Teaching at Perm State University presents unique problems. Because you can never be too secure, every classroom at PSU is locked when not in use (and when in use many have a camera trained directly on the instructor). And every building has a key guard: an old woman in scrubs who sits behind a window and distributes keys. During the first week of class, the key guard of building 5 flatly refused me the key to room 107, until an angry call from my chair to give “the nice foreign gentleman” what he needed. Often, the key guard is absent, polishing [View Full Entry]

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I returned to Perm from Helsinki a month ago on a red eye, arriving at 5 am. Sveta was at the airport and together we bussed it back to the apartment. I showered and brushed my teeth and we were on the bus to the University. It was a Tuesday, and I hadn’t been to a class in over two weeks. So I was a bit surprised that any students bothered showing up. But there they were, waiting. Later that day, I picked up a second job teaching at a private English language training institute called Britannia. By Friday, I had [View Full Entry]

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Tomorrow I visit the Russian Consulate, and if the visa is ready as expected, I will board a flight for Perm in the evening. Back when I was at the Stadion hostel -- which was until Thursday -- I developed a routine of sorts. I breakfasted on bread and cheese, before heading off to the library. I learned a little Finnish history, a little Russian history and some grammar. At some point in the afternoon I would pack up my bag and wander into the city - to the University, or the central square where the Czars still stand (in statue [View Full Entry]

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Three Saturdays ago Sveta and I caught the 5:50 a.m. bus out of Perm. We were going to visit Vala at her farm. An hour or so later, we were dropped off at a village. A dog greeted all the passengers, barking happily at each of us -- glad to see some guests, some of whom undoubtedly were carrying food. The Russian village seems cozy. Small, wooden houses, women leading goats along the paths, little but dense fields, all enclosed by ancient forests. But Vala didn’t live in this village, so Sveta and I walked toward a gravel road up a [View Full Entry]

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Sveta emailed me yesterday. The subject line was “reborn.” Early Sunday morning, a plane had crashed in Perm while attempting to land. Eighty-eight people, everyone on-board, were killed. I had originally booked a ticket to be one that flight, but the weeklong visa delay forced me to make new reservations on Friday. The news of crash was and remains shocking. I don’t know how to feel. It’s a tragedy. And I’m glad I’m alive and in Helsinki. I tried not to think about the crash, and so I studied Russian and read. Helsinki is getting cooler and my [View Full Entry]

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The Finns are nice. On my first trip through the Helskinki city center, I was approached by three schoolgirls. They were smiling and carrying cardboard signs that read “hugs free.” So each in her turn hugged me. I giggled and felt embarrassed, but it was a nice gesture. I suspect it was part of a school project of some sort but even so, it was indicative to me of the Finns. They are ever helpful to strangers. More evidence: no one here locks up their bikes. To someone who had two bikes stolen in Lincoln Nebraska (one cut from its chain [View Full Entry]

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I titled the last entry "gluttony and limbo" because I feel like I'm in limbo and have become a glutton. You see, one doesn't waste food in Russia; one learns to "eat up." And so it was that yesterday I wanted to kayak lake Solvalla, but the woman at reception said she only had canoes, no kayaks. So instead I decided to get lunch. It was close to noon. I had not eaten since 4 o’clock the previous day. The morning I had hiked all over the map. In short, I was famished. In the cafeteria, Finns and Swedes chewed away [View Full Entry]

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I recently departed the rustic, yet comfortable environs of the Solvalla Hotel. Outside my window stood a forest, and beyond that a blue lake with a rocky shore line. The landscape and weather reminded me of Minnesota -- to say nothing of the people. The bathroom put Stadion Hostel (my once and future temporary residence) to shame. There’s a shower with a working schlong (this is what the Russians call the apparatus that allows you to remove the shower head from its perch -- nothing weird about a bathroom with a working schlong) and warm pipes on which to dry out [View Full Entry]

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We've decided to call our kitten Rosie -- as in the "we can do it" Rosie the Riveter -- instead of Tara. Rosie's easier to say, and we orignially chose "Tara" because it sort of sounds like terror and the kitten was scared of everything. But now she's ok with her new home, except the vacuum cleaner and when Sveta collapses the sofa on her paw. I've also changed my hairstyle. Ealier this week, I made my way to a hair salon near our building. Despite my completing a month of language lessons, I can't talk. So I sat in the [View Full Entry]

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Sveta and I added a kitten to our household. We call her Tara, short for "terror" or "terrified." Yesterday, there was a lot of running and hiding and, when I would grab at her, hissing. I'm not sure if Tara's acclimated herself to 7 Yursha Street, but today it's clear that the initial terror has been replaced by intense form of hyperactivity. Tera enjoys climbing the wall rug and attacking the curtains. Unlike her predecessor, she seems to have come with an inborn knowledge of what a cat box is and how to use it. And we are grateful. Somewhat surprisingly, [View Full Entry]

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