and I drove to a coworker's house to pick up my cake and bring it to school. It was by far the fanciest cake I've ever had. Throughout the day teachers and children were kept wishing me "Happy birthday!" and giving me flowers. After my last lesson, a friend, the TLG volunteer in Sighnaghi, came to my school, and we meandered outside in search of our friends from the hostel. I felt a little uneasy because I got the vibe that they had organized birthday plans for me, but I couldn't bail on my coworkers because they were throwing a supra for me. To me, it seemed like the obvious solution was to invite them to the supra and then to do whatever they had planned.

 As I turned back toward the school, a large blue sack was thrown over my head, and I found myself being lifted into the back of a car. I was held down for a bit, and when I was eventually permitted to sit up and remove the sack, I realized that other than Sighnaghi's volunteer, I didn't actually know my kidnappers: a Georgian, a Norwegian, and a Russian. While we were getting acquainted, one of my co-teachers called me to make sure that I was returning to the school for my birthday supra. It was sort of a bummer that the supra threw a wrench in my friends' plan, but it would have been really rude to skip it.

After the supra I got into my friends' car, and even though their attempted kidnapping was somewhat foiled, they refused to tell me where we were going. They did, however, surprise me with a large bag of chocolate vaplebi. FYI, vaplebi, whose singular form is vapli, are wafers layered with cream, and I'm addicted to them. We met up with their kidnapper friends, who had gone ahead of us, in Dedoplis Tskaro. Unfortunately, they had to return their rental car in Tbilisi by 6pm, so they had to leave, but my friends from the hostel and my two local TLG friends drove on toward the unknown destination. Along the way, they decided to blindfold me, and when the car finally stopped and they let me put my glasses back on, I saw this.

Its name is Khornabuji Castle, and honestly, I know very little about it, so you're probably better off Googling it. Anyway, we climbed up to the top, where we enjoyed some champagne, vaplebi, and the great view. The climb was pretty treacherous because there weren't any safety rails to keep you from falling off the edge and into the abyss if you tripped. I think this is pretty typical for most sites in Georgia.

Anyway, we wrapped up the evening with Sheepshead, a fantastic card game from Wisconsin, and dinner. On my way back home, the other TLG volunteer in my village and I hitched a ride with two random Georgian guys, who treated us to beer. All in all, it was an incredible birthday, and I'm never going to forget it.

Day of Victory over Fascism

Ten days ago, I finally got out of the village after having stayed there for three and a half weeks. The only reason I was able to stay in Nukriani for so long without getting too stir-crazy is Hostel Tura. It's about a 45-minute walk from my house in the village, and for me, it's pretty much a bastion of awesomeness and of support. Needless to say, I spend a fair amount of time there, and I'm really lucky to have been conveniently placed so close to the hostel.

Anyway, May 9 is a Georgian public holiday: the Day of Victory over Fascism. It marks the surrender of Nazi Germany to the Soviet Union, in other words, the end of World War II. In the West we commemorate Victory in Europe Day on May 8, but due to time zone differences, I think, the former Soviet states celebrate it on May 9 instead. Now, I honestly have no idea what, if anything, Georgians do on May 9. It was, after all, a Soviet victory, and the Georgians with whom I've spoken about Russia abhor its government, understandably. At the same time, Joseph Stalin was ethnically a Georgian.

I celebrated May 9 by going to the village of Duisi in the Pankisi Gorge to see a derby. Pankisi is a valley in northeastern Kakheti that borders Chechnya. It is inhabited by Kists, and since I know next to nothing about them, it's probably best that you skim the Wikipedia article. I can tell you that they speak Kist, a dialect of Chechen, and Georgian and that they're Muslims. Jihadism has at least touched Duisi a little. There was a shop selling calendars with jihadist literature in Russian, and one of the little boys said in Georgian,"Chven vart mujahidebi, insha'Allah," or "We are the mujahideen, God willing." I also heard some Allahu Akbars when the children shot their toy guns.

I think the highlight of the holiday for the Kist children was shooting foreigners with plastic BBs. There was a group of 33 Westerners there, and we apparently made great targets. Fortunately, some of the foreigners had gone the year before, so they knew to buy guns ahead of time to shoot back. I only got shot ten or so times, but it was certainly annoying. The derby itself turned out to be a bit of a bust, but all in all, I was just grateful to be in good company and to be out of the village.

A Georgian Funeral

Last Saturday, I went to a Georgian funeral, and it was definitely a unique experience. The father-in-law of a teacher at my school had passed away, and all the staff at the school was invited to the funeral. According to my main co-teacher, when a Georgian dies, the body is kept at home for five days, and during that time, the undertaker visits and prepares the body for burial. On the fifth day, the funeral is held.

That afternoon, I arrived at my coworker's house, which is two houses down from my host family's, and sat with the other teachers from school on the porch. After about an hour, a little procession of family members filed down the stairs. A few young men came down carrying flowers, and they were followed by a large group of women--young and old alike. Some of the young women were openly sobbing, but their grief paled in comparison to that of the widow, who was hoarsely wailing "Vaime! Vaime!" Next, a group of men brought down the lid to the coffin, and another group carried the coffin holding the body of the man who had died. They propped up the coffin on two chairs in the yard, and all the guests awkwardly stared at the family as they grieved.

A few minutes passed before the men picked up the coffin and presumably loaded it into a van. The immediate family members filed out of the yard after them, followed by the female guests, and then by the male guests. We walked along the road to a nearby cemetery, and at this point, I realized how many people were actually there--some 200 according to my main co-teacher--and more people were still arriving. On the way to the cemetery, my main co-teacher pointed out the flowers on the road. Apparently one of their traditions is to leave a trail of flowers from the home to the cemetery. She also explained that the funeral would be followed by a  ქელეხი (kelekhi), or funeral banquet. These banquets are incredibly expensive because the family must kill a cow and feed a couple hundred guests.

We were at the cemetery long enough for the body to be buried, and then everyone returned to the house for the feast. There was a massive tent set up in the yard with two rows of tables and four rows of benches underneath it. Plates of food were literally piled on the tables. Every two or three place settings there were the following foods and drinks: bread, nazuki, a bulb of garlic, cheese, mushrooms, greens (onions, radishes, cucumbers, tomatoes, and some herbs), eggplants with walnuts, fish prepared in two different ways, chicken, jonjoli, potatoes, beets, a spinach spread, olives, mineral water, soda, and wine. In addition to all of this, they brought around huge platters of beans, beef, wheat with honey, fried potatoes with beef, mashed potatoes with mutton, and porridge with rice and mutton. It was by far the most incredible feast that I've ever seen in my entire life.