Separation Anxiety Sets In …

Piling on Paul

Has it really been 10 days since I blogged? Heavens! Where has the time gone?

It’s flying by way too fast. I learn so much here every day that sometimes it feels like my head will explode. This experience is an amazing combination of joy, frustration, fulfillment, bewilderment and discovery.

We’re having a lively debate among the volunteers: Is it better to try to maintain an objective approach to all the children, much as a teacher would with her class, or to be a little bit closer to a few of the kids whom you especially click with and perhaps have a more profound long-term impact on those few? Different volunteers have different perspectives on that subject, and it’s interesting to hear the discussion and varying viewpoints. I’d love to hear the feedback of anybody reading this, so leave your thoughts!

I’ve been working at the Hospital for Kids almost daily since I got here — at least 4 days a week and sometimes 5. I’ve become extremely attached to the place, much to my surprise. I wasn’t too excited about that particular assignment and didn’t think I’d want to stay there throughout my entire stay. It took me a few weeks to become comfortable there, but now, I’m totally attached to it. Among the volunteers, Hospital for Kids is considered “the most hard core” placement (to quote one of them). The conditions are tougher than at the other orphanages, and the kids tend to be sicker both physically and emotionally. Nobody would want to live there. I consider my biggest accomplishment of this experience to be that I’m the only volunteer who’s consistently stuck with the Hospital for Kids for the last seven weeks.

Now the payoff is starting to overwhelm me. Yesterday’s caregiver apparently felt the need to start preparing the kids for my imminent departure. Before we began working, she started talking about some special volunteers of the past and then said, “And when Yoolya leaves, we will all be very sad.” Then one of the kids chimed in: “We will all cry!” I was so taken aback and so moved … I nearly burst into tears on the spot. That moment is definitely among the most overwhelmingly and touching moments of my life.

I don’t know what I’ve brought to that place that merits such disarming praise. But I do know that I’ll never be able to accurately inventory all I’ve reaped there.

I’m increasingly finding myself bracing for my departure. I leave a week from Sunday to start two weeks of travel to St. Petersburg & Scandinavia. Suddenly, that two-month volunteer experience that seemed to stretch before me with such luxurious vastness has become alarmingly short. Wait a minute! I’m just now learning to ask the kids some quasi-meaningful questions and actually understand the answers! What will happen to Kid A, who was a perfectly normal and happy kid until last week, when he started to come into the room sinfully overmedicated and falling asleep on the filthy floor? What about Kid B, who is perfectly happy as long as she gets her 5-minute hug every day — who will make sure she gets hugged? And that teenager who is so smart and responsible and protects the little kids from bullies — how will I ever know if grows up to be the awesome man that I believe that he will?

I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave at all!

Time to change the subject … had an awesome three days in Moscow last weekend. Saw all the must-see sights (Kremlin, Red Square, St. Basil’s, Lenin’s Tomb, etc.) and saw an opera (La Boheme) at the Bolshoi. Perhaps my favorite place was the Ismylova market. I’m a sucker for a good flea market. Now I have to ship a bunch of stuff back home because I don’t want to travel with it. We stayed in a lovely hotel, so another highlight was a delightfully long, hot, bath (no bathtub at my hotel in Yaroslavl – only a shower). My roommate, Marla from Michigan, said she could hear me let out a long, happy sigh in the other room as I slid into the bathtub.

For pics from Moscow (not the bathtub, I promise!) and other stuff, click here.

Highlights of the week

3-legged race in the snow

It’s Pancake Week — sort of a Russian version of Mardi Gras, a time of excess leading up to Lent, which begins Monday. It was also Valentines Day, a day that’s has just begun to be celebrated in Russia since the fall of the Soviet Union. They don’t call it Valentines Day. They call it “Day of Love.” So we spent most of the week doing Valentines and Pancake Week activities with the kids.

The kids really loved doing Valentines projects. They were very excited to make Valentines cards and worked really hard to make them as beautiful as they could. I was really thrilled to see the care and creativity they put into them.

The next day, Dascha & I were sitting with some kids and she asked them who they gave their cards to. One kid gave his to his mother. One gave his to a girl. Another gave his to his teacher. Then, the last kid said, “I put mine in the mailbox and pretended like I mailed it to somebody.” I thought I was going to melt into a puddle on the floor.

We all know that kids say the darnedest things, and these kids are no exception. One kid asked me how long it takes me to get home to America. About 10 to 12 hours, I answered. He looked puzzled and asked, “When do you sleep?” He thought I was coming to the orphanage every day from America and going back home every night!

The kids ask Dascha questions about America all the time. They are convinced that she is American because she speaks English. She’s given up trying to convince them that she’s as Russian as they are.

We had games in the snow with the street kids at City Camp this week for a Pancake Week celebration. (These kids are underprivileged, not orphans — they’re really smart and fun!) I’ve never run a three-legged race or played tug-of-war in the snow before, but it’s FUN!!!!

On Monday, we worked with 25 kids at the Hospital for Kids. By Friday, we were down to 9. A virus is creeping through the building, and lots of the kids are sick. When we were leaving Friday, they mentioned that the hospital is under quarrantine, but we’re like family now, so they let us come anyway. (Uh, could you mention the quarrantine beforehand next time?) They’ll give us masks next week if we want, they said. This is a tough one for me. I don’t want to wear a mask and I don’t want to get sick. Still chewing on it.

The teaching methods here are so different from ours. They use much more negative feedback and have a much more rigid definition of a “right way” and a “wrong way” to do something. The kids show the volunteers a project they finish, and we all say, “Oh, that’s so beautiful!! Great job!!!” The translators and the nurses say, “That’s good, but you need to go color in that white spot. And try not to go outside the lines so much.”

As a volunteer, such cultural differences can be frustrating. One day a kid asked Dascha why we didn’t come the previous day. She said, “We just didn’t come.” I wanted to yell at her, “Don’t tell him that! Tell him why we didn’t come — because we went to a different orphanage! Don’t let him think we just didn’t bother!” Last week, another volunteer went home. This volunteer became especially close to one child and they agreed to write letters to each other. The caregiver ( an excellent caregiver, by the way) told me that it’s good they became so close, because now she tells the child that he has to be good or Glenn won’t write to him! I was mortified! But she told me that anecdote with great pride. It’s just the way they do things here – a very different approach to teaching and management, but I can’t help but find it disturbing quite often. If I’d grown up here, I’d never have learned any confidence in myself!

It’s been a fun weekend because of Pancake Week – big festivals in the city — amusement park rides, parties, parades, competitions. It all ends tonight with “Burning of the Straw.” They burn straw dolls at the plaza square by the Church of Elijah the Prophet. “It’s supposed to scare away the winter, but it never does,” Nadia says.

Russian Paradise

Descent to the banya

It’s -15 degrees Fahrenheit at the end of this long, frozen, unpaved road, somewhere between the Styx and the middle of nowhere. Fifteen former strangers, ages 9 through 69, from five different countries, pile out of assorted dirty vans and cars, loaded with bags and bundles.

They trudge through calf-deep snow toward a stairway that seems to cascade off a cliff into the frozen center of the earth. Silently, they descend. And descend. And descend. It’s too cold to talk. It’s too cold to stop. The only noise is 30 boot-clad feet stomping down wooden stairs covered in crunchy snow.

The stairway finally ends at the front porch of a cozy rustic cabin. Inside lies Russian paradise.

But first, we must celebrate outside. It’s the sixth birthday of our organization’s program in Russia, and we’re here for a party. We’re not frozen enough, or fed enough, to enter Russian paradise just yet.

First, a Russian version of Blind Man’s Bluff in the snow. And some singing. And some general frolicking and snow-throwing. A friendship circle, lots of giggling. Finally, we can go inside.

Off come boots, hats, gloves, scarves and coats. Bags are unloaded: smoked ham and chicken, assorted breads and cheeses, tomatoes, cucumbers, pickles, oranges, apples, cakes, crackers, chocolates, wine, water. The children stay outside to play some more. The women chop and prepare food. The men help, washing dishes and opening bottles.

The children come in and the feast begins. We eat. We eat some more. We eat some more.

The toasts begin. Russians like to toast, even when they’re not drinking, and only the volunteers are drinking the wine (Nadia promised not to notice if we brought some). Nadia begins her toast by saying she dreamed last night that we all began toasting so much that we didn’t have a chance to actually go into the banya, so we try to keep the toasts short. We don’t succeed by American standards, but by Russian standards, we do.

Now, the moment we’ve all been waiting for … the women head upstairs, the men stay downstairs. Everybody changes into the banya attire, which is big sheets, flipflops, and dopey woolen hats that, if worn in America, would make you a laughingstock in nice neighborhoods and would possibly lead to bodily injury in not-so-nice ones.

We take turns entering the banya, the sauna. About six of us can enter at a time. It’s dominated by a scorching-hot brick stove and a bucket of water filled with birch and eucalyptus branches. The branches are used to shake water on to the stove, which creates more steam. The branches also fill the sauna with the freshest, most therapeutic scent imaginable.

In addition, the branches are used to help blood circulate. How? Well, the Russians thrash each other with the branches from head to toe. Olga the bookkeeper worked me over pretty good. She kept asking if she was hurting me, but I loved it. When she was done, she told Nadia to go into the sauna and check on me. “I think she’s dead,” she told her. (I wasn’t dead at all. I was blissfully relaxed.)

When you just can’t stand the heat of the steam for one more second, you run out of the cabin into the snow. The Russian women throw off their sheets when they get outside and hurl themselves into the snow buck-naked. I’m not that Russian. (Men are ordered to stay inside for this part.)

Then the whole process repeats itself for the next three or four hours. Into the sauna, into the snow, have a little snack. Then back into the sauna, back into the snow, have a little snack.

During this entire time, a pot of honey mixed with salt is sitting in the banya. It’s getting warmer and warmer. During the last trip to the sauna, the women scrub themselves from head to toe with the warm salted honey, then shower.

It’s time to go. Every pore is cleansed, every muscle blissfully relaxed. You hardly notice the long climb back up the staircase through the forest.

I think the Russians are on to something.

Nadia (Russia), Brian (USA), Carol (Scotland/England), Debra (Canada), Victoria (USA)

Hanging downstairs at the banya

L-r: Olga (translator), Olga (bookkeeper), Julia (translator), Nadia (program director)

Vladymir (driver), Julia (translator) & Nicolai (driver)

Our translators: Olga, Dascha & Julia

(To see more pictures, click here.)

Vladymir & Suzdal

My sleigh & driver

Went to the historic cities of Vladymir & Suzdal this weekend. Started in Suzdal, which is a small town. It’s famous for its wealth of amazing ancient churches. They seem to be strung along the hills there like pearls.

My favorite thing of the whole trip was riding the sleigh pictured here. I’m such a Southerner – I didn’t know such sleighs really existed, but they were lined up all along the main square in town. I was with Debra, a Canadian from Prince Edward Island, who was as amazed at my delight as I was at her nonchalance. She couldn’t believe I’d never even seen a sleigh! “I ride these things all the time!” she said, rolling her eyes at me. But she was a good sport and went along for the ride. I felt like I was living in “Jingle Bells,” riding in a one-horse open sleigh; she thought it was another day at the office.

We were in Suzdal only for a few hours. It was too bitterly cold to really enjoy thoroughly. It was the first time I’ve really been miserably cold since I’ve been here. My guess is it was at least -15F. I was wearing thermals, courdoroys, and a 700-ct down coat, and I still had goose bumps on my legs. It was absolutely frigid. I’d love to go back in warmer weather!

From Suzdal, we went to the city of Vladymir, about 30 minutes away. It’s a much larger city, about 350,000 people. The main sights there are an ancient cathedral built circa. 1108 and the city’s ancient golden gate.

We stayed in a lovely hotel there. My favorite part of Vladymir was dinner at the hotel. We showed up in the dining room to find a private party in progress — two long tables packed end to end, probably 70 people or so. And in the corner at the front of the room was a table for 4. The restaurant seated us at that table, right next to the party. Whoever was having the party didn’t seem to mind.

Also in the front of the room was a stage. Debra, Carol (from England) and I were eating our soup, when suddenly this dinner show starts and out come these four dancers who do a Las Vegas showgirl routine. It was so cool! Then a woman singer came out and sang to recorded music, then a male singer sang a song. All the partyers were dancing. Then the dancing girls came back as Swiss Misses and danced some more, then more singing from the woman and the man. Then the dancers came back and did a can-can routine.

We were in awe of how the Russian men love to dance! They were grabbing the women and pulling them on to the floor. A few of the men even danced together Russian style when the women didn’t feel like dancing with them. Some of them also danced and flirted with the dancing girls. One guy kept pulling Carol up to dance with him. It was great! The three of us all come from different countries, but none of us had ever seen men who were so eager to dance!

Historic Church at Suzdal – my favorite one!

Vladyrmir Cathedral, built circa. 1108. I couldn’t keep the snow off my camera.

To see more photos, click here.

Hospital For Kids Photos

Hospital For Kids

Front Entrance – Hospital For Kids

Stairway To Our Classroom – Hospital For Kids

Little Victories & Other Stories

Nastia & Friend

After working with the kids for three weeks, it’s so rewarding to start to see some little victories!

* The kids love to play Uno. The thing is, they don’t know how. They think everybody just gets a bunch of cards, you throw down any random card when it’s your turn, and you draw a card out of the pile whenever the urge strikes. I’ve been trying to teach them that, no, you have to put a green (“zeelony”) card on a green card, or a card of another color but the same number. They just don’t get it. But this week, the light went on in one kid’s eyes! He told the other kids that just me & him were going to play a game – and he played correctly! I am so TOTALLY jazzed over that!

* We got a new girl at the Hospital for Kids on Tuesday named Sveta. I think she’s about 14. The first day, she stood at the door like a scared stray cat. I smiled and beckoned her in and put a project down for her to work on. She cried the entire time. Wednesday, same thing. Thursday, repeat. But today, she walked in, sat down and started working on her project with a lot of interest and no tears. Then she invited me to play a game with her. She was relaxed, comfortable and interested the whole time. SCORE!

* One of my favorite kids, Nastia, was moved from the Hospital for Kids about a week ago to a regular orphanage. We went to the closing ceremonies for the orphanage festival on Monday, and from out of nowhere, this cute little blue-eyed pixie came running up to me shrieking, “YOOLYA! YOOLYA!” and gave me a big hug! (In Russia, I’m not Julie. I’m “Yoolya!” They have no “J” in the Cyrillic alphabet, and Yulya is a fairly common name, so that’s what they call me.)

* The kids love us, and I’m starting to get a core group of kids I’ve bonded with. Today more kids wanted to play with us than the size of the room allowed. They were lined up at the door waiting for their turn. It was so sweet. We pack up to leave and they’re jockeying to carry our bags for us. “Are you coming back tomorrow?” they ask. “Will you promise to always come back?”

Other stuff …

* I got one of my wishes today: broccoli! Nadia ordered us pizza for an afternoon workshop, and there were little florets on it! I nearly kissed her, even if the broccoli WAS on pizza!

* The prostitutes here telemarket! They know the direct dials to all of our hotel rooms. Every night, the phone rings. If a woman answers, they hang up. If a man answers, they proposition him. I can tell it’s the prostitutes calling before my phone rings: I hear it ring in the room next door first.

* Really getting cold! This weekend is supposed ot be -4F. It hasn’t really bothered me much because I’m dressed for it, but the bite is really getting stronger!

* Met two nice kids tonight: Maria, 19, and Dmitri, 20. They’re students and asked Nadia to arrange to talk to a few of us so they could practice their English. Dmitri kept saying, “That’s cool!” They were adorable. It was interesting to hear about their lives. They’re natives of Yaroslavl and very educated, so I was surprised to learn that each of them has only been to Moscow once and St. Petersburg once, and then only for a day trip. Dmitri spent one night in Moscow. Maria grew up in a one-room home; Dmitri grew up in a 3-room home and lived with his mother and grandparents in it. They were very sweet and we may meet with them again.