Going native

From 2010-01 Classmates in Minsk

One of my classmates, Barış, had long beautiful hair. Actually, he's got beautiful eyes and a beautiful soul too, but today I'm talking about his hair. When I first met him, he generally wore it pinned back so it would cascade to his shoulders but it didn't hide his face. Attempting a gradual transition toward his required service in the Turkish Army, he cut it to above his shoulders, but since he arrived with his hair unpinned, nobody noticed that it was shorter. Barış was disappointed that nobody noticed his haircut.

After a week or two, he went totally Belarusian. This time we noticed. It was fun to watch people's faces one-by-one as they came into the classroom. I don't think I was the only one who had to look twice to realize that he wasn't a new student.

I saw the same thing happen to the Americans on the staff at Copper Canyon Lodge in Mexico. They all grew moustaches after the local style. My own stylistic shifts have all been sartorial (Linen!) so I'm enjoying the boldness of Barış' shift.

Snow removal

Folks around here do an amazing job of snow removal. One evening soon after we arrived, we were out for a walk and saw a convoy of eight vehicles plowing the snow from a four-lane street. Each vehicle was offset a meter or two from the one ahead of it and working in combination they were able efficiently to move two lanes of snow to the center of the street. Some of the vehicles looked like the plows we see in Boston, with sand spreaders in the back. There were also water trucks fitted with plow blades and graders (with blades mounted between the front and rear wheels.)

I was initially puzzled about why they put the snow on the double yellow line in the center of the street, since in Boston they put the snow into the gutter and then move it later if it’s not melting quickly enough. Since Minsk doesn’t expect a thaw, however, they are conscientious about picking up all the snow they move. They have a really great machine with a scoop at the bottom with two arms that pull the snow up to a conveyor belt, over the top of the machine, and into a truck following backwards. They can haul off a whole lot of snow in a hurry this way.


For smaller jobs, the most common piece of snow-moving equipment is tractors fitted with a plow blade in the front and a rotary brush in the back. Here’s a picture of a medium-sized version with the brush lifted. These babies are amazing. The plow blades have a brush at the bottom, and they don’t scrape the pavement. Then the rotary brush moves the last inch of snow out of the way.

Folks in Belarus really take good care of their stuff. The non-scraping snowplows are one example, and another would be the way the plow drivers are attentive to stay on the paths when they plow out the parks. Let’s just say that this is different from Boston!

Minus 29

This morning I was eager to work out before class at the Hotel Minsk. I got my stuff ready before bed so I could leave the house around 6:30 and get to the hotel when the fitness center opened at 7:00. Ready by 6:15, I went to have a look at the Internet. First thing I discovered was that it was -29 degrees at the Minsk Airport. (a.k.a. -20˚ F) Wow, that’s cold! I’d never experienced anything much below zero (F) before this.

I re-thought my plan. Maybe I’d better take a bus. I also sent a message to “my kids,” a few last words so they’d know I was thinking of them if I froze to death at the bus stop. Then I headed out.

Surprisingly, in dark stillness the air didn’t seem all that cold. Snow fell lightly, and crunched loudly under my feet. My neighbor walked out moments ahead of me, and I saw him turn away from the bus stop, in the direction I would have walked to the hotel. Heck, I thought, if he can do it, I can do it.

He didn’t walk my direction for long, but I did. It was great!

The tailor shop

I brought a couple of pair of pants that were feeling too tight in the waist so I found a tailor shop. This wasn't easy to find. While various people said we'd find a shop "just over here," or "just over there," I never found them. Fortunately, Alla remembered seeing one and knew specifically where it was, near where we lived previously. It's called "Clothing Repair," and I'm pretty sure it's state-run, just like the giant shoe-repair shop I found near the University.

I went over there today with my pants. Walking in the front door, I saw a sign pointing to a salon on the left. Not sure what kind of a salon this might be, I checked to the right and saw a bunch of women at sewing machines. Really. I mean a LOT of women at sewing machines. So I went to the right. Folks were friendly, and one of the women near me said hello, but nobody got up from their work. I waited. Finally somebody asked me what I wanted and directed me to the salon.

When I told the well-dressed woman at the desk in the salon what I wanted, she sent me into one of two changing rooms and called a woman away from the sewing machines. She measured me and marked the intended circumference on the waist band of my pants. This makes ever so much more sense than the American method of marking a V on the back of the pants indicating how much more fabric to let out from the other side.

Anyway, I had my choice of spending $10 and coming back in two days or spending $13 and coming back in an hour. Since this place isn't on any of my regular routes, I opted for the one-hour service and went to the shopping center nearby to buy a pair of speakers. The speakers are great, and so are the pants.

(The speakers are MicroLab Solo 6C. I don't think this brand is available in the US, but they sound really amazing for the money. They sure were heavy to schlep home, but I'm happy to report that it was entirely worthwhile.)

Harassment by the coat-check lady

Sometimes I enter the university by the main door, but I stopped after the coat-check lady complained that my shearling coat was too heavy. The other day I came back, however, and she was quite pleasant with me. It turns out that she was once an English teacher, though it was forty years ago and she’s pretty out of practice with the language. In spite of her skills in my language, I generally make her talk to me in Russian.

Today I came back twice, once for class and once in the afternoon with my sport gear so I could lift weights. When I came back the second time, I chose the other window so she wouldn’t have to lift my coat. She chided me and I went over to her window after all. At her stand, there aren’t special hooks for hats so she puts my hat on a shelf under her counter and just remembers that it’s mine.

My hat, the one on the right, is easy to remember, because it’s different. Folks at home always ask me if I got my hat in Russia because it’s fur and it’s similar in style to traditional Russian hats. To folks here, the differences are pronounced. My hat has a rounded top, whereas a real Russian hat would be more cylindrical, perhaps even wider at the top than at the base. It’s obvious that my hat wasn’t made here, nor was it made for this market.

Back to the coat-check lady: When I came back the second time to retrieve my stuff, she asked me where I found my hat. She went on to say something about a dog, but I didn’t fully understand. I supposed she asked me if it were dog fur, but maybe she thought a dog brought it to me. Sorry: it clean got by me. Anyway, I assumed she was teasing me about dog fur and I assured her it was definitely rabbit.

Maybe one of my readers can clarify this for me. This symbol: @ is commonly called “dog,” so maybe it’s also slang for that kind of hat. On the other hand, one of my co-workers years ago told me repeatedly that my hat looked to her like I had a cat on top of my head. I dunno. Maybe it's time for an upgrade.

--- Late-breaking news ---
My friend and neighbor Elena Napier reports, "Some years ago Russian market was flooded with hats and coats made in China of fur unknown origin and there were rumors that it is a dog fur. Since than people call some unknown furs 'собака'."

Volleyball

The other day I received my “sportivnaya spravka.” This is a document from the health clinic stating that I am allowed to participate in physical education. The document even has a nice official-looking rubber stamp. This isn’t exactly what the guy at the “sportivny zall” (hall of sport) told me to get, but that’s what I’ve got.

Before attempting anything at the sportivny zall, I went to the administrative office of my language program to ask for a letter from them inviting me to use the facilities. The administrative assistant, who didn’t even work there when I played volleyball some eighteen months ago, asked me if I wanted to play volleyball. Yes, that’s among the things I’d like to do. But how did she know? This level of attention is a little bit eerie for me.

Клюква

There’s a berry here called klyukva, or “cranberry.” It’s smaller than an American cranberry, juicier, and the skin is tenderer. I suppose they’re related, but I’m not really sure. I became acquainted with this berry originally as the basic ingredient in a Russian drink called “morse.” That’s not how they spell it, but this way you’ll pronounce it correctly.

The other way I got to know klyukva was as an ingredient in my favorite dessert at the restaurant in the woodland park called Belaverskaya Puscha. In that case the klyukva served as an ingredient in a topping for vanilla ice cream.

We ended up with a whole lot of this stuff because Alla knows it as a fine source of vitamin C and she bought the whole remaining supply of a sympathetic babushka at the market. We didn’t have any ice cream, but I figured I could make a fine simple dessert of my own by smashing klyukva and blending it with honey. It was very tasty, but I shouldn’t have tried to eat so much of it at one sitting. It’s very sour, apparently a result of high acidity. After eating a bowl of this stuff, my teeth were sensitive for two or three days following. I have made a note to myself on this point.

Today Alla made some homemade mors. (I know, I called it “morse last time. We’re getting closer now. It’s морс in Russian.) If you want to consume klyukva, this is an excellent way to do it. (Yes, Peter, It’s probably good in vodka too.) Морс is pretty much like American cranberry juice cocktail, except that it’s made with honey and it’s got bits of fruit floating around in it. And the berries are different. I think you just need to try it. If you hurry over here, we may still have some berries in the freezer.