In “my” room in Novgorod, July 2, 2006

Yesterday was quite the learning experience in Novgorodian history and hospitality. It started with me as the first person to wake on a Saturday.



…I went back to sleep for another hour—jetlag drawing my eyes closed. One hour later, I wake again—first again.

I take a shower and get dressed in my only change of clothes: a pair of khaki shorts, t-shirt from Goodwill, and white socks. I will be wearing my black non-sneakers today, again, too.

Vanya wakes up after I read a few more pages in my Russian Pulp book, which details the Russians’ fascination with romance, detective (detektivy), and romantic detective novels. Vanya and I sit across from one another drinking tea. For breakfast I had Nestle Gold Flakes with 4% milk and an apple that with only one look could have passed for a cantaloupe. Vanya eats a chocolate wafer. It is time for my first day out on the town.

My study abroad group meets at the Millennium Monument in Novgorod’s Kremlin. To get there requires a 15-20 minute bus ride from my apartment to downtown. Vanya shows me the ropes and which bus to take.

Taking a bus in Novgorod is similar to taking one in any American city. The patrons look on with long faces and, unless they are sitting or standing next to their better friends, they say nothing. One interesting facet is the manner in which fares are paid. A woman (always a woman, seemingly) walks up and down the bus aisle with a large purse-like bag and takes your money and gives change or checks your bus pass.

After the impromptu tour, we arrive at my scheduled tour of the historic sites in the city’s center. Everyone in the group talks about their first nights with their new families. With a quick count of heads, our guide—our future professor of advanced Russian—begins telling us about the famous personages and events of Russian history depicted on the large bell-shaped monument before us…

It all began, or so the legend goes, with the Slavic tribes call for a unifying leader. They looked toward the Vikings for help. With a Norse ruler, who takes up residency in Novgorod, Rus—the state—was born in 862. The figures of Russia’s first Millennium are carved in bronze for the monument’s unveiling in 1862 to commemorate that occasion.

We spend a healthy amount of time going through the various figurines chronologically. They are proud faces with noble deeds, no doubt, to be proud of.

From there we scope out the exterior of Saint Sophia’s Cathedral just across the central path. It is in the Novgorod style of architecture, minus the recently white-washed walls. And it fits the customary appeal of Russian Orthodox churches with tall onion domes atop it. Unfortunately, we cannot see the main dome, which is still gilded, due to renovation. Our guide says that at the apex of this central dome stands a cross with a dove perched upon it. The saying goes: if the bird falls from the cross, so too does Novgorod fall. Our guide comments that there is a rumor that the dove fell just before World War II, when the Nazis occupied Novgorod during their Russian campaign—this is the reason why only one dome is still gilded, the Nazis stripped off the rest.

We proceed to the belfry near the Kremlin’s fortress wall. I had a terribly touristy moment getting my picture taken next to the largest bell.

From here we cross through the fortress gate and walk on the bridge over the Volkhov River to Yaroslav’s Court. This area, with its assortment of churches and arched promenade directly across the river from the sandy beach in front of the Kremlin, is named for Yaroslav the Wise—once a regional rule in the Novgorod Oblast, widely respected for his extensive book learning.

We quickly stop off at a gift shop and then head to the bank a block away to exchange our American dollars for Russian rubles. The exchange rate was a little lower than hoped for, but we happily took our new paper money that could actually be used at the stores and restaurants surrounding us.

After a few more art and gift shops, we take a short bus ride, leaving us with only a 7-8 minute walk to our final historical/entertainment/dining stop for the day.

We start by filing right past the tables and benches prepared for us and straight to the unisex toilets. We, basically, followed one another like lemmings but were all relieved to find a bathroom at the end of our journey.

Settling into our benches, we were prepared for whatever.

And whatever quickly turned out to be two Russian women in traditional garb greeting us warmly and teaching us about the old customs for dinner parties with guests.

The taller of the two women smiled at me, walked over, beckoned for me to join her, and then without hesitation placed me standing right next to her in front of the group. Liza translated the explanation as the other woman next brought up Lori from our group.

I was to be made a duke—fitted with a fur-rimmed hat. The tall woman emphasized my most handsome and noble qualities to everyone: long blonde hair, wide shoulders, doesn’t eat too much, doesn’t drink to much, etc. Lori is then asked how she should greet such a man as I—with a normal or great expression of respect. Lori bows lowly. Now, Duke Erhardt must respond, in kind.

“Wha?” I mouth, turning a little red.

Liza mouths back, “Kiss.”

I saunter over to Lori and carefully feign a kiss on her left cheek. The room applauds.

The three standing females then face me in a row, hands held. Liza translates the situation:

“If you kiss one, you must kiss them all.”

We quickly realize that all of the old customs, songs, and games are punctuated with a kiss.

So, after a first course of very tasty potato, mushroom, meat (chicken for me), and cheese soup, we proceed to spin the bottle with song and dance for well over an hour.

The three male musicians, now in the room, along with the women finish with a goodbye song and then leave us to the second and final course of our meal, which was a plate of crepe-looking things at each table with gooseberry jam. However, they were much better than crepes and with 2 or 3 pieces filled a person under their sticky weight.

After the meal, our group went its separate ways with each persona’s host or hostess. Vanya met me at the portico and we headed home on the bus.

Walking from our stop to his building, I tried to express to him how unusually far the sidewalk was from the road parallel to it. I could not get him to understand what I was trying to say in Russian or English. Nor could I effectively express that I was merely making an observation.

Vanya and I talked in his for a while before his grandmother (babushka) came. She lives at the hospital now, but comes home for showers and to have her laundry done. I, also, met Sergei—Vanya’s brother. We nearly shook hands in the doorway, but Sergei quickly stepped into my room to complete the transaction. I quickly remembered from the guide notes I read at waytorussia.com that it was bad luck to shake hands while standing in separate rooms. The division suggests that the two shaking will surely quarrel.

With most everyone in my home gone in the evening, except for Vanya’s mother and father and me, I retreat to my room to listen to Radiohead and work on my book of 500 puzzles. However, I am interrupted in a few minutes by Vanya’s mom ushering me into the living room.

The World Cup game between England and Portugal plays granularly on the television. On the glass coffee table, a spread of cut veggies with salt, sugary fruit candies, and delicious chocolates—after a small fight with the packaging—is laid out.

Vanya’s father grabs the scotch whiskey from the refrigerator, which I had noticed earlier that day. He pours each of us a dram and we toast. After a couple swigs, just one full one for mama, we start talking—brokenly of course—about our families. I tell them about my mom, dad, and sister and what they do. In my mind, I am remembering test after test in my Russian courses, where I had to express this exact same information. But my memory is fading in and out, whiled all of my notes are trapped somewhere in the unavailable ether of international baggage.

So, I stumble through. Vanya’s dad asks me if I like fishing. I say that I haven’t done it since I was a boy. He reports what Vanya had told me earlier: that tomorrow we would be going to the lake, 20 minutes out of town, for fishing and a barbecue. He pours me some more whiskey and I smile at him.

“Tonight, we drink,” he exclaims in Russian.

I laugh and take down some more of the flavorful gold liquor, after another brief toast. Vanya’s parents get ready for bed when he gets home from his business computing class at Novgorod State University. I tell him about my evening as he sits at the computer chatting on ICQ.

I go back to my puzzles and Vanya proceeds to demonstrate the true extent of his obsession with the pop singer Madonna. He starts playing concert videos that I suspect he has watched hundreds of times before, as I hear him sing along.

“Why do you like Madonna so much?” I ask in Russian.
“I don’t know,” he replies in English.” It is because she did all this herself. No one did it for her. She is a strong person.”

I understand and agree.

He goes to bed shortly thereafter. I get on GAIM. Blair is on. Finally, some much hoped for live contact with my girlfriend.

After we talk of each other’s day’s adventures and exchange very necessary “I love yous” I venture off to bed. I shake my head and smile before falling asleep. Finally, a very long and full day draws to a close.