Farewell Rossiya!

in less than 12 hours, my plane shall become airborne, and leave the wonderful world of Siberia behind! While I've had my fair share of ups & downs this summer (which I've done a positively lousy job of documenting here- I know, I know; I'll hopefully finish some of my saved draft adventures from afar), all in all, I can really say that I'm sad to go. I might not have been as "productive" in the concrete sense of the word, but the perspective I've gained, the connections I've made and the ideas of come up with have made it all worthwhile and highly educational, despite the thorough lack of overhead structure to my time. Admittedly, those organizations and individuals I learned most from often weren't those I'd expected, and vice-versa. In fact, I really feel like I have a lot of advice and plans to offer GBT to improve the organization as a whole...whether they listen to me/hear me at all through the bureaucratic web is another story, which frankly I'd like to save for another time. I'm not a professional biologist, or a certified wilderness guide- never claim to be. However, being here this summer has helped illuminate my background in international group-work facilitation and strategy (who'd ever thunk IOB class would come in handy, too?), finding ways to help the organization expand on its overarching goals, and allow each individual to have the most meaningful, wonderful and memorable experience with GBT that's possible.
I don't intend to brag- honestly. I don't possess any particular innate characteristics that make me better at this sort of work than anybody else- far from it. All in all, it's just a reflection of probably the most significant thing grad school has taught me: take initiative! Hanging back in the corner won't kill you, but it generally won't get you anywhere interesting in the long run, either. I'm by no means a natural leader- by the same token, I don't take well to blindly following orders (on account of which, my dad says I probably wouldn't be fit for a career in the military...which suits me fine, by the way). All in all, it seems to me that achieving success comes from speaking up.
In terms of other "deep thought"-type impressions to share, I'd say the qualities I've come to value most in people here are patience, compassion, and optimism. I'm not sure if I'm most drawn to people with these characteristics out of a shared spirit, or simple gratitude in making my time here more effective and enjoyable. Again, I by no means embody them all the time, myself, either, but I endeavor. Knowing people care about you, appreciate your company & insight, and see you as a friend first, and charge later (if at all) makes life just that much more worth living :)

cut & pasted post from buryatiasummerschool.org

After several years of using that old excuse that I’d come back to Buryatia “when I got the chance,” I finally made good on my commitment this summer. Granted, I was already in this part of the world, anyway–primarily to work on the Great Baikal Trail, and use Irkutsk as my home base.

Getting to Zakamensk (from Ulan Ude) was surprisingly simple, I found. I was seriously impressed with how organized the main bus station in Ulan Ude is, too. It’s mostly just a parking lot neatly divided into sections based on destination region with a daily schedule on display. Only thing is the bus station isn’t very close to the train station. It’s maybe a 20 minute walk if you’re feeling up for it. Otherwise, you can take a local marshrutka (I don’t know the #s, alas), or if you’re exhausted, sweaty and carrying a goatload of stuff like me, splurge on a taxi (100 rubles if you bargain hard).

The ride to Zakamensk is relatively pleasant once you break free of the Ulan Ude traffic grind. In my marshrutka, fellow passengers were very nice and helpful (if in a slightly parental fashion, which seems to follow me wherever I go…), eager to know what this seemingly wayward foreigner had in mind to do in their remote village. For the most part, my mobile (Megafon) had service along the way, and it worked fine the whole time in the village. I’ve heard people say that Megafon works best in small villages, or at least those in southern Buryatia. I personally can’t compare it to other servers, though I’m inclined to believe other companies would suffice in the village, which hosts its own cell phone tower.

In Khamney village (my primary base of operation) I was very warmly received, and was deeply touched by the efforts everyone (especially the kids) took to welcome me; I only wish I could begin to pay them back in kind. I also wish in my mad dash to finish school, gather my bags & documents and head to Russia, I had taken the time to pick up some local (i.e. California) souvenirs to offer my wonderfully generous hosts. As it was, I left the US with a few American dollars and a fistful of coins. Since Zakamensk doesn’t get a lot of foreign visitors- especially from as far away as the US- a set of coins & a dollar bill served as mementos for my host families, the local school’s English department and the regional history museum’s foreign currency collection.

My host families were extremely hospitable, giving up what little free space in their homes they had to ensure I was comfortable. It really reminded me how absolutely spoiled and extravagant many Americans (including myself) are with the amount of living space we “require” (demand). If arranged for Buryat-style living, my parents’ house could easily fit two separate families, and my [2 bedroom] apartment could take a nuclear family plus grandparents and an unmarried adult child or two for a time as needed, for example. While the limits to personal space were a bit different from what I was used to, I never really considered it problematic. Since people are used to sharing rooms (and using those rooms for many purposes), no one seemed to mind if I read, took a nap, or other similarly solitary activities from time to time while I was in the room. It seemed most houses in the village had a satellite dish in the yard, and TV is both a hobby and a background/scenery augmenter whenever somebody’s home there. Internet is very limited, I should add–especially in Khamney. Since I was there in June–thunderstorm season–we lost electricity a handful of times, and a particularly bad storm knocked out the internet cable at the school (the fastest, most reliable ‘net source most of the time). Attempts at using dial-up only tried my patience before I ultimately gave up, information unattained. If anything, at least I entertained the people around me by carrying on a colorfully angry monologue at the computer.

Before arriving in Khamney, I had thought about trying to teach students some of the basics of ecology (and the English terms used). However, I soon realized that it would be far more appropriate to stick to English language practice, and in a more ‘fun’ atmosphere–it was called “summer camp” after all. Plus I primarily worked with kids 12 & under, since teenagers were generally busy working in the fields and tending the gardens. My ecology “curriculum” (as written in my head) was really designed more for kids with some jr. high/high school science classes under their belts- the idea was that I wouldn’t be teaching them tons of completely new technical material, but reinforcing what they’d already learned, and adding a socially-minded, eco-conscious (and hopefully fun?) twist to it. For my part, I really regret not learning the Russian names for more of the local plant-life; that would’ve been very useful.

As it was, I worked mostly with kids age 8-12, some of which had no English background (namely the under 10 set) and others had a bit. Given the age of the students, their English language level, and that it was already summer vacation, I focused mostly on games I played at their age (using English words, of course), and teaching some simple songs. Some of the kids have beautiful voices, as was apparent when they sang in Russian, and even more so in Buryat.

Buryats make up the majority of the population in Khamney, though even among ethnic Russians there, my paleness sticks out like a sore thumb. I got the gambit of remarks from “wow, you are very white!” “why is your skin so pale? Are you sick?” “you need more sun,” “eat more blood sausage!” to “are you a vampire like Edward Cullen?” (the last was a joke, but a good one, I’d say). After one doozy of a sunburn at least the “more sun” demand died down a bit. For the sickness query, my response is “yes, I’ve been afflicted with English & Irish genes” (among others).

The blood sausage bit was a lost cause from the outset, pretty much. At home, I’m mostly vegetarian –fish and chicken on rare occasions, but never red meat–which was quite simply bizarre to locals in Khamney. While the extent to which they expressed their astonishment initially grew almost irritating, but I tried to chock it up to cultural differences. I reasoned that my own family and people I’m close with (many of whom are not vegetarians, I might add) would react the exact same way if a guest arrived claiming they didn’t eat any vegetables or vegetable-based products when possible: “Seriously? But they taste so good- especially when fresh,” “Almost all of our favorite recipes contain at least some vegetable products,” “growing vegetables is part of the local culture here, really,” “why don’t you eat vegetables? Is it for religious purposes?” “Some of the best vegetables in the world are grown here [central CA coast]- don’t you want to try any?” and, of course, “isn’t it unhealthy to never eat any vegetables?” Honestly, you could exchange the word “meat” for “vegetable” and “Buryatia/Mongolia” for “California,” and the sentiment would be exactly the same. Eventually people reluctantly accepted that I wasn’t going to eat the sausage links on my plate, and just ate around the pieces of meat in soups, salads & the like. Admittedly, Zakamenski raiyon is not an easy place to be vegetarian. Also, I am used to food prepared with lots of spices at home, and they often just use salt & pepper in preparing food. However, it seems almost every kitchen does have a trusted bottle of Chinese (or possibly Vietnamese?) chili sauce on the table, ready for use; these bottles became good culinary friends of mine.

As far as I could see, not very many people in the Zakamenski raiyon speak English fluently. For me, this was a blessing, since it allowed me to function entirely in Russian (an opportunity I rarely get elsewhere) though it could prove challenging for potential volunteers without a background in Russian language. I will say, for those with some knowledge of Russian, it’s a great opportunity for language immersion practice. Granted, for the few English speakers (especially English teachers at local schools), they’re desperate for practice with a native (or fluent) speaker of English, and it seems only fair to offer them the chance, as they get it so rarely. Also, if any EFL teachers out there without much knowledge of Russian want to challenge themselves, spending a few weeks teaching kids in Zakamensk would be great for skill-building, imho. FYI, Mongolian speakers could probably get by in the villages, too- in case you were interested.

Well, there’s my babbling for you. All in all, I really enjoyed my time in Zakamenski raiyon and hope to return ASAP. Spread the word to anyone you know with an interest in Buryat life & culture, work with enthusiastic kids, or just making a little difference in somebody’s life they won’t soon forget :-)

Back from the frontlines...

So, yeah, I've been absolutely lousy at keeping up on this blog- especially seeing how I've been online much of the time while in Irkutsk. Not that it matters all that much...

I started this post a couple of days ago, but the meaning's pretty much the same at present. I just got back from two weeks on the trail- more specifically in "the Jungles of Khamar-Daban." While it was by no means the tropics, the title "jungle" wasn't entirely unfitting, either. It was definitely the most humid part of Lake Baikal I've been to, but I guess that's a bit redundant: it's the most humid part of the lake. period. Thus, I shouldn't have been surprised by the amount of rainfall we experienced, and on many levels, I wasn't. I guess in my mind's eye I hadn't factored in the rain as a major deterrent to our work progress or activity level. Put simply, it was, in a big way. Since we were breaking ground into the side of a rather steep hill, we were only allowed to work when the soil and sky were dry. As a result, the number of full days we were actually able to work was somewhat limited.
I've quipped to my foreign compatriots, as well as anyone else who could take an odd-ball joke that we were in essence mocking Stalin's brutal gulag legacy. To those who lost relatives to his wrath, as well as the few [delusional?] War Patriots who still worship the man, perhaps the comparison's a bit crass- oh well. What good is a generation butchered and forced into slave labor by torture, isolation and fear if you can't find any absurdly offensive humor from it?
Among other things, the trail-time served as a great two-week experiment in grossness--at least for me. Some of the Russians would make a habit of trudging down the slope to the water's edge--an ice cold, fast-running stream--and bathe, swim, or at least splash each other vigorously for awhile. As for me, I tried the ice-dips a few times, but pretty quickly common sense took hold and kept me from repeatedly engaging in such severe pain with such little gain to be derived from it--couldn't even get soap off in the icy water once you'd managed to lather it on. As it was, I just sponge-bathed with left overs from tea, and let my hair go to hell in a hot khachapuri...at it's worst, I figured I'd just grow dreadlocks all summer and chop my hair all off when I got back. While the idea seemed almost enticing at the time, I was somewhat glad not to require it when all's said & done. Granted, if there's ever a time to chop (shave?) it all off, it's now while I'm still in school, so it'd at least be at pixie-length when the serious job-hunt gets underway ::shiver::
Group dynamics were generally decent, but as the other foreigners pointed out, we were a bit coddled, over-protected, and herded around. I guess it's just an example of different cultures' understanding of group behavior and how to manage it. I'm not saying that all Russians value conformity over uniqueness, or that there's not a time/place for uniformity in my opinion. However, I'm much more inclined to appreciate individuals for their skill sets (on the trail, as well as in life), and try to utilize them efficiently and effectively. In comparison, our brigadier (a good friend & great guy, I should add) generally opted to fit us all into the same mold--management in bulk, if you will--and treat all deviation from that norm as a negative that impeded overall progress and productivity. I try not to claim my own cultural superiority in this matter, but the top-down approach didn't sit too well with my free-bird (bird-brain?) spirit.

My take? It was worth it, and two weeks in the Siberian wilderness without significant discomfort would be a waste of time & money, and fail to meet the only distinctive expectation I had before setting out! Sure, I learned about how to build a trail from scratch out of the side of a mountain, but the human aspect is what's stuck with me, and I'm the wiser a fool for it :D

Ayee! Blast, my bloody feet!

Okay, not quite literally, but close! I don't know what it is, but whenever I go for a long(ish --yesterday was only ~10 or 12 km) trek in hiking boots, my heels always end up scraped up & raw; last night was no exception. All in all, it's more annoying than anything, and really makes me look like a total candy ass. I mean, while the rest of me was tired from a longish walk on hilly terrain in hot weather, I could have likely pressed on till dark (another couple hours or so) if circumstances required it, without too much difficulty. However, the feeling of my skin being ripped off a little more with each step kinda takes the fun out of walking. If that weren't enough, several of my toes took a bit of a beating, too, so it's not like I can just favor my heels and put my weight further forward. Sorry to whine so much about it, but I keep getting the nagging feeling that this isn't completely "normal," and perhaps everyone doesn't have to wear only open-toed, backless shoes for a day or two after a quality hike?

arrived in Severobaikalsk at long last!

Okay, I'm going to do my best at writing a brief info update, rather than a full-on editorial. So, yeah, after the debacle that was my attempt to get to Severobaikalsk last Friday, I was on the verge of giving up going at all. Fortunately, my friend (and guardian angel, just about) Varya helped me set up a meeting with the sales manager at the Irkutsk ferry port, who agreed to let me take the Tuesday ferry at no extra cost. While my time here is much shorter than it was supposed to be, I'm still really glad that I came. I had a great night's sleep here at the hostel (on the first mattress I've had in months!), and the swaying-feeling in my head from the 12 hour boat ride is completely gone :) Anya (the local GBT coordinator) gave me the low-down on what we can do in these next few days. It's certainly action-packed, and I should be ready to hit the ground running! In fact, just writing here now probably is cutting into time I should spend running errands & touring the town.

'Till next time, Campers!

perception of domestic animals across cultures

Hmm...I guess that sounds more like the title of a thesis than a mere blog posting. Maybe I should rephrase it: most people in & around Zakamensk seemed to have a different view the role of domestic animals in their lives than I, or many of the Russians I know.
I've been doing my best to withhold judgement, and accept it as just part of a different set of cultural values from my own, but at times that proves difficult.
Fortunately, people were amused by my child-like fascination with the throngs of animals that wandered around town at all hours. While I didn't come across traffic jams caused by massive herds of sheep & cattle in the street to the full extent I did in Kyrgyzstan, I was granted many an opportunity to wait in an idling car as heifers engaged in full-scale shoving matches with their owners in the middle of the street, in hopes of Team Brawn scoring one against Team Brain this time...
I guess I've never spent much quality time on an economically functioning (i.e. not a small family project with no interest in profits), so I couldn't speak about what level of personal attachment people have for their livestock in those instances.
My only basis of comparison at all, now that I think about it, is the apartment I rented in New York while at Bard. I lived in a cozy studio above the garage of a family who was very much involved in 4H projects. For that, they raised goats, pigs, chickens, and kept around the occasional duck to populate the pond. If I recall, the kids (two teenage girls who'd been raising livestock their whole lives) gave every single animal- including those they planned to eat- names and paid them personal attention.
While most people in Khamney, Zakamensk, etc, didn't seem especially interested in the emotional well-being of their stock, I saw no outright animal cruelty, either. Nobody beat, kicked, or starved an animal, as far as I could see, nor was there any killing without a specific purpose. Albeit, many animals died for the purpose of serving as food for humans. As my pictures have also shown, they let not a meaty organ from the slaughtered beast go to waste- an efficiency level I applaud them with for not only stomaching each and every organ, but thoroughly enjoying it piece by piece as well. It's rather humbling to consider for a finicky American like me.
What I also observed is that in the village, most any domestic animal that people keep has an occupation, or reason to kept, as it were. My host's cat, for instance, spent much of his time prowling around in the basement managing the mouse population there. Dogs are often on-call watching chickens and other small stock against potential predators. They primarily live outside & stay in barns, sheds or dugouts for shelter against the elements.
For me, keeping dogs outside all the time feels a bit strange & sad, mostly 'cause my beloved golden retriever, Linzy, who was with me most of my childhood was very much a member of the family who went most everywhere and did everything with us. It seems people here don't generally take the time to socialize their dogs much. Whenever I showed a dog any attention, as if to very cautiously coax it to come over, people always said, "don't do that- it bites!" Needless to say, whenever I saw feral dogs there (and there were a ton!) and I was alone, they always fled timidly from my beckoning, and never showed a sign of aggression towards me at all.
With domestic dogs (i.e. those with a name, a reliable source of leftovers and a dugout to sleep in) I had a bit more success. Again, when I was alone in the front yard with my hosts' dogs, I ever-so-slowly and gently extended my open-palmed hand forward to let them have a sniff and know I came in peace. After a few minutes of sniffing me out, they each let me pet them on the head. After a bit, Bovik decided he was ready for a new activity, while Lucas was positively transfixed by the patting. He had originally belonged to a neighbor who abandoned him after moving away and died before anyone could contact him about the dog. Poor Lucas wandered around the neighborhood looking for scraps for a few weeks before discovering my hosts' house, making fast friends with Bovik, and effectively moving in. I give all this background info to explain that it's quite likely poor Lucas had never experienced affection or overt kindness from a human before.
Pretty much overnight he went from being skittish and anxious to being energetic, friendly and blissfully happy. Granted, in his happiness he also took to jumping up on me -as a small terrier mutt, he didn't have the might to knock me over, thank god- and getting mud all over my legs & pants. People kept saying I had some sort of 'magic touch' with animals, though I argued all I did was show him a little love, and let him reciprocate in kind :) The poor guy had also never had a bath, and not a haircut/brushing all year, so I took it upon myself to release him from the dirty-dreadlock shackles, and brushed him down till he was practically silky to the touch. The piles of fur on the lawn were enough to make a dog hair shirt for the most high-maintenance of masochists ;-) I next gave Bovik a similar treatment (again, he was less enthusiastic about it) before moving onto Barsik, the cat, who from petting, I realized had some ferocious dreds to be dealt with. As I brushed him down and felt for the biggest hair balls, I was struck how they didn't move independently from his flesh. Pressing a bit harder with my fingertips, I discovered that his body was covered with deep flesh-wounds, which never properly healed, and the fur just grew in on the scar tissue. Before you lambast the owners for animal negligence and cruelty, there's something else to keep in mind: Barsik is a 10 year-old tomcat who's free to roam wherever he chooses, and consort with, knock up, and fight with whomever he's inclined. Given the circumstances, I'd say it's impressive for a tom to live that long in any condition. The only thing that perturbed me really was the relative indifference people expressed to my "discovery" of the depth and multitude of his scars. Also, I was unsettled imagining poor Barsik wandering home after a fight covered in blood with torn flesh, while nobody even notices him. I understand that people don't generally bring their animals to veterinarians here, but the fact that they never bothered to clean the wounds, and set them as best they can made me uncomfortable. I know I'm just being a squeamish Westerner, and I don't mean to judge locals for their treatment of domestic animals, but I will simply have to reconcile that their cultural of animals in life is just entirely different from my own.

backlog entry: Khamney HS graduation

I had the good fortune of being invited to attend the graduation ceremony & celebration of Khamney's twelve 11th graders. I haven't really been to a graduation in Buryatia, Siberia, or Russia as a whole, so I can't really compare it to any of them. I've also never been to a really small-town HS graduation in the States, so I can't really compare it to that, either. All in all, I enjoyed the relative lack of pomp & circumstance the event maintained throughout, say compared to graduations I've been to in the States...and most every structured event I've been to in Russia. Maybe I'm just the overly cynical, sardonic, drab, relatively-privileged westerner, but I have a bit of a hard time with over-the-top ecstatic genuine sincerity when exposed in large doses. Sometimes I wish I could just embrace things whole-heartedly like a lot of people here tend to do. At the same time, all the brouhaha of fancy awards and long, drawn-out speeches at fairly minor events is still gonna be tedious, no matter how you slice it. As I mentioned, this particular event had only a limited number of short speeches (including an on-the-spot nervous well-wishing from me!) before the diplomas were given out. The students recited a poem which expressed their appreciation for their teachers, family & friends. It was quaint.
Following a nicely choreographed & carried-out waltz by the graduates, they launched an extensive slide show set to a steady-pulsing techno-beat. This took place around 7 PM which in mid June in Siberia was still very light out, so the slide pictures were often hard to see. I felt bad for losing interest after awhile, and made a point to pay attention till the end, or at least try to (meanwhile, many guests had already started eating what was on the table, and no longer looking at the faded screen at all).
I took special notice (and pictures!) of the food served, as it was what they considered "top quality" for "special occasions." There was more fresh fruit available that one day than I'd seen in my previous week and a half in town. As no one sitting near me showed any particular interest in the fruit tray, I imbibed rather heavily in it...which later proved not to be such a good idea, given the pouring rain that ensued and followed me to the hole-in-the-floor outhouse through the stinging nettles every time...
People seemed a lot more interested in digging into the sheep innards in front of us. It had been slaughtered the day before and prepared that afternoon to perfection. BTW, I've asked around, and nobody seems to eat the sheep's liver raw, fresh off the carcass. I guess our time was a bit of a fluke ;-)
Eventually the shot glasses came out, as with several bottles of vodka. I'd hardly drunk a thing since I got to Russia, so I did feel the effects of a couple shots, but not too badly. Some of the parents, teachers & the like were getting quite boisterously loquacious from the drinks, which I must admit, I found rather amusing. I've only come across a couple of stereotypical "town-drunk" individuals, who each struck me as lonely and a bit off-kilter; I wish there were something I (or most anybody else) could do to help...
The teens were allowed to take shots of sweet plum & apricot wine (which tasted like juice and, compared with the vodka, had no real effect on me). I sat w/ the grads & did a couple shots with them before Galina suggested we head home. I figured that was a good cue to take my bows and exit stage right, and let the real teens (i.e. not me, no matter how much I like to think I'm still 17) enjoy their newfound freedom.