Day trip to Zaslavl

On my way back from Vilnius, the train took me alongside a cute little town. I whipped out my phone and asked Google Maps to tell me where I was: Zaslavl. I’d been there once before in my student days but didn’t remember it very well. Since it looked cute and I wanted to see more of Belarus, I decided to come back, and I invited my Belarusian daughter, Tanya. I planned far enough ahead to learn that the trains run so often that one can basically show up at the station whenever he wants to go there, and we agreed to go on the following Monday. Fortunately, however, Tanya did a little research and learned that the museum would be closed on Monday, so we postponed the trip until Saturday.

We had a great time. Once we figured out how to get the tickets and where to catch the train (the ticket lady was none too helpful), we got to Zaslavl in about half an hour. We decided to start with the museum, which we found easily despite the crazy V-shaped route Google Maps thought we should take. Our direct route took us to the back entrance, which proved convenient because there was only one docent running the whole museum and she was out with a group. She invited us to join her group and we started the tour from the middle. We made our first stop at a grain mill, the central feature of the museum. The other people on the tour were sisters whose grandmother had owned such a mill. They explained to us in detail how everything worked and took pictures of us near the grinding wheels.

From the museum, we found our way along a delightful stream to the entrance of the city’s other main historical attraction, one of two very old churches. It’s a beautiful building with a fine garden, protected by a tall earthwork covered with wildflowers. We explored all viewpoints before picking our way to the other church, which needs maintenance and is not open to visitors. We didn’t mind, however, because we had a nice walk on a nice day and the birds overhead made us feel as cheerful as they sounded.

Finally, we set out to find lunch. Or dinner. We debated about asking our phones where to eat, but then I spotted an actual human being, who told us how to find the nearest (and possibly only) options. There was a wedding going on at the restaurant where she sent us, and the waitress admitted as we left that she felt a little frazzled running the bar and serving the wedding as well as the restaurant guests all at once. We hadn’t noticed that she was frazzled, however. We were sitting in a nice room with a pleasant view out the window and occasional sightings of the wedding party dancing and making merry. Everybody seemed happy and we enjoyed our meal at the same time.

I was ready to go home after the late lunch. We’d had such a wonderful day that I figured we were more likely to wreck it by plunging into the new part of town than to extend our pleasure. Tanya felt optimistic, however, so we went. I picked out a route parallel to the main street, and it felt positively rural. I could see traffic parallel to us, but we walked alongside beautiful yards in a modernized Belarusian village. We had a great walk, saw nothing in particular, and walked back by a slightly different route. The birds continued to chirp, the sun continued to shine, and we continued to enjoy this fine little town.

I look forward to finding more of these little gems. It’s easier to have fun outside of Minsk than I imagined.

Doing business

As I wrote to a friend, “Doing business in Belarus is a maddeningly obtuse process, softened by displays of great kindness and generosity.” Here’s the story of the day.

I decided this morning that I’d like to go hear some music, and maybe bring along one or more of my blind friends. I went online to see if I could find a show they might like, maybe a rock concert of some sort. I found nothing promising, but stumbled across a jazz show by a group called the City Jazz Quartet. I listened to some of their music on YouTube, and they’re the real deal. Far better than the third-rate American musicians who sometimes come to perform in Minsk. And somehow, in the midst of a few unsold tickets, they had a block of four tickets off the center aisle in the orchestra section. They looked like ideal seats for this show, and I tried to buy a pair online.

I failed, of course. I don’t have a Belarusian bank card, and my Visa card never works for online ticket purchases. I tried, but couldn’t even reserve a ticket. Theoretically I could have reserved on the phone, but nobody answered either phone number so I want down to the nearest ticket agency, which turned out to be closed until August. The sign on their door said to go to October Square and see their affiliate. At October Square, they had different tickets to sell, but not the excellent seats I expected. I checked online. The tickets were still there. I tried to reserve them from my phone, but again without success. So I clicked through to get the address of an outlet with access to these seats. It was right where I started, beside the Metro station near home.

By the time I got to the right agency, the tickets I’d been trying to buy were no longer available. They’d been reserved but not picked up. I took second best and went home for lunch. After lunch, however, those two tickets were available again. Since the lady who sold me my tickets told me to keep the receipt “in case something comes up,” I figured she could help me swap them out. I assumed incorrectly, it turns out. She told me that they only sold tickets and if I wanted to make a return, I’d have to go to the main office. I opined that this sounded not worthwhile, but asked to know where it was. Maybe it would be useful information. She went into the back room, ostensibly to look it up.

She came back a few minutes later, stony faced. She walked right past me, over to her computer terminal. I followed. She typed. She scowled at the screen and typed some more, never saying a word to me. Somebody who appeared to be the shift supervisor came over to see what she was doing, and told her that she couldn’t take tickets back. My stony-faced clerk ignored her and made a couple of phone calls. I told her how grateful I was for her efforts. The big boss came in from the street and interrogated me on what the heck I was trying to do, but when she noticed her employee making progress she put her finger on her lips and went to the back of the store.

Now I have the tickets I set out to buy in the first place. It took far too long, but things often take a long time in Belarus. And, like now, the resolution may depend on somebody’s personal kindness. Somehow I find this frustrating and delightful at the same time.

Eating well

I’ve been trying to be methodical about my dinners, planning a week in advance and cooking interesting food for myself. It’s harder in Minsk because I don’t know how to buy things I’d like to use. I think the locals tend to work in the other direction: go to the store and imagine what you can make with what you find. I’m not that clever, however, and I start with recipes and struggle.

This evening I gave myself a pass. I hadn’t made a plan yet and I got home late after a long bike ride. What to do? I went onto TripAdvisor.com and looked around. I noticed that lots of people liked a restaurant called Spoon, which some friends had mentioned earlier. Since TripAdvisor thought I could eat there for a moderate price, and since I had no better plan, I rushed to the shower and called an Uber as soon as I got dressed. When I pushed the button on my app, it immediately reported that the car would be here in two minutes. I dashed to put on my shoes and get downstairs before the guy got here.

In my hurry, it turns out, I did not completely load my pockets. Specifically, I did not bring my wallet. I noticed this as I walked into the restaurant, patting my back pocket for reassurance and finding none. Oops. This place was far from home and my car had already left, so I put on my best “responsible citizen” expression and asked the hostess if, perhaps, they took Google Pay. (Fat chance. I don’t think it even exists in Belarus.) They’d heard of payments by phone, but could not help me out. I asked, then, if I might eat now and pay later. It was getting late and the round trip to get my wallet seemed overwhelming.

The hostess took me over near the manager, close enough that he could see me but far enough away that I couldn’t hear their conversation. They chatted. He looked at me. I came over and asked directly if I could eat now and pay later. He wanted to know when I’d pay, and I said I could even pay tonight if he wanted. He invited me to stay.

Guys, the food there is VERY GOOD. Delicious and interesting. Beautiful. (Sorry, but I didn’t take any pictures.) The waitress, the hostess and the manager were all super-nice. I loved it.

As I ate, I thought about how I’d pay. I’d hire an Uber to take me home, wait, take me back to the restaurant, wait, and take me home again. I could do that. But wouldn’t it be better simply to wait until tomorrow for the return trip, say around dinner time? Wouldn’t everybody like it better if I bought a second dinner tomorrow and paid for both of them at once? The manager thought so.

It sounds a lot better than going grocery shopping.

Kerfuffle

I saw my friends Sasha and Elena yesterday. Sasha was still celebrating his acquisition of an unusual English word, kerfuffle. He and I understand the word the same way. It’s about a disagreement that gets a little tense. I had one of those today.

I went down to the neighborhood bread store to get myself half a loaf of fresh bread (for about 32¢) and some snack stuff. Until maybe a year ago, everybody at this store queued up at the register of their choice and hoped they’d chosen a good line. But after a renovation and reconfiguration of the store, the space got so narrow that people started lining up in one long line and people at the front of the line split off to whichever register is free first. We all know it works better.

I noticed this transition taking place during the winter. Most people waited patiently in one line, but a few people would remember the old system and barge in front at the register farther from the queue. This usually resulted in a collapse of the new system and other people would add themselves to the newly-formed (and shorter) queue for the second cashier. It happened often enough that I didn’t feel bad about joining the disorder at that time, but now people are quite conscientious and cooperative about occupying a single line and letting the person who waited longest go to the first available cashier. I’ve been reformed, and always wait with everybody else.

Today, a man and his wife passed an unusually-long line in order to install themselves at the second register, immediately behind the person finishing her transaction. I tapped the man on the shoulder and told him that we’re occupying a single line and indicated the lengthy queue behind me. The people behind me looked like they wanted him to understand that they felt the same way.

The man replied that he’s been shopping here all his life and he knows how things work.

I replied that things change. I too remember the way it used to be, but the store is different now.

He congratulated me for remembering the old store, but went on to explain that he was born here and really knew how things worked.

I turned to the people behind me and said, “I tried.” They thanked me quietly, but nobody else spoke up to the couple. The line jumpers left the store just after me, as I was gathering my gym bag from a locker in the entryway. With a great show of graciousness, I opened the door for them and welcomed them. The lady behind them, who had been first behind me in the line, acted both amused and delighted.

Emboldened, I pressed my case as we walked down the sidewalk, encouraging the couple as kindly as I could to notice how the other people in the store were behaving. He bristled, returned to his refrain about his birthright and, basically, told me to shove off.

That, my friends, is a kerfuffle.

From Green to greens

When we arrived in Minsk last month, our taxi driver mentioned that he liked a new hypermarket we passed, called Green City. I finally decided to pay them a visit today. For the sake of exercise, I walked. It took me well over an hour to get there and I arrived hungry, so I started by looking for a café. Unfortunately, there isn’t one. The hypermarket anchors a new mall, but most of the smaller spaces are still empty. The lady at the information desk suggested that I could buy a sandwich at the Green City juice bar, so I went there first.

I waited in line as a woman called Anna served the people ahead of me. She looked glum. I couldn’t tell if she were unhappy or if she simply thought her customers were contemptible. I resolved to make her smile, but didn’t feel optimistic about it because she looked like a tough case. Nevertheless, the customer ahead of me broke through with a little joke. She laughed, and I remarked on how pleasant it was to see her smile. She continued to smile, more or less, as she sold me a beef burger and a chicken wrap, which she took from a refrigerator and heated in a microwave. I liked the chicken wrap OK, but wasn’t so thrilled by the beef burger, which reminded me of a stale Big Mac. This being Belarus, the “secret sauce” must have been about 97% mayonnaise. My sandwich was a little cold, but I didn’t ask her to warm it any more because the microwave heating had already made the bun tough and I figured that any further heating would render the burger impossible to chew.

Fortified by my nutritious lunch, I went to explore the store. As I turned, my eye fell on a very unhappy-looking customer coming up the aisle. I looked around. Nobody older than high-school age smiled. OK. I exaggerate a bit. I saw a little hint of a smile here or there, but this did not come across to me as a happy place. The employees in their silly green uniforms certainly didn’t light the place, and the customers seemed to take their cues from the employees. Nothing I saw made me happy either. I wouldn’t buy any of their produce, which didn’t look terribly appealing, and couldn’t find anything else that even interested me. I tried hard to buy toothpaste, but couldn’t figure out where they kept it. I saw wiper blades and underwear, but needing neither I left with a bottle of drinkable yogurt and a package of crackers apparently made out of cardboard. (I’m not kidding. You should try them.)

Still needing some fruits and vegetables, I got onto the Metro and went back to Komorovsky Market. I love that place. Everything is different there. It’s dark and drafty, but people inside smile. Customers chat animatedly with each other as they walk to and fro. Sales people beckon: “Buy from me. Buy from me!” I went straight to Terane, from whom I always buy my greens. She welcomed me with a big smile and sold me beautiful and delicious stuff. Her friend the fruit lady next door took good care of me too. Then I went off and found Lydia, who makes mozzarella cheese at home and sells it at the market. Lydia isn’t always there, and this is the first time I’ve found her this year. Standing in a drafty place over her refrigerated showcase, she wore multiple layers and looked somewhat inflated. I bought two chunks of cheese, one for myself and one for Terane. Then I went back to buy some basil and some more tomatoes to go with my fresh mozzarella, giving Terane cheese to take home to her family when I finished. That’s the way to shop.

For more pictures, see this month's album here.

Minsk Mosque

I saw a news report a few weeks ago, telling about the opening of a new mosque in Minsk. Apparently, it had been under construction for some ten years; and finally some donors from Turkey took steps to get it completed. I was curious to see it, and didn’t have too much trouble talking my friend Natasha into helping me find it, since most of her students are Muslim and she was curious as well.

Officially, they give tours on Saturdays, but we dropped in optimistically today. We walked around the building trying to imagine the proper way in. Finally, we tried a door on the lower level, which opened but we found nobody inside. We tried all the other doors, but none of them opened so we returned to the first one, but felt reluctant to go inside without an invitation. Cautiously, we let ourselves into the reception area, where we saw lots of coats hanging in the wardrobe but I still couldn’t find a person as I went around knocking on doors. The last time I’d been in a mosque, in Kazan, I felt a little unwelcome, so I wanted to avoid putting myself into a position where I might offend somebody else here.

Nobody at this mosque, however, displayed anything but welcome. The young man who eventually found us brought us back to a meeting room where the Imam was lecturing a group of Christian ladies, explaining Islamic theology from their Christian point of view. He answered their questions with patience and, I think, a little imagination. I asked one question myself, about something that puzzled me when I read the Quran last year. The Book talks a lot about what men can expect in the afterlife (it’s pretty great) but says nothing about provisions for women. The Imam explained that women are cared for too, and that they can be invited into heaven by their husbands. They can get there through their own piety as well, and even invite their wayward husbands if necessary. I hadn’t seen any of these details in the Quran, and enjoyed hearing his explanation. We stayed for about a half hour, and then slipped out when we heard the doorman walk down the hall. He invited us into the first-floor prayer room, where we looked at photographs on the wall of prior Islamic structures in Belarus. There had been quite a few Muslims here before Soviet times, and the original Minsk mosque looked a lot like the new one.

We asked about upstairs, and he offered to get a key so he could take us up to the main prayer room. It’s bright, spacious and cold. They only heat it for their big religious gatherings on Fridays, but the thick carpet felt warm under our stocking feet.

The women’s areas, both downstairs and up, are much smaller than the men’s areas. Our guide explained that women come to pray much less often than men, and they usually rely on their husbands’ piety to assure their place in Paradise. I hope that works out for them. I’d show up, just in case. Now they’ve got a nice place in which to pray.

Note: To see more pictures of the mosque and all of this month's photos, click here.

Моя большая компания

[Аанглийская версия English version]

Суббота был День Города, когда мы отмечали 949 лет со дня основания Минска. Моя подруга Зарина предложила, чтобы мы пригласили ее незрячих и слабовидящих друзей и пошли в центр города на праздник. Она собрала восхитительную группу, включая ее парня Женю. Это было важно, чтобы Женя был с нами, потому что он видит достаточно хорошо и может вести слепых людей до тех пор, как он знает, куда он идет. Если я ухожу дальше, чем нескольких метрах от него, однако, он не может найти меня; так что я должен быть внимателен. Остальные ребята вообще ничего не могут видеть.

Когда мы приехали во Дворце Спорта, сотрудники МЧС продемонстрировали свои навыки по спасению людей из горящих зданий, преодолению препятствий и в целом свой героизм. У них было много оборудования, в том числе огнезащитные костюмы, кислородные баллоны, необычные машины и другие вещи, которые мне казалось было бы интересно потрогать.

Я повел мою группу к одному из грузовиков, где мы сделали фото, а потом я спросил одного из парней, можно ли нам потрогать их снаряжение. Он сказал, что должен получить разрешение, и исчез. Его просьба пошла вверх по инстанциям, и, наконец, один важный человек пригласил нас встретиться с ним около их новейшей пожарной машины, где он сказал пожарным показать нам что-то. Профессиональная экипировка и снаряжение вероятно удваивает вес пожарного, и мы брали каждую часть по очереди, чтобы детальнее рассмотреть.

После МЧС, мы пошли валять дурака на ярмарке ремесел поблизости. Ремесленники поставили палатки на большой площади, где мы бродили от палатки к палатке и играли в игры на прикосновение. Моей любимой была игра около палатки с антиквариатом, где я передал людям вещи и просил их угадать, что я передал им. Нам особенно понравился красивый медный утюг, со съемными брусками внутри. Когда гладишь ткань, можно использовать тепло от одного бруска, а второй в это время нагревать на печи.

Я думаю, что парень, который делает национальные сувениры причудливых форм, доставил большое удовольствие моей компании своими демократичными ценами. К тому же, они купили несколько плюшевых игрушек, но Анжела ничего не купала там, поэтому продавец кинулся за нами вдогонку, чтобы дать её кролика в качестве подарка. На самом деле, некоторые из продавцов дали им подарки. Это было действительно трогательно видеть, как мои друзья обсуждают различные предметы, передавая их друг другу для изучения.

Говоря о «трогать», Вова попал в беду в конце дня, когда я рассказал ему, что я показывал ребятам кучу кукол. Он догнал Таню и провел рукой по ее голове, через плечо и коснулся ее левой груди. Понимая, что он смутился, я дразнил его, «Вова! Не трогать! У тебя уже есть своя собственная жена!» (Анжела жена Вовы.) Смущенный Вова даже не хотел трогать кукол после этого. Он не стал больше ничего трогать вообще, пока чувство смущения не оставило его.

Когда мы уже посмотрели все, что можно было, примерно за час до начала концерта около Ратуши, где мы закончили день, нам повезло. Я предложил попить чай в открытом ресторане на краю площади, и мы заняли последний столик. Ничего не могло быть лучше. Мы расслабились, пили чай и перекусывали и, когда музыка заиграла, мы слушали концерт, сидя за столиком. Группа, Песняры, в советское время была супергруппой и их любят до сих пор, так как они поют на беларуском языке. Когда я услышал их в первый раз шесть или семь лет назад, мне не понравилась их музыка, но теперь они завладели мной и концерт мне понравился.

В целом, мы наслаждались отличным днем товарищеских отношений, дружбы и открытий. Всё прошло великолепно, вплоть до того, что мы нашли палатку, где продавали шашлык, почти без очереди и со свежим мясом прямо с гриля. Сначала мы не могли найти столик, но кто-то заметил наше затруднительное положение и направил нас к столу, который должен был вот-вот освободиться. Я не предполагал, что это будет так легко руководить такой большой компанией, которые во всем полагаются только на меня, но наши совместные усилия принесли большое наслаждение.

Мой сайт с фотографиями изменил свои правила, и вы не можете увидеть фотографии этого месяца в обычном месте. Вот ссылка на альбом, включая фотографии сегодняшней экскурсии.

[Особая благодарность Антонины Спиридоновой за большую помощь с переводом.]

Big following

[Russian version русская версия]

Saturday was City Day, when we celebrated 949 years since the founding of Minsk. My friend Zarina suggested that we might form an entourage of her visually-impaired friends and go downtown for the festivities. She assembled a delightful group, including her boyfriend Zhenya. It was important to have Zhenya with us, because he can see well enough to lead blind people as long as he knows where he’s going. If I get more than a few meters away from him, however, he can’t find me; so I have to pay attention. The rest of the group couldn’t see anything.

When we arrived at the Palace of Sport, the Ministry of Emergency Situations was demonstrating their skills at rescuing people from burning buildings, beating through obstacles and being generally heroic. They had lots of equipment with them, including fireproof suits, oxygen tanks, fancy vehicles and other things I imagined would be interesting to touch.

I took my group over to one of their vehicles, where we paused for a photo, and then I asked one of the guys if we could touch some of their gear. He had to get permission, and disappeared. His request went up the chain of command, and finally one of the big shots invited us to meet him over by their newest fire engine, where he told a fireman to show us around. Dressing up in all that gear probably doubles a man’s weight, and we handled most of it a piece at a time.

From the Emergency Situations area, we went off to fool around at a craft fair nearby. Craftspeople had set up booths in a large area, where we wandered from booth to booth and played various touching games. My favorite was at a display of antiques, where I handed people things and asked them to guess what I’d handed them. We especially liked the beautiful brass iron, with the removable ingots inside. The user could have one ingot warming on the stove while ironing fabric with the heat from another ingot.

I think my followers probably got a bigger charge out of a guy who makes Belarusian souvenirs in whimsical shapes and prices them for easy purchase. In addition, they bought some stuffed animals, but Anzhela didn’t buy anything there and the vendor rushed over as we left to gave her a rabbit as a gift. In fact, several of the vendors gave them gifts. It was indeed touching to see my friends discussing various items, handing them back and forth for discovery.

Speaking of touching, Vova got into trouble late in the day when I told him I was introducing the group to a bunch of dolls. He caught up to Tanya and ran his hand down her head, over her shoulder, onto her left breast. Realizing that he’d gotten confused, I teased him, “Vova! Don’t touch! You’ve already got a wife of your own!” (Anzhela is Vova’s wife.) Embarrassed, Vova didn’t even want to touch the dolls after that. He wouldn’t touch anything more at all until his embarrassment subsided.

We got lucky, running out of things to explore about an hour before the concert would start on City Square, where we’d ended the day. I suggested that we stop for tea at an outdoor restaurant on the edge of the plaza, and we got the last table. It couldn’t have worked out better. We relaxed over tea and snacks until the music started, and we got to listen to the concert seated. The group, Pesnyary, was at one time a Soviet supergroup, and they’re still beloved here since they sing in Belarusian. I didn’t like their music the first time I heard them, six or seven years ago, but they’ve grown on me and I enjoyed the concert too.

Altogether, we enjoyed an excellent day of companionship, friendship and discovery. Everything worked out great, all the way down to finding a shashleek (sheesh-kebob) stand with almost no line and fresh meat right off the grill. Finding a table at which to eat it proved to be a momentary challenge, but somebody noticed our plight and led us over to a table where they were just finishing. I hadn’t imagined it would be so easy to lead around such a big entourage of people all relying on me at once, but our cooperative effort proved to be pure delight.

My photo sharing site has changed its rules, and you can't see this month's pictures in the usual place. Here's a link to the album including pictures of today's excursion.

Hairy Lake

The cleanest lakes in this area are named, if I were to do a direct translation, “Upper and Lower Hairs.” For readability, let’s use the Russian name, Volosi. There’s a popular beach at the spot where the two lakes join, and last year I discovered a footpath to the southern tip of the lower lake, where there’s a picnic table, a fire pit, and clear access to the water in a pathway between the reeds that generally line the shore.

I described this place to Alla last year, and even showed her pictures. I was eager to go back this year, principally because it’s a nice walk, but also because I like swimming in the clear water, where I can see the bottom however far it is from the surface. Since we’re leaving tomorrow, today would be our last chance. Alla agreed to come, knowing we’d be passing the cheese lady along the way. We decided to start right after breakfast because the weather still looked pretty good but the forecast didn’t promise much more sunshine.

We had a nice walk, and I found the place with only a little difficulty where the path led through a recently-mowed field and it was hard to distinguish the path from tractor tracks. At last, we walked down a narrow grassy clearing and I knew we’d almost arrived. The clearing widened into space to park and turn around a couple of cars. A path to our right led through the trees to the picnic table and fire pit. Grass grew in lush abundance despite the shade. We had the place to ourselves, and the last visitors had done a pretty good job of cleaning up after themselves.

“Here it is,” I exulted.

“This isn’t it,” Alla contradicted. She somehow imagined we’d be at a sunny and sandy beach, not at a shaded picnic table in the grass. She remembered the public swimming area where the two lakes met and hadn’t anticipated the reeds at the shore.

As I changed into my swimsuit, Alla sat down, dejected. “I’m not going,” she said. She didn’t want to walk into the water because the bottom looked dirty to her. This is the same blue clay she smeared all over her body at the public beach, but she would have none of it today.

As I walked out over the clay, it bounced under my feet, supported in a network of soft reed roots. Presently, the water got deeper and I launched myself to swim and to drink the sparkling water. I swam lazy laps where I could keep my eye on that opening in the reeds and occasionally encourage Alla to come out for a swim. She likes swimming, but she wouldn’t budge. After a while, I thought I’d better come back because she didn’t appear to be having a good time.

As we walked home, Alla thought about our friend Viktor, who keeps running for President of Belarus but never gets very far. “Poor Viktor,” she said, “he just wants to make life better for the people of Belarus but they have no use for anything new.”

I’ve heard Alla describe today’s beach a couple of times now, once to the cheese lady, whom we visited on our way home, and once to our friends after we got back. To her, it was a dirty-muddy place with no reasonable access to the water. To me, it was a beautiful spot where I could swim as far as I wanted and eat lunch at a rustic picnic table. I considered it a pleasant change from our shallow swimming hole in a less-transparent river. We rushed back, however, 8 km or so to our spot on the river so Alla might go swimming if the sun comes out again. Right now, that doesn’t seem likely.

Long walks

We’re in Ust'e, in the Braslav Lakes region of Belarus. We’ve had a mix of rain and sun, but the weather hasn’t limited our fun in any way. I’ve been catching up on reading and taking walks when I can’t go swimming. Day before yesterday I took only a short walk because I knew it would rain some more. I wandered over to a neighboring cottage and made friends with the family who owns it. I ended up spending upwards of an hour in their living room, talking life and politics beside a pleasant fire, while another storm passed overhead.

Yesterday I made an excursion to Slabodka, a small town about 4 km from here. On the way, I caught up with a group of Belgians also looking for groceries. None of them speaks Russian, so I helped them with some of their shopping before I went off to another store to buy some soap. The second shopkeeper asked if I were Belgian. She hadn't seen the Belgians yet, but I don’t think there are a lot of secrets around here. Shopping in Slabodka is like shopping at Ralph’s Pretty Good Grocery in Lake Wobegon: “If we don’t have it, you can probably get by without it anyway.” I came home with most of what I wanted and called it enough.

We did better at shopping today. We walked 4 km in another direction, to pick up some homemade farmer cheese. (Cottage cheese, sort of.) We took a cross-country route to our destination and a different cross-country route back. Along the way, we enjoyed a riot of wildflowers, green vistas, a few cows and horses, and a few very nice people. We decided along the way that we needed some eggs, so Alla started paying attention to see who has chickens.

As we approached the cheese lady’s place, we passed a home with two chickens in the yard. Alla asked if they could sell us a couple tens of eggs. (Dozens are apparently an English affectation. Ten is the number here.) The householder readily agreed, though she only had 16 to sell. That’s OK, because we made good use of the empty sockets in our second egg carton later on.

Leaving the village by a back road, we passed a family I’d met last year when I needed water, and then bumped into a guy named Joseph, who said he could sell us tomatoes, cheese and butter. We didn’t need any more cheese, but we’re sure glad about the tomatoes. They’re amazing. Then, along the path to our village, I noticed something spherical and white on the ground. Alla explained that it’s a rain mushroom, and they’re edible when fresh. They look like the spherical mushrooms everybody raves about in New England, but which I’ve never tried. They taste delicious. I ate a couple of them and we heaped the rest into the empty space in our second egg carton.

I’m enjoying the little challenges of getting by without a car and without any big stores nearby.

For more pictures, please see 2016-08 Belarus.

Two apples

We're on our way from Minsk to Braslav, riding in a bus. A few minutes ago, we stopped in Byagoml' for a ten-minute break. I wandered around the bus station, and found a woman setting up a table facing the street, preparing to sell apples and mushrooms. I figured we'd enjoy eating a couple of apples, so I called to her.

"Would you sell me just two?" I asked.

She nodded, "30,000 rubles."

Her apples weren't big enough to command that high a price, a dollar and a half, even in an expensive city. I frowned. Maybe she thought to take advantage of the foreigner. "That's expensive," I complained.

Thinking I may not have recognized that she was talking about old rubles, she persisted, asking incredulously, "three rubles is expensive?"

"For two apples it is," I replied.

"Oh," she said. "I misunderstood. That was for a bucket full." She withdrew four apples from one of her buckets and handed them to me. "Just take them."

I put the apples into my pockets and called her back. "Miss..." I handed her 5,000 rubles. "Thank you very much."

Before the bus left, I still had time to go to the toilet. That privilege generally costs 5,000 rubles in Minsk, but here it was just 1,300. I handed the attendant 1,500 and she scrabbled about in her box for change. She only had a single hundred-ruble note and no new kopeks. I thanked her and told her it was OK, but she promised to reimburse me, if she could, as I left. She didn't catch my eye as I went out, though, but she came to find me at the bus a few minutes later, a hundred rubles in her hand.

People here are very nice.

Adventures in international commerce

One of the big cell-phone companies in Belarus announced a tempting promotion, now that they’re rolling out 4G data in Minsk. You can buy unlimited 4G service for $.05 per day. That’s right: a nickel a day. And since there aren’t many clients yet, it’s amazingly fast. I’m getting speeds of up to 65 Mb/s, but right now I’m powering everything through my tablet because I don’t have a regular 4G modem.

I was aware of the promotion, and I could have bought a 4G modem from Amazon before I left the USA, a modem intended for sale in the Russian market. I wasn’t 100% sure that was what I needed, however, and decided I’d wait to buy my modem directly from the folks promoting the 4G service. Unfortunately, though, they don’t sell 4G modems. Nobody does.

I tried really hard to find one, and finally persuaded a guy at a local computer store to scour his favorite online sites to see if he could find one anywhere in the country for me. Yes, he found one. Just one, priced at $110. The one from Amazon was going to be $50. I cheaped out, and decided to look farther. I finally found an online merchant in Moscow selling the same thing as Amazon for $60, so I ordered it. They added a delivery fee, but it still felt like a deal, so I pressed ahead. Next, I had a really hard time with the payment.

They said I could pay with Yandex Wallet or by bank transfer. I took a look at Yandex and thought about opening a Wallet account, but I don’t have a local bank account and worried about giving my only credit card number to some Russian website that looks like an attractive target for hackers. Besides, I don’t really even know what’s involved in the setup after the first page, because it got stuck on my computer and I gave up and went off to the bank.

To be more accurate, I went to several banks. The first bank without a huge waiting line said that they could complete the transaction for an $18 fee. Frustrated by the size of the fee, I moved on. I also asked a couple of savvy (I thought) friends whether they had Yandex Wallet or knew anything about this. They didn’t know anything. Not even the one who works at the National Bank of Belarus. Now I do.

I learned about Yandex Wallet after I finished the transaction during my second visit to my bank of choice, only one mile from home. On foot. The bankers warmed to my predicament and even talked to the merchant in Moscow to try to figure out a cheaper and faster way to send the money. It took two bankers fifteen or twenty minutes, and I ended up paying $7 in commissions for a SWIFT transaction that will take several days. Unfortunately, I didn’t mention the words “Yandex Wallet” until too late. It turns out that anybody can send money through Yandex from automated pay stations located pretty much everywhere, and the commissions are generally around 3%.

One day I’ll receive my modem. Today I got an education. Yandex Wallet is (theoretically) easy. I should tell my friends.

Botanical Garden

I enjoy walking around Minsk, but I’ve spent most of my time walking around the same few places. A few days ago, I decided to try something new, to get to the Botanical Garden without taking any major streets. I almost succeeded in avoiding big streets, though I had to walk for a few minutes along Platonava Street, where I stopped to visit a couple of very interesting stores: a shop selling a wide selection of traditional Belarusian fabrics and a place specializing in work clothes. I didn’t need anything from either place, but I liked the fabric store a lot. In addition to raw fabrics, they sell bed linens and table linens, so I’m sure I’ll be back.

My busy street led right up to a side door at the Botanical Garden, an entrance I’d never discovered before this. I bought myself a ticket and the lady told me I should without fail go to visit the public greenhouse. As I headed straight over, snow began falling lightly. The light powdery coating decorated what I saw and made me especially glad to be there.

I arrived at the conservatory just as a group of school kids began to leave, and by the time I’d hung up my coat and taken a few steps in, I had the place almost to myself. Noticing bird cages lining the main walkway, I decided to start by walking past the birds, parrots of various kinds. I wondered if any of them talked. Yes, in fact, they do. The chattiest of the birds greeted me as I walked up. “Privet,” he said. (“Hello.”) I answered, and we greeted each other several times before I walked away. A boy and his grandmother walked up to the cage, and the same bird rapped on the cage with is beak and asked, “Kto tam?” (“Who’s there?”) The boy rapped back, and the bird asked again, “Who’s there?” The next bird answered, something about a crocodile. Alla said they were almost quoting a cartoon dialog involving a character called Crocodile Gena.

Of course the birds served simply as extra decorations in a building dedicated to flowers and plants. Touring the building, I stopped especially to admire the plants in flower and the cactus. Near the cactus garden, I noticed a door I’d ignored on my previous visits. It turns out there’s a café here, with reasonable prices and nice-looking food, though I didn’t stay to eat because I wanted to have lunch at home. I figured I could walk down the central pathway and out the main gate, right near a subway station.

Imagine my disappointment at the main gate then, when I discovered it locked and unattended. Apparently they use only the side entrance during the winter, and I had to walk all the way back and then retrace my steps outside the long wall so I could get to the subway. The two gates are far apart, and I got pretty hungry by the time I reached home, but enjoyed a great walk and a beautiful opportunity to see the Botanical Garden in winter.

Poetry show

Zarina got invited to participate in a poetry event at the factory where she works. Nearly everybody at the factory is visually disabled in some way, and it’s a group of people I’m gradually getting to know as a volunteer guide. Because they’re dependent on each other from time to time, they’ve got a special group dynamic that I enjoy seeing and experiencing. I asked if she could get me an invitation to the performance.

Zarina finally confirmed my invitation just before the event. I’d already made other plans for the day, and felt a little bit conflicted about taking the afternoon off, but knew the moment that I walked into the room that I’d made the right choice. In addition to the people I already knew, a variety of new people came in, helping each other with their coats and finding chairs for everybody. I looked around and discovered that everybody had gotten dressed up, and wished that I’d dialed up my own outfit one more step. This show looked to be a big deal.

I knew that I’d gotten my invitation as a special privilege, so when more people arrived I gave up my seat for them and offered to stand at the back of the room. One of the hostesses could see me, and she’d have none of that. She went out with a couple of other people and brought in some more chairs and made me take a seat in the newly-added front row. I felt extra special now.

The show couldn’t have been better. Nearly everybody had memorized their poems, some of which were quite long, during the course of a month. And then they presented them with appropriate amounts of humor, passion and pathos: poems translated from Shakespeare, as well as classic Russian poets, and modern Soviet poets. I understood them well enough to enjoy them, though I found one or two of the poems a little difficult. I also had a really good time watching the teacher and master of ceremonies read a few extra poems from braille. She held her sheaf of papers sideways and strummed the text like a guitar, reading by hand as quickly as she could talk. I’ve never seen anybody read braille before, and I had no idea it could be so efficient.

I’m inspired to try to learn one of the poems myself. I’ve downloaded it and I read it aloud one time to Alla. I had a hard time with the text and need to look up a few of the words, but I’ll practice bit by bit. I wish I’d made a recording from the show, because the reader did an excellent job with this poem’s humor, pacing and inflection. I’d like to learn to approximate that.

Volunteer activities

Our friend Elena teaches English at School Number 31 and I’ve gotten to know quite a few of her students over the years. She invited me over to her classroom yesterday to talk about volunteer work. One of her students has been especially busy with a cancer-treatment facility, and she inspired her peers to help raise money in a joint project for the school and the treatment center. Knowing that I have a volunteer project of my own, she thought we’d enjoy having a chat in English.

I’m really impressed by the level these students have reached in English language. Everybody is able to speak reasonably freely and carry on conversations comfortably. We talked about cooking, because I came to visit while they were baking pastries for their fundraising project. They already knew plenty, but I was able to teach them a few new words and phrases, including “cookie sheet,” “batch” and “golden brown.” Each batch of pastries came out beautifully, but Elena wouldn’t let anybody eat one because they would be for sale today. Fortunately, however, she made an exception for me. It was delicious.

I’m really glad I came back for the bake sale and craft market. As I arrived, music spilled from an open window onto the playground beside the school. Inside, the place throbbed with activity. In the lobby, people did face painting, applied make-up, taught crafts and generally looked very happy. I rushed through the lobby, however, to see what the various classrooms had set up on the tables in a main hallway. I plunged into a sea of people and squeezed past table after table of delicious pastries, pancakes, cookies and handicrafts. I bought eight of the cookies my hosts made yesterday and far too many other goodies. Having eaten many of them on the spot, I left the hallway in a buzzy delirium of sugar and lurched into the auditorium to watch part of a student program.

When the students at School Number 31 do something, they do it with enthusiasm. Just as the whole school devoted itself to the bake sale, I think every class must have been represented in the program, though I didn’t stay to be sure. I am sure, however, that the students prepared themselves well. I had a ball spending part of the morning with them. Thanks!

To see this month's entire photo album, click here.

Top dollar

I still enjoy going to the big market near our apartment to buy fresh fruits and vegetables and to hobnob with the vendors. I have a few favorites, people I've trusted for a long time and whom I enjoy seeing. Alla has been skeptical about one of these favorites, because I'm not as attentive as she would be to prices and sometimes my total bill from this one comes out higher than it might have been had I chosen a different vendor.

Yesterday I needed some extra vegetables for a recipe I wanted to cook, so I went down to see Tehrana. Tehrana is generous with me, sometimes embarrassingly so, and I'm completely confident in her prices. But on my way to her stand, I passed by Armenya. Armenya is the one Alla worries about, and she sells mostly fruits in the wintertime. I couldn't pass by without saying hello, and she urged me to buy something. She had some nice looking pomegranates, and I haven't had any in a month or two so I asked her to choose me a couple of them. They were kind of expensive, but I added a zucchini anyway because Tehrana doesn't sell zucchini either. The bill came out to $10. Or was it $15? I'm not completely sure. I knew Alla wouldn't like that, but there I was and I did want to have pomegranate. But then Armenya went for the combination sale. Would I like a taste of mango? Yes, it was delicious, so I agreed to buy one. Suddenly the bill skyrocketed to over 600,000 rubles. That's like thirty bucks! I thought I must be confused, so I got out my phone and checked the exchange rate.

I certainly couldn't go home and tell Alla I'd bought four ordinary things and spent thirty dollars. She'd never let me go to the market again. So I told Armenya that I didn't want the mango. She negotiated. Would I pay 550,000 rubles for everything? 500,000? That's still $25, and I knew better than to do that. No mango for me. Armenya adjusted the price back down to 210,000 rubles. Hadn't it been 310,000 before we added the mango? I was no longer sure, but ten bucks for two pomegranates and a little squash would already send Alla into orbit so I asked no further questions and paid up.

During the rest of my visit to the market I bought a lot more stuff and had trouble spending much money at all. I don't know what Armenya's deal might be, but perhaps I won't try to find out.

As for my original purpose, however, I'm happy to report that dinner came out well:

They still don't understand me

I noticed that my glasses case is beginning to get worn around the edges. It’ll last a while, but since I had a hard time finding such a small one I figured I’d better start looking when it’s convenient. With that in mind, I stopped into a little shop near home and said, in Russian, “I came to see if you have a case the size of these glasses.” I took them off and showed them to her.

“What diopter?” she asked me.

“I just want a case,” I replied.

She walked over and opened up a display cabinet. I stepped behind her and saw that the cabinet contained glasses that looked vaguely similar to mine, but no glasses cases at all.

“No,” I corrected her, “I just want a case.”

“A case!?” she asked incredulously. “They’re over here.” (She only had big ones.)

I walked out of the store trying to figure out the difference between what I said and what she said. I played it over and over in my mind. They sounded about the same to me, and I couldn’t immediately identify the important difference. Finally, I figured it out: I said “fotliar” and she said “fotlyar.” They probably look about the same to my readers who don’t speak Russian, and they sound about the same to me. But I got tripped up, again, with a diphthong. I’m not sure diphthongs even exist in Russian, and the second variant, the Russian spelling, includes a vowel we don’t have at all in English: “ya.” Yes, “ya” is a vowel, and I’m told it’s not a diphthong. Here it is: “Я.”

I’ll probably get directly to the glasses cases next time I try.

[Addendum, a few days later: Alla points out that my REAL mistake was in the first vowel. It's futlyar, not fotlyar.]

Shoe repair

The strap came unglued from a pair of Birkenstock sandals and I was lazy about going to buy the right glue to fix it and wasn’t sure I how to clamp it as it dried anyway. I knew the local shoe-repair people didn’t charge much so I took it down to them.

I asked the lady if she could glue it, and she said yes. Then I asked if she had a good way to clamp it and she disappeared with my sandal into the back of the workshop. When she came back, she offered to glue it and stitch it down, for about two dollars. That sounded highly satisfactory to me, though I worried that the stitching on rubber might work out badly. I shouldn’t have worried. Look what she did:

Zarina's vacation

I’ve written before about my friend Zarina. Because of a visual impairment, she can’t go anywhere without a guide, which often means me. She was on vacation when I came back from Boston. Her vacation spanned the whole month of July, and she started it at home with her mom. However, she asked if I could take her to another Lightsound concert, and she came back to Minsk specifically for that.

The concert was a dud, but I finally got her to understand that I was serious about forming an organization to provide volunteer guides for any of the visually impaired people in Minsk. I needed her help finding somebody to act as coordinator for the service. We had several opportunities to discuss the idea over the following days because Zarina didn’t have much to do when she didn’t have a guide.

She kicked things off by asking me to help her get an updated photo of herself for social media. Her boyfriend and I took her for a long walk through several downtown parks. We had a nice walk and I took lots of pictures. After a couple of these outings she relaxed and became more talkative, telling me that she’d lived all her life in programs for the blind and that she had until then felt that she didn’t know what to say in conversation with a sighted person. This melted my heart enough that I took her for some more walks and pressed the idea of building an organization to make more volunteers available to more people.

Finally, Zarina found me the right person: her roommate. Masha has a degree in social work and she can see well enough to use a computer and even ride a bike. We all sat down together last week to talk about how the service might work, and Masha effectively led the conversation. She has far more ideas than I did and she has the time and enthusiasm to make them happen. Now it’s time for me to round up a bunch of volunteers. So far, so good.

There's always something

I like working out at the little public gym at Hockey Club Yunost Minsk. It’s a friendly place with an array of good equipment but almost nothing in duplicate. After I’d been going there for a while, I donated a wall clock because theirs had long ago disappeared and I thought we’d all like to know when it’s time to go home. Later I donated some audio cables and connected the TV to the room’s audio system. Still, there’s always something else to fix and the repairs are generally out of my reach.

One time I walked in and discovered that the benches were missing from all the exercise machines and all but one of the movable benches were missing the padded tops from their frames. Somebody had decided that it was time to re-cover them all and simply took them away. They came back after a few days, looking not much different from the way they had looked before they disappeared.

The showers present a special set of problems. One time somebody replaced an ordinary shower head with one of those hose-mounted showers, but they didn’t install a bracket to hold the head in place. We had to hold the head in one hand while washing with the other. I thought about donating a replacement showerhead, but worried that doing a repair that required me to bring my own wrench might be perceived as intrusive. Instead, I put a big rubber band in my bag and attached the showerhead to the hose at a comfortable height every time I took a shower. This was much better than the previous situation, when water shot out of the pipe with no head attached at all.

Sometimes there’s no hot water, and once there was no water at all. Frequently there’s no soap. I carry my own soap and I bathe in cold water when required. In Belarus, we adapt.

Today when I checked in, there were no keys at the front desk. Nastya told me that they were downstairs in the locker room, so I went down and walked in. Oops. The locker room was filled with women who had just left an aerobics class. Apparently, something bad had happened in their locker room, something that left them with a flood, so we had to share. More accurately, the guys had to wait their turn. I changed behind a door in the hallway and got on with my workout.

There’s more, but you get the idea already. In closing, let me leave you with a picture of the floor in the aerobics room. Most of the nails are lined up in a row, but at this spot, it appears that the workman had taken too big a toot on whatever he was drinking. I love it: