Date: Sun, 19 Aug 2007 19:47:05 -0400
From: Jake Toksmer <jtoksmer@gmail.com>
Subject: College and Grad School 18

Chapter 18: Study Abroad

Remember the semester I took off because I couldn't cope?  Well, I needed
to take some classes over the summer in order to catch back up and be on
track for graduation with my friends.  Since I had always taken an extra
class I wasn't too far behind - taking two courses over the summer would
give me exactly the number of credits I needed in order to take a classic
15-hour fall semester load and the final slacker 12-hour spring semester
before graduation.

I had taken three semesters of Russian and felt like I could probably
handle the study abroad program I had signed up to.  I wasn't sure, of
course, but I miraculously convinced the English department (I was majoring
in lit, remember) to count my courses in Russia towards my major.  My
professor that signed off on it was my mentor and I had told him exactly
why I had pulled out of classes last fall, and he fully understood and
appreciated my argument that the culture class I would be taking could
count towards my lit degree.

So a few weeks after the spring semester ended, I bid my parents farewell
and flew to Paris, where I stopped for about two hours.  Since everyone on
the program had flown out together, it wasn't like I was by myself or
lonely.  Most of the people on the program had already taken third year
Russian, but my good friend Jamie was on the program, too, so I didn't have
to make friends right away - I sort of did, however, as Jamie was very
outgoing and she made sure we knew EVERYONE by the time we landed in Paris.

From there, it was six hours more to St. Petersburg, where we were going to
be spending the better part of our summer.

Something that grossed me out was that Air France still allowed smoking on
the planes when I flew.  International flights to and from the US were
non-smoking, but from France to Russia, smoking allowed in the "smoking
area" of the plane.  The smoking areas - the last three rows in economy and
the last row of first class.  Yeah.

Seated in the first row of economy, I had a lovely smoke-filled flight.  My
trip had started off worse than I would have liked, I suppose - awake the
better part of the night and then dealing with all this smoking.  I really
just wanted to get to Russia and get some rest.  I had no idea what to
expect, though - no idea what was waiting for me.

Like an idiotic American, I had worn shorts over to Paris and then on to
Russia.  When we landed in St Petersburg, it was snowing.  Yes, it was
mid-May, but it was snowing.  Not heavily, but enough to be a bit of a
shock to me.  The walk from the plane to the terminal was a tad cold, but
we were in the airport soon enough and I had my bags and was ready to get
on with it.  The lady that met our group, however, immediately pounced upon
me and another guy who was also in shorts, telling us there was no way we
were going to be able to take it outside, and that we must change
immediately.

We both dove into our bags and pulled out some longer pants and went to
change - when we came back, everyone was bundled up for winter and we went
out to our cars.

There were about four cars lined up, and our professor and the guide put us
into various vehicles so we could all get where we needed to go.  You'd
think we would have rented a van or something, but no, four cars.

They were Volgas - the vehicle that says "you've arrived" in Russia.  Think
of an early 1960s Ford Falcon, and take away the luxury.  That's a Volga.

The cars left in two groups of two - my professor was "leading" our group,
while the guide was leading the other two cars.  My professor wasn't
driving, I should make clear.  There were drivers for the Volgas.  While we
knew the names of our host families, we didn't know anything else about
them, really.  I hadn't been able to get in touch with them and had no idea
what to expect.

We drove into the city and then right on Nevsky Prospekt.  We took off down
a side street, past an army barracks and down at the end of the street (way
off in the distance) I saw a beautiful Cathedral.  Before we got to that,
however, we darted to the left and our way was blocked by a building lying
in the middle of the street.  It was all rubble, but that was that.  The
driver parked the car and we got out.  My prof had me grab my stuff and we
walked into the building.  There was no door, no security to speak of, and
it definitely was dark, spooky, and smelled of stale urine.

We knocked on the door of a place on the third floor and a very friendly,
bubbly woman answered.  This was Nadia, the lady I'd be living with.
Apparently it was just her - I have no idea what had happened to her
husband, but she did tell me her daughter would be over the next day to
help acclimate me to St Petersburg.  My professor had to translate a lot of
this for me - while I caught bits and pieces, I didn't understand
everything.

My professor left - he still had several more students to drop off and
introduce to their host families.  So Nadia showed me her apartment, what
there was of it.

I had never been in such a set up before.  First, upon walking in, you
walked through the main door into a little antechamber between the outer
door and the inner door.  It could be for safety, or it could be for heat,
I don't know.  With the corridor nothing more than a staircase going up the
entire building and open to the elements through broken windows on the
outer edge of the building and open doorways on the front and the back, it
made sense if it was for heat.

Inside the inner door was a tiny foyer - the floor looked to be parquet,
but was in fact contact paper meant to look like parquet.  Directly ahead
was the kitchen, consisting of a two person table, a sink, a small stove
and oven, and small fridge, basically the same size as the standard college
"beer fridge."

To the immediate left was a hallway and I could see the bathroom at the end
of the hall.  From where I was, it appeared to be painted a lovely shade of
surgical-theater green.  Halfway down the hall, in a small afterthought of
a closet, were two steps that led up to a toilet.  A real, honest to
goodness water closet.  The roof was lower and stepping up into it was odd,
plus the door didn't really close very well, but did more or less.  There
was no ventilation (that could pose a problem) and the room was lit with a
tiny little bulb.  It was a bit oppressive, but I was so tired at that
moment that I didn't care.

Between the hallway on the left and the kitchen ahead was a doorway that
led into a big open room.  In there was everything Nadia owned, it looked
like.  And she owned a lot.  Two small sofas, a little dining room table,
and display cases with everything you can imagine.  China was prominently
and proudly displayed in a glass cabinet, and figurines, lacquer boxes, and
other trinkets were everywhere.  There was a television in the opposite
corner from the door that looked like it was the cutting edge of technology
- circa 1968.

There was a doorway on the far left wall that led to a bedroom.  Nadia
explained that it was my bedroom, she would be sleeping on the couch.  I
tried to protest, but she was hearing none of it.  I felt bad, what with
being a young healthy man and she being a 60-year old lady who had led a
rough life (this was my guess based on her appearance), but she was
insistent.

I put my bags in there and unpacked a little, then asked if I could use the
bathroom and clean up.  She said that was fine and I went to shower.  Well,
I attempted to shower.  The bathtub had a shower curtain, but it was
affixed to the wall, and looked like it hadn't been moved in AGES.  I was,
for the first time in my life, afraid to take my clothes off.  I know, I
know... me, of all people, afraid of being naked.  But I had no idea what
to expect, but had read about tuberculosis or hepatitis in the water system
and wasn't to thrilled with that prospect.

The water WAS brown, and I didn't shower much during those few weeks.  One
reason was that the "shower" was a hose attached to the tub's spigot - no
standing or else there would be water all over the place.  I never once
rinsed my toothbrush in the sink - I poured bottled water over it to clean
it off, then took it back to my room and kept it in a case.

Nadia asked if I was hungry after I had cleaned up (so to speak) and I said
I was really rather tired, and would rather sleep.  She said that was fine
and wished me a good night, and I went to the bedroom and climbed into the
ancient bed.  It was lumpy and uneven, but that night it was the most
comfortable bed I'd ever encountered.

I was woken up by something I forgot to mention.  The dog.  Nadia had what
I think was a cocker spaniel mix - I was surprised to see such a thing.
His name was Boris and he was cute, but crazy.  And I mean it, that dog was
insane.  There was also a cat named Muzik, who was slightly less crazy, but
still a few fries short of a happy meal.

Anyway, I shooed the dog out and saw Nadia asleep on one of the couches.  I
felt bad and resolved to have a confrontation about this tomorrow.

The next day, however, we all were meeting fairly early at the Hotel Evropa
(Europe), which was SUPER nice.  No one was staying there, it was just a
convenient meeting place.  Everyone arrived more or less on time and we set
off for some sightseeing.  We had two days before classes started, and our
professor wanted us familiar and comfortable with the city before we had to
deal with schoolwork.

Jamie, I found out, was in Primorskaya, which is "by the sea" (literally)
and at the end of one of the subway lines.  We'd be heading out there, she
told me, to show me what it was like.  She was already mapping out where
people where, and a few of our group were staying near her.  There were
only a few people in the city proper like me (I could walk to Nevsky
Prospekt in less than ten minutes, for example), and I found out later our
prof had gone to great lengths to figure out where to place everyone.  The
guys were all closer in, because it was theoretically less safe closer into
the city center.

Apparently, it was assumed I could handle just about anything - no one had
anything bad to say about where they were staying, and I didn't either, but
clearly they were experiencing more creature comforts than I was.

I spoke to my professor about whether to confront Nadia on the bed issue,
and he said not to.  He said as much as the school (and indirectly, I) had
paid her for me to stay there, she could sleep on the couch.  I didn't
press very far, but he did say it was enough to where she didn't really
need to work for half the year after hosting me for right around two
months.  So I didn't worry about it after that.

He also placed me with Nadia as it's so close to many of the theaters that
I could go anytime to see anything.  He knew I played the violin and that I
was into the music scene and probably less interested in clubs and parties
and such.

Anyway, we toured a bit of the old part of the city, getting out bearings
and becoming comfortable with the big points of interest.  I found out the
cathedral I could see when going to my apartment was Smolniy, the one I
passed on the way to the Hotel was Kazan, and St Isaac's was near my
professor and his wife's rented apartment.  And St Isaac's is BEAUTIFUL.

At some point you'd like for me to discuss sex, right?

On our tour, it was fairly cool.  But all over the city we saw sailors -
cute little Russian sailors all dressed in their cute little navy blue
uniforms.

About a week went by and we had been having our classes and everything was
going fine.  We'd been out a few times, been to some parties with people we
had met, and just about everyone had hooked up with someone, whether on the
program with us or with some other student we had met.

Everyone but me.  Surprising, yes, but I hadn't hooked up with anyone.  All
of the guys were straight, and I wasn't really trying.  Sitting with a
group from our program and eating lunch near the Winter Palace, I got
caught checking out about eight of those Russian sailors who had stripped
down to their blue and white striped naval underwear and were playing in
the fountain to cool off.  Though it had just been snowing when we flew in,
the subsequent weeks we went from winter to the height of summer, and I
would have loved to be frolicking in the water with them.

This guy named Kevin noticed and pointed it out to his buddy Caleb, who
both started making jokes and making fun of me.  Jamie got VERY defensive,
but I told her it wasn't a big deal.  Kevin and Caleb said it wasn't either
- they didn't mean anything by it.  But they did say that made more sense
as to why I hadn't hooked up with anyone.

I watched those sailors play around, all in shape and drippy wet, until we
had to leave to head back to class.  There was some murmuring when we got
back as Kevin, Caleb, and the other people in our group relayed the
startling new development that I was gay.  Nobody really said anything or
treated me any differently - just the typical "you are?" and "huh... I
didn't know" or "I was wondering..."

The following week, embarrassingly, a few of us were walking down by the
river when we passed a group of sailors.  We were all drunk... very drunk,
actually.  One of the girls, whose Russian was impeccable, sauntered over
to the sailors and inquired as to what it would take to pair one of them up
with me.  They said something and before I knew it, one of them was walking
over to me, looking very sour and this girl was $20 poorer.

I'm sure many of you have heard or read about the prostitution that Russian
military guys are often forced to do.  Either it's run by their superiors
(most often) or something they do just to have money to send home to their
families.  It's a rough life, being in the navy, and they figure it's part
of what they need to do to survive.

I was livid and embarrassed at the same time, but really, really drunk.
But everyone kind of ran off and I was left walking along the waterfront
with this guy.  His name was Vladimir (nickname is Vova) and he was nice,
nervous, but not unaccustomed to this.  This was all through my
less-than-acceptable Russian and his all but non-existent English, but he
seemed reasonably intelligent and I was wondering why he was in the navy
instead of at university.

We got to a spot where he apparently had been before - the fact that this
was all so easy for him and normal and that he had these "spots" to go was
so strange to me.  He started to remove his shirt and I told him to stop.
I haven't paid for sex ever, and I realize that I didn't this time, but I
wasn't going to do this.  I kept talking to him and he relaxed when he
realized I wasn't after what most people were.  I'm sure it's
nerve-wracking for him, not knowing what's going to happen.

We talked for a couple of hours and he had a real interest in improving his
English.  I told him I would prefer to teach him than do anything else with
him, and he was reticent, not knowing how he was going to be able to pay
me.  I told him no need - I would pay him instead, since it was lost
revenue to him when we were going to be having class.

However, there was a problem.  He explained he'd never be able to take the
money and get it to his family - the vast majority of this stuff he did
went right back to his superiors.  He really was in an awful situation.  So
I asked him for his family's address, and each time we met I would put the
cash in a greeting card and we'd send it to his parents' house.

And so we started meeting every few days.  All I had to give him was my
English-Russian dictionary and my flashcards, but we got together at
Nadia's from then on to have class.  He really was intelligent and a nice
guy, and was really learning quickly.  He had a natural gift for
pronunciation, and I made it clear he should try to keep studying after I
left.

By the end of the course, Vova was able to carry on a reasonably good
conversation in English.  It's not my teaching, but more his abilities, but
I was nevertheless very proud of his accomplishments.  He had me proofread
a few different compositions he put together - knowing he was actually
capable he was going to apply for a university program immediately and
hoped to get out of the navy as quickly as possible.  We had developed a
pretty good friendship, regardless of the student-teacher dynamic, and as
cheap as it is to live in Russia, the $20 I spent each time was actually
worth it.

By cheap - and I'm digressing for a minute here - I mean it.  Knowing where
to go to buy theater and symphony tickets, I could get decent seats for
less than twenty-five cents.  I saw Yuri Bashmet, who's arguable the
greatest violist alive at the moment, and spent roughly forty-seven cents
for tenth-row seats.  The American tourists seated next to me spent $60
dollars for their seats and were pleased thinking they had gotten a deal!
Ha!!!!!

Nadia was out (I have no idea where, or what she did... I never figured it
out), the last time Vova and I got together and I told him I'd be leaving.
I told him to keep it up - he was doing amazingly well and he had a gift
for languages.  He promised he would, and I got up from the table to see
him out.  We shared a last shot of vodka together and I started to walk
towards the door.  He wasn't following, however.

I turned around to see he had taken his shirt off, revealing his gorgeous,
hairless chest.  I gulped, and told him we shouldn't do this.

In perfect, though accented, English, he said, "It is okay.  I want to do
this.  You have helped me a great deal" and he shed his trousers and
underwear, standing there naked in front of me.

I tried to argue, but he walked over and kissed me.  He was good, too.
Straight sailor boy was indeed a very good kisser.  We made out for a few
moments when I moved down to his chest, kissing, licking, and sucking
lightly on one of his nipples.  He breathed a bit more heavily and then I
stopped.  I just couldn't.

"Vova, as much as I'd like to, this wouldn't be appropriate.  The best way
to repay me is to keep up and make sure you get into university."

He agreed to, and he didn't look disappointed that I had refused sex.  He
actually looked a little relieved.  But it just wouldn't have been right,
and I couldn't bring myself to do it.  Yes, he was handsome, yes, I was up
for some action, and yes, he appeared perfectly willing.  But I had
developed an interesting, caring relationship with him and I didn't want to
throw that away.

While he got dressed, I packed the dictionary and flashcards, and gave him
all of the novels I had brought with me as well as my English-Russian
dictionary.  I explained that they would be good to keep up his studies and
improve his English, and to read aloud whenever he could, so he could hear
it and keep his pronunciation accurate.  What he left?  His blue and
white-striped naval tank top and briefs.  Not the ideal full uniform that
some lucky students get from host families, but it was something.

I never once asked him what he did specifically for the navy.  I hadn't
thought about it, to be honest.

I have one more story to tell before the end of my trip to Russia was over,
plus some to tell about my travels in Western Europe after I left Russia
but before I flew home.  But I will say I flew home August 9th, the
Wednesday before the Kursk submarine disaster.  While I was pretty sure
Vova was not stationed on any kind of submarine, it really upset me.  I
felt sure he was fine, but regardless the week afterwards I was distraught
for the well being for those poor guys.  When it was declared a lost
effort, I admit I cried.  I cried again when they raised it and found the
letters those boys managed to write.

But a happy ending - after I graduated the following year but before I went
away to graduate school, I did one last check of my old undergraduate
school email in September 2001.  Vova had kept my contact information, had
managed to make it through his navy service without incident, and had been
accepted into a linguistics program.  I was ecstatic to hear from him and
it made me feel SO good to know he was well and putting his considerable
talents to good use.  I emailed him back, but my account was shut down
before I heard back from him.  Nevertheless, it made me feel really, really
good to know what had happened.  And though I don't know where he is now, I
am quite confident he's successful.