All Hail the International Organization for Migration

It's a month and a half after our Moscow rendezvous, and with any luck, we'll receive the results of my FBI Criminal History Summary before the end of April although that may be too optimistic. They've already reached my parents, but I'm not particularly confident in Russian Post. On the bright side, you'll be happy to know that I'm not a criminal.

For the most part, things went swimmingly in the capital. The International Organization for Migration (IOM) was and is a godsend. It's an intergovernmental organization that provides various services to migrants, whether they're refugees, internally displaced persons, or random expatriates like me. IOM is most easily reached via phone--not via email.

I had an appointment to show up at 11:00 to the IOM office on 12 2nd Zvenigorodskaya Street near the Ulitsa 1905 Goda metro station, or as it appears on Google Maps, Mezhdunarodnaya Organizatsiya Po Migratsii. However, being the anxious person that I am, we arrived at the office before 10:00. Fortunately, the staff was kind enough to help us right away. I completed a registration form with help from an English-speaking staff member, paid for the medical exam, and gave my documents to another English-speaking staff member so that Patrick and I would have all the necessary paperwork to a) enter the clinic and b) have my upfront medical exam done. The medical exam was supposed to cost 315 USD, or 13,500 RUB, but we somehow ended up only paying 4161 RUB. Huzzah!

After that we headed to a clinic near Lenin's Library. I needed to have a few different tests done. First I peed in a cup, they stole some of my blood, and I had chest X-rays. That all happened pretty quickly, but I had to wait an hour and a half to see the doctor for my physical examination. Aside from the wait, I was impressed by how professional and organized the clinic was. I think that it's affiliated with IOM because everyone there seemed to have some sort of visa paperwork with them. The USA seemed to be a pretty popular choice, but I saw a couple of people with papers indicating that they wanted to go to Canada.

Finally, it was my turn, and I answered a bunch of yes-no questions for the doctor, and we chatted a bit. She must have been pretty surprised to see me because she asked if I was sure if I really needed the medical exam. Alas, being an American and the wife of a Canadian doesn't mean that the Canadian government gives me any privileges.

As soon as the exam was complete, we booked it back to the IOM office for fingerprinting. Igor, the fingerprinting technician and security specialist did six full fingerprint cards for the price of one, which ended up being only 1,278 RUB rather than 7,668 RUB. While he was taking my fingerprints, we chatted and he asked about whether or not I felt safe in Stavropol. I thought it was a strange question coming from a Russian, but I guess that any city in the North Caucasus would seem a bit dangerous to a Moscuvite. Plus, he probably helps a lot of refugees from the nearby republics.

The last thing on our agenda was to mail my fingerprints and the appropriate forms to the FBI. Fortunately, DHL is in Russia, so we swung by the office on 1st Tverskaya-Yamskaya, shelled out 6,078 RUB, and called it a day. It took less than a week for everything to make it to the FBI, and my credit card was charged for the record request about two weeks after being signed for.

A Canadian in the Making

I'm going to preface the below whinging by keeping the end goal in mind. Two years from now when I'm a Canadian permanent resident, I want a chocolate mocha cake with a Canadian flag on it. And Québec tuition rates.

Because I was slated to work for AmeriCorps through Citizen Schools for two years, Patrick and I submitted paperwork to apply for his green card last February with the hope that he'd be able to join me in the States in the late spring of 2014. Well, the partnership between Citizen Schools and the school I was serving was put on hold for the 2013-2014 academic year, so I decided to jump ship and run away to Mother Russia with Patrick.

Even though his green card was in the works, at least the first part of the lengthy process was, we've more or less scrapped the idea of living and working in the States in the near future. Now we're thinking Canada. The only hitch is that the process of applying for Canadian permanent residency seems like a bigger pain than applying for a US green card. I guess Canadian peace, order, and good governance don't come cheap.

Before we mail in our application, I need to undergo an upfront medical exam and get police certificates from the FBI and from the Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs. I'm anticipating that the FBI Criminal History Summary will be the most frustrating, especially given that I've had problems with fingerprints being rejected multiple times in the past. Also, the FBI claims that the current processing time is 28 days, yet the CIC website says that it takes 16-18 weeks. On top of that, I have to get documents to and from Russia of all places. However, the kicker is that police certificates are only valid for 3 months and the results of the upfront medical exam for 12 months according to the CIC. If the six fingerprint cards that we're shelling out for are all rejected and the FBI really takes 18 weeks to process them, I may actually need another upfront medical exam and another Russian police certificate.

I don't know why my colleagues call me an optimist.

Anyway, I plan to document our immigration journey here in hopes that someday it'll be useful to someone else seeking Canadian permanent residency while living and working in Russia. It also gives me the opportunity to bemoan the woefully inefficient and outlandishly expensive immigration process.

Patrick and I are off to Moscow on Wednesday for my medical exam and fingerprinting on Thursday at the International Organization for Migration in Moscow. Keep your fingers crossed that everything goes smoothly.

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.