Love and a Whole Year

On August 29, 2011, Hubs and I married on a Monday over my lunch break at the Courthouse. It was an easy decision. We knew we needed to be married for me to join him in Russia and wanted to be prepared for leaving at any time. (Little did we know that we wouldn't be leaving until late March 2012...) If it doesn't sound romantic, believe me, it wasn't in the beginning. But neither of us really cared. We knew we would have the big wedding and this was just to cover our bases legally, so let's get on with it. Off to the Justice of the Peace!

But no one told the JoP that it was just a formality. And in the sweetest, simplest exchange of "I Will", in an empty courtroom, we were married. I am forever grateful to Judge Santana, who started us off on the most unexpectedly romatic path our love story has taken. It was overwelming and beautiful. And during a time that I was driving myself crazy with wedding plans and becoming infinitely frustrated with budgets, themes, food and all the wedding fixin's, it was a pause in time. A reminder to slow down. A glimpse of the tenderness of love on its own, without the fluff and fancy. I now had a new last name, a new responsibility, a new future and a perma-grin that hasn't left my face yet. (Hubs had the same, plus a new tuxedo t-shirt, which he was pretty excited about...)

On August 29, 2012, Hubs and I were stranded in Noyabrsk, Russia. Thinking that we would be back in Moscow, we had made plans to go to a fancy restaurant for dinner and walk around town, soaking in the life and energy of our crazy new home. Maybe stop in an Irish Pub for some Guiness. Tell everyone who spoke English that it was our Anniversary. Settle in our apartment and watch the DVD of our wedding.

And even though I knew we wouldn't get to do all of that stuff, I was optimistic about our celebration. We managed to celebrate Hub's birthday last week just fine and I was sure that I had learned my lesson over bad attitudes and unrealistic expectations. And I had found a card store (all of which were in Russian, so I have no idea what my card to Hubs actually says...) and some decorations, so I would even be able to somewhat decorate our hotel room. I learned my lesson alright.

We didn't even make it till noon before bad news hit. Our visa application had been rejected (again) because we didn't have our marriage license. We had an official copy in Moscow, and the original in Texas. Not only was it frustrating to hear that we were missing documents, but I was instantly terrified that we would send in our original marriage license and it would never be returned. I'm a little sentimental about things like that, and even though I'm bound to lose it eventually, I wasn't too keen on the Russian government gobbling it up. This on top of now two weeks of getting the run around on our visa application and I freaked.

Hubs is so good to me. I know he was frustrated too, but he just let me freak out. He listened while I threatened to march up to the government office if they didn't return our marriage license. He listened while I made plans to call the office in charge of our visa process and give them a piece of my mind. He listened while I fretted about the potential to not get our multi-entry visas before our single-entry visas expire the end of September.

It was an exhausting roller coaster of a day. Somehow we managed to get them a copy of our marriage license. (Yay!!) But then they needed confirmation that I was the Sarah Hill on the marriage license AND the Sarah Callis in my passport. (Whaaaaaaat...?) Then my mother-in-law found my old passport and birth certificate. (Yay!) Now we wait to see if they will accept our packet 'o papers, even without a marriage license. (*hold your breath*) I can't say I was in a foul mood, though, despite the fact that it was an emotional day.

So I went upstairs to the hotel restaurant where we eat every day. We've been here so long, they really have to know us. They're nice enough, but like I've said before, Russians aren't know for giving you the warm fuzzies. Everytime we ate upstairs, Hubs was convinced they hated us. (I knew better. Who could possibly hate us?) I wanted to get some ice to greet Hubs with a Gin and Tonic when he got home (insert cheesy housewife comment here...) and while I was up there, I asked about the champagne list. I told the ladies that it was our 1st wedding anniversary tonight and we would be getting a bottle to celebrate. They congratulated me, but I figured their smiles and congratulations were mainly because I had that big, silly, perma-grin while talking about it.

I went to go downstairs and our normal server ran to the door and asked what time we would be coming back, so I told her around 8. I was immediately embarressed because I thought that we were supposed to make reservations every night, and we hadn't. Maybe they were icy stares and not just their normal relaxed faces. But I chose to not think about it. I'm pretty good at that. Who can fault us for making a small mistake like that? We're not from 'round here...

Hubs got home to the hotel with the most beautiful flower arrangement. He had gone to three different florists looking for pansies, which are the official one year anniversary flowers, but there were none in the city. Isn't that something? Even learned the Russian word for pansies from his co-workers! I hadn't been expecting anything, because he had been working the last two and a half weeks with only one day off, so I was so surprised and thrilled. My gift to us was a lock. Pretty romantic, huh? Let me explain. In Russia, almost every park I've been to has an area where you hang a lock. In Gorky Park, they put locks on this one bridge that crosses a pond and here in Noyabrsk, they have a "tree" in the park. I have no idea what this actually means, but I can deduce from the engraved or written names and dates that it's something romantic. Maybe they put a lock up on their wedding day? Day they met? Anniversary perhaps? So, off we went with our lock and hung it on the lock tree that we had found in the park. People will see it and wonder how two English-speaking people ended up in Noyabrsk to continue this tradition, and I hope they make up a good story about us.

We went back to the hotel and up to dinner. Our rough morning was forgotten after a long walk, the love lock tradition and holding hands. We had done it. We had salvaged an anniversary and made it extra special. Despite being a million miles from family, friends and everything we knew. How could it get any better?

I'll tell you how. The kindness of strangers. We sat down and saw our server busy in a secluded corner of the restaurant scattering roses, lighting candles. My initial reaction was that it was for us and I had to fight to control my inner giddiness. Hubs thought that I had orchestrated some elaborate dinner for two and was grinning at me sweetly. But then the same server walked away and handed us our menu while we sat in our regular table. Oh. Guess someone else is gonna have a sweet, romantic dinner...

But then, with the biggest grin I have ever seen on a Russian, she told us in English, "I have something for you." And she pointed to the secluded, romatic corner. All three of the employees working that night were now behind us, with the biggest smiles as we raved about the gift they had given us. We had our champagne. And with it rose petals, candles, smiles and friends.

I was a blubbering idiot. Within five minutes our faces hurt from smiling so hard. We felt like royalty. It made sense that after a year of surprising other people, we were completely blown away with a huge surprise by complete strangers in a foreign country.

We talked about our year. And we both agreed that aside from our wedding, our favorite part of the year was the first month we were in Russia. Isn't it strange? The most difficult month we've had as a married couple happens to be our favorite. We knew nothing. And we learned. Some about this new world we were living in, but mostly about each other. We learned how to comfort. We learned how to be happy. We learned how to create a home. We learned how to live in the deepest of love. We learned how to share strength.

What will we learn in year two? Well, we learned last night to never underestimate the capacity for people to show kindness. I have a feeling, based on all this visa nonsense that we will continue to sharpen our year one skills. And I know, above all that we will learn even greater depths of love, support, strength and determination.

It could be a scary thing to think about the future, especially the way our day started out. But it's hard to be scared when all you can smell are the roses.

Cheers to surprises and the dear, sweet people who pull them off.

Love and Camping

Whitewater Amphitheater in New Braunfels knew we were coming back to Texas before our own family.

I had seen a show advertised when they first released the schedule and moped all day when I saw that two of my all-time favorite bands, The Wheeler Brothers and The Avett Brothers would be playing on July 28th. It affected me so deeply that it was the first thing I thought of when I found out we would be home the month of July. And I promptly bought tickets. Most people might start planning, writing lists and packing when they know they have to leave the country in two weeks and still don't have a permanent apartment to call home. Not me. I was making different kinds of plans.

It also happened to be one of the first things I talked to my friends about after the great surprise. And just like that, we had recruited four people and started researching campsites for the weekend. 

Fast forward a month and the day had finally arrived for us to get to NB for a weekend of camping, tubing and Brothers-watching. And the best news was that a big group of friends had been planning the same trip and would be camping a short ways away! When we made the connection at a late-night bonfire, we all screamed like little girls. (And I was the only actual girl...) How much better does it get? Camping and concert-going with an amazing group of people? Yes, please. 

Hubs and I also took this as a chance to buy our first home. That's right. We bought our first tent! It was  a special moment, but Hubs wouldn't let me take a picture with our "realtor", a very helpful sales associate at Cabelas, so you'll have to use your imagination.

We were first to arrive and set up camp. We had a great campsite right on the river and took full advantage watching all the sunburned, frat guy tubers float by. Hilarious. The rest of our crew showed up and Hubs and I introduced them to Pimms, a delicious British drink some friends of our introduced me to while in Moscow. It's a perfect summertime drink, like a sangria, only gin based and with Sprite and cut up fruit and mint leaves. I sent some pictures to our friends who are used to drinking it on the lawns of Oxford and I'm sure they got a kick out of seeing it served out of a blue drink dispenser with a dirty river in the background. But it was for sure a hit and will be the drink of choice on camping trips from here on out. 

Our first dinner was steak, shrimp, caesar salad and a strange potato concoction I made up. In my mind, it was supposed to end up like a warm, German potato salad, but it ended up being mashed potatoes with bacon bits and sour cream. Oh well. It worked. And proved the point that you really can't put too much sour cream on something, which is something we've picked up in Russia. It may not be what you thought it would be, but its still good. We're kind of awesome at camping food. And it'll only get better when we're back in the states permanently and I can rescue my dutch oven from whatever closet has eaten it.

It was good to be outside with good friends. Late night dunks in the river, good conversation switching from the serious to the absurd is exactly what we needed. And the next morning? Connecting with our other friends for a few hours of tubing! I'm ashamed to say it, but this was my first Texas tubing experience and I was ready. Being the smartest idiot on the planning, I brought a bag of wine, which is basically four bottles of pinot grigio while everyone else crammed as many Lone Star's as they could in our small cooler. When they were out of beer, I was sure to still have plenty of wine and take up less space. Brilliant. 

Only I didn't count on the kindness of strangers, especially drunk strangers and as anyone who's floated a Texas river knows, you never run out of beer. It's the strangest concept. Almost as strange as how no one has to pee when they're floating... Just the magic of the river I guess.

As much fun as I had with hands down the best group of people to go with, I'm ashamed to say I didn't like tubing as much as I thought I would. I loved the company and my face hurt from smiling and laughing so hard, but every time someone stood up, either to help their tube along or to shotgun a beer, all I saw was their drunk ass losing their balance and cracking their heads open on the rocks. And a lot of people were standing up to shotgun beers. 

I fell asleep in the car on the ride home. (no comment please.)

But I'll be damned if I'm going to miss the best concert of my life, so lots of water and a delicious meal of burgers and ranch style beans, we were off to the amphitheater!

This concert did not disappoint. It was everything I missed about live music. And very reminiscent of seeing Mumford and Sons at Jazzfest with one of my best buddies. Imagine with me... Avett Brothers would start out a song we knew and we immediately screamed our fool heads off, certain they were singing straight to us. People within a certain radius were switching between watching us make asses out of ourselves and the concert. By the end of the night, my voice was gone after trying to sing loud enough for the band to hear us. And they may have. It was glorious. Beiber fans know nothing of crazy fandom. We love music. 

Our plan at the end of the night was to get a taxi back to the campsite and one of my friends promised to take the reigns since I was having weird anxiety about the whole thing. I don't know when I got so anxious about not having a plan, but it seems to be happening a lot more these days. But the cab was late. And I was tired. And then the cab still wasn't there. Every time we would see a cab, we were convinced it was ours, only to be completely disappointed. My friend and taxi point person did everything right, except use a good cab company, which she had no way of knowing which was good or not. And even though I hadn't been drinking (I wasn't about the need a potty break during the greatest show of my life...) and probably could have drove, it beat fighting with all the other thousands of concert-goers to get back to camp.

Finally, after two hours of waiting, our buddy took the initiative to make friends with a large 12 passenger van who shuttled us to our campsite. I was furious, but glad to be "home". And glad to unwind. We didn't have a campfire, but we had the light of an iPhone and tunes from the bands we had just seen work their magic on stage. And we had the kinds of good conversation you should have when you're camping. The deeply personal mixed with the reminiscent mixed with the absurd. By the time I shut my eyes for the night, my heart was bursting at the seams. 

Like most things in life, it wasn't a perfect experience. But in its own special way it was. I think its important to balance the great with the not-so-great. I don't know if we have the capacity to just know good. Its those extra, unexpected downers that make the good so very great. And its even better when they overshadow the bad so you don't even remember it at all. 

Cheers to camping with balance. With a badass soundtrack in the background.

*Important Side Note: Hubs is NOT smoking a joint in that picture. (don't pretend you didn't notice...) It's a piece of gum and there is no explanation to why it is hanging out of his mouth. And its the best group photo, so it has to go in the blog. He'll be responsible for explaining that to our future children...

Love and Surprises

It's time now to get to the stories of our trip back to Texas. Brace yourselves.

We found out mid-June that our visas would be expiring, leaving us in our new country illegally, so we were told to get ready for a trip back to the states to start over completely. The news left me completely torn. On the one hand, I was ecstatic to be going home to friends, family and Tex-mex. On the other hand, I was just starting to get into the rhythm of living in Moscow. I had friends who I love dearly and would miss terribly. I had routines. Lunches, AWO meetings, office hours at the Starbucks at the corner and Banya Tuesday. I was the most excited to be not excited about something ever in my life.

So, with the company tendency to do things at the last minute and the stress of Hubs being gone for four weeks, we decided to keep it a secret. Honestly, we did it only because I didn't want to hear "when are you getting into town" over and over without knowing the answer. We ended up waiting two weeks from the time we were told we had to leave to the time we had a flight booked. We made it out of the country with two days to spare before our visa expired. In those two weeks, we got real excited about the surprise. (in-between bouts of frantic email checking and worrying about getting outta town...)

With the flight being so last minute, we ended up flying AirFrance and it was everything you could imagine a French Airline could be. The food was the best we had on any flight and the booze was free, as it is on most international flights, and also encouraged. My Swedish neighbor, noticing my second empty mini-wine bottle, pointed and said, "You get more. Is free." As he got up to hunt down the drink cart.

(Unfortunately, the landing was choppy at best and from our seats in the back of the plane, I have to admit, I was pretty close to losing it all. As it turns out, I managed to keep it together, unlike four of our section neighbors. Thanks, bottomless vino and turbulent skies.)

We made it to Houston completely exhausted. We had been traveling close to twenty hours but we made it. We were home. And after months of complaining about shitty customer service, we were ready to bask in good 'ol fashioned southern hospitality.

And this is where our memory of hospitality had failed us. Because no one in any country has a friendly airport. In fact, I would even say that America has the least-friendly airports. Specifically, TSA and customs employees. So, while we as weary travelers tried to find the right line for us to get to baggage claim, Hubs is chased by a short, old man frantically wagging his finger at him. Yet, when Hubs asked him where we go, he stood in stunned silence and walked off, still staring, daring him to try walking through a gate again. I'm so proud of Hubs for keeping his cool.

We made it to the hotel and treated ourselves to Chicken Fried Steak. Aaaaahhh... back home.

The next day, we set off to Dallas to surprise my parents. We got in around 8pm, knocked on the door and that's when we discovered that no one was home. Talk about buzz kill. We knew this was a risk we were taking, and Mom was out of town, but where on earth was Dad? We called from our new temporary phone (one with a Houston number, mind you...) and got no answer. But Dad did call us back, and as luck would have it, thought we were calling from Skype. (even though you can't call back a phone on Skype...) So, we got to play along, and set up a Skype date for when he got home from church. When we called again to make sure he was by the computer, I knocked on the door and gave him the surprise of his life. Thanks, Dad for letting us have that.

Mom was our next victim. This time we had an accomplice in Dad who text and called nonstop that morning to give play-by-play on when she would be getting home from visiting my aunt. Come to find out, Mom was getting phone calls the whole way home as well. She walked in and didn't even look in the living room where I was sitting, but went straight to the bedroom to drop off her bags. That's no fun. So I stood in the doorway and asked if she needed help unloading. I've never been very good at surprising my mother. When I was little and woke up in the middle of the night, I would stand over my sleeping mother and try to wake her up nicely but always scared the bejeesus out of her. That was kind of the reaction I got this time around, only with more crying and less threats of killing me.

My brother was another fun one to surprise. We just showed up at his girlfriend's house, not sure if he would be there, but knowing she would be the best accomplice if he wasn't. Celebrating with them and Shiner Bock beer was a real treat. From there, we went with them to Shakespear in the Park. It was a perfect day for a picnic and a great close to a quick weekend home.

We had a great visit in Dallas, but it was time to head off to Corpus Christi.

Our first stop was to see the in-laws. Unfortunately, we missed my mother-in-law, who was in small-town Texas visiting our new niece for a week. (I guess she would occasionally run into my brother and sister-in-law too...) Pulling up to the house like it was nothing was quite a surprise for my father-in-law relaxing on the front porch. He probably surprised us more than we surprised him since we had spent the better part of the seven hour drive brainstorming a good way to surprise them and then there he was, like he was expecting us! The phone call to MIL was pretty classic. Having fallen for one too many practical jokes, she adamantly did not believe FIL that we were at the house. So we did get her good when Hubs got on the phone to confirm.

On to our friends! We sent out a few texts. Mostly implying that we were long-lost lovers looking to meet up and make amends. Hilarious for us. Probably not as much for them.

Especially when it came to one of our dear friends. Her surprise spanned a couple days and was by far the funniest of all our surprises. This friend happens to be very direct and only has time for shenanigans she is privy too. So when she received her "hey, would love to meet up, you free tonight?" text, there was no hesitation in a "who is this?" response. After an hour or so elusive texts from us, a couple threats to block our number and call the cops, I gave up. So many clues in the texts, including a special nickname. Had we been away that long? So I promised to not bother her. End of story.

But thats just no fun. So a couple hours later, I couldn't help myself and sent a quick text, "hey, sorry, you're right this is a wrong number I'm so sorry. But you sound really nice, wanna hang out later?" The response? (don't read this part, mom...) "$%*& off." The entire conversation was a work of art. Best prank ever.

When we finally showed up at her apartment, she came downstairs with a bat and a can of Coors Light. Thats why we're friends. Like a girl scout, she came fully prepared. To either kick some ass or party.

There were lots of other little surprises here and there. And with every one we were reminded how many dear, dear friends we have been blessed with. And our family and friends were reminded that they should always be on their toes, ready for anything. Hugs are tighter and reunions are sweeter when unexpected. And we needed those tight hugs after a long and sometimes rough absence. It certainly healed a multitude of homesick aches we had recently acquired. And it got us a few free drinks, too.

Some of our friends and family would probably say that nothing surprises them anymore when it comes to us. Which is the last thing we want, since it's kind of our thing...

Cheers to our friends, for being good sports to indulge us in all our surprises.

Love and the Club

We've learned a lot honeymooning in Russia. And one of those things is that you are never too old to party till the sun comes up. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me one bit if its a Russian Proverb written in stone caves all over ancient ruins in this country. Even the expats that we've met have caught the fever and have told us on many occasions that Russia is the first place that they've partied till 5, 6, 7 in the morning.

For us, as much as we love to go out, it's usually to a quiet, laid back place where we don't have to stand. Standing is a real drag. Dancing is only an option after an entire bottle of whatever the bar special is and usually ends in embarrassing pictures that my friends are gracious enough to forward the next morning.


Not so in Russia. Even the Siberian parts.

It was a week ago Saturday that we met up with some of Hubs co-workers for a light dinner and drinks. All of his co-workers are about our age and after spending the entire week working long hours, they were ready to let loose. And I don't blame them. All of them are working in a small town of 100,000 people on a rotational basis without the luxuries of, say, a decent grocery store, McDonalds or a corner bar. We were introduced to the favorite fish of the region and when Hubs said he didn't trust the fish here in Siberia, it was described to us as "frozen fresh". It's a white fish served raw and in strips and you're supposed to dip it in sea salt and bon apetit! Awful. Just awful. Poor Hubs wasn't paying attention to his food, rather, he was listening to a story and I tried to intercept him so he could be prepared for the fishy slime but alas, he had to learn the hard way. When asked, I of course said that it was "pretty good, not my favorite but good..." so therefore felt obligated to eat more strips while under their watchful eye. I never thought I would say this but I really appreciated the ketchup/mayonaise mixture served with the fish. All in all, though, the snacks ordered were delicious and the company was second to none! We learned all about where people had been, what conditions were like and what people think of America. I love those conversations.

We also chatted in depth about this whole Pussy Riot thing. They're officially sentanced to two years for hooliganism (yeah, its a real thing...) for protesting via singing an anti-Putin song in front of the Cathedral of Christ the Savior in Moscow. Everyone was surprised that Americans would have such an interest and be so outraged by their arrest. They said it wasn't the song that landed them the prison sentance, it was the fact that they did it on the grounds of the largest, most sacred Cathedral in town. If there's a definition for "Hooligan", I'd say that about nails it.

Anyway. We had a couple drinks at the restaurant and moved on to the club. (side note: no one had ever heard of drinking vodka with water. It was a painful process trying to explain that you pour a shot of vodka in a glass then fill the rest up with water and add a lemon - they had no limes. In the end they brought me a vodka and red bull. Expat problems...)

The club was a short walk, we check our coats (yes, coats. It's freezing here! First time Hubs had a birthday in 50 degree weather!) and headed upstairs to the bar. On the way, we were handed ice cream cones. I was walking behind one of Hubs' co-workers and commented, "is this laced with cocaine or what?" (half joke, half expecting it to actually be laced with cocaine...) He, very seriously says, "no, I think it's just ice cream." Russians must not be much for banter. Hubs and I often talk about what they must think of us and it always gets a good laugh.

It was at this club that we were introduced to the Russian version of the Long Island Iced Tea. It goes something like this... rum, vodka, gin, tequila and coke. Only one of the guys just wanted the tequila and coke. No ice. And they all wanted us to get one. I, of course, was all for it, but Hubs ordered us rum and cokes anyways. He is my rock.

A funny thing that we've noticed in Russian clubs is that next to the DJ Booth are usually a couple small stages where ladies dance. Its nothing dirty, it's almost like they're teaching the crowd how to dance. And it seems to me that no one really pays attention. Dudes aren't creepin' around the club, they're out there dancin there ASS off! So, I see an open stage and decide that its time for me and my two new girlfriends, who are engineers with Hubs, to get up and show our moves off. Because if theres one thing I do remember from club days, it's that you have to just bite the bullet and make a royal fool out of yourself. If you can't dance (I would argue that I have some moves, but my friends would probably argue the opposite...) then you go get on with your ridiculous self. Better to make people openly laugh and point when you're being purposefully silly than laughing and pointing when you're being serious.

We get there and our spot has been taken by a dude in a fedora. Nothing against fedoras, but when the dude dancing on stage has one, you probably shouldn't challenge him to a public dance off. Unless you're me. Then you push your way up, dragging your new Russian friend behind you and you just dance your hiney off. About two minutes later, the music stops and the DJ starts talking and waving us down from the stage. My new friend says that we've won a dance contest! To which I respond, "we weren't even up there that long..."The DJ starts talking to me in Russian and what can I say? "Da!" (yes!) quickly followed by "Angleeski...?" (English?) Blah blah, more talking and confusion, waving at Hubs who us upstairs watching and laughing hysterically. Then suddenly he's by my side. "oh hey, that was fast, you were just upstairs..." immediately followed by my friend grabbing my hand and saying we had to go, something bad was about to happen. In my mind I was half convinced that we were being auctioned off into sexual slavery the way she said it and dragged me behind her back to the group, Hubs close behind.

We go upstairs and our group is practically on the floor laughing. Apparently, right after I waved at Hubs laughing upstairs, his co-workers told him that he should get down there because the DJ just told us to take off our shirts. (Not a good time to say "da" which was what I did.) Boy, Hubs can move. I felt horrible for dragging my new friends down with me. But we all had a good laugh and quickly moved on back to the restaurant we had started in to close out the night. Finally heading home at, you guessed it, 5:30am.

Writing this, I have literally laughed till I cried. What a great way to end a rough week. When I think about how awful I felt about the uncertainties, the waiting, the uncomfortable hotel mattress, it really seems small in comparison to the fun we had that night. Feeling the acceptance, the adventure, even the shitty food is better with good company. (and ketchup-mayonaise as previously noted...) My heart is so full and just when I think it can't get any better, we are introduced to new marvels, new stories and new friends who leave the most lasting mark.

Cheers to the new, the surprising and the quick exits. You enrich our lives and our Saturday nights.

Love and 28

Birthdays are important. End of story.

Hubs doesn't feel the same way as I do. (classic "middle child syndrome" if you ask me...) And it blows my mind. No one is fooling me into thinking that you don't want a day completely to yourself. A celebration of your birth and recognition by people that they are glad that it happened. An acknowledgement that life can be tough, but you did it for a whole year and should relax and treat yourself for it. And cake. I know you don't need an excuse to eat cake, you really don't even need an excuse to buy a cake with your name on it (they usually do it for free at HEB...) but this one day out of the year you get the cake, the name, the song the candles, the attention and primo slice of said cake.

And while Hubs has sweet stories of childhood birthday memories, he's not much into celebrating as an adult. Lucky for him, he has me. Or so I thought.

Originally, we thought that we would be in Moscow for his birthday, and since our trip to Siberia was only supposed to take five days, I packed minimally to avoid the heavy suitcase and sarcastic comments about overpacking. When we figured out that this visa thing would take much longer and leave us in Siberia for both Hub's birthday and our one year anniversary, I was determined to make sure the party went on.

But then it rained for a solid week. And it was so cold. We stayed in the 40's and 50's for most of the week, which I did not pack for. As if it's not bad enough that I only packed for five days, I certainly didn't know the weather would fluxuate like this. The night before his birthday, I had a plan that would make sure that this year would be the best. I would brave the elements and scour the town for anything that looked even remotely like birthday cake, decorations and cards. I would write a sweet note, decorate our small hotel room and recreate all the favorite parts of a birthday right there in small-town Siberia.

But then, the worst happened. I had to go with Hubs to the office that day to sign the visa application and finish the paperwork. So there I was in the office, sitting next to the birthday boy with no chance of getting out and prepping for a memorable birthday.

I was devastated. I felt like a failure. My only job is to make this time away from home easier on my husband. To create an environment comfortable and memorable while we're so far away from our friends and family, who usually play the biggest roles in events like this. It got me thinking. What happens at Thanksgiving? Christmas? If I can't get it together for a simple birthday, something universally celebrated in all countries, how on earth would I put on a turkey dinner come November? It may sound a bit melodramatic, but it was an emotional day and I couldn't shake the sadness, the guilt and the homesickness. I dropped the ball.

But, Hubs pulled through yet again. I doubt he knew how far reaching my insecurities were about the failed birthday, but he was so gracious in his appreciation and joy. He's just that kind of guy. Just happy to be here.

In the end, we walked in the rain to a restaurant we knew would have pizza and Guiness. It wasn't the best pizza, a far cry from the dinner we had at our favorite pizza place back home last year, but Hubs reminded me that night that the best part of the birthday party equation was the two of us, and that was all he needed. I'm the smartest idiot alive to have married the kindest man and think that everything has to be perfect all the time. My cup runneth over.

We didn't have candles, but we had a lighter. And we didn't have a cake with his name on it, but we did order chocolate cheesecake. Our server didn't rally everyone to sing us "happy birthday" but I sang for the two of us to hear. All was right. By the time we left, the sun was back out and we walked back to the hotel to watch a movie on our tiny laptop screen. The best birthday? Meh, we'll do better in future year. A memorable birthday? Most definitely. Maybe not for Hubs, but certainly for me. It's the birthday he gave to me.

Cheers to birthdays and the excuse to celebrate. May we always use it to love and show love.

Love and Hotels

I woke up today thinking it was Thursday. I mean, I really thought it was Thursday. I'm still not quite convinced it's not Thursday. Its making me a borderline conspiracy theorist right now, and my number one theory is simple... Siberia.

The hotel we are staying in is the top hotel here in the town. Now, we've already touched on the all night family Skype session we've been unintentionally invited too, but unfortunately there's more. And it's been pretty consistent. 

Hubs stayed here back in December when he was applying for his work permit to get us into the country the first time around and he had a horrible time on his own, for the first time in Russia and not knowing any Russian. This go-round, the staff has been nothing but friendly and we have had extraordinary luck with finding at least one staff member who can speak enough English to get us through dinner. 

Our problems may have started our first night, but they certainly didn't lose any momentum going into the next day. Not only are we jet lagged from our trip to America, but Siberia is another two hours ahead of Moscow, which throws us off even more. Somehow I manage to stumble out of bed and get to the shower. I already know that I won't do a description of this shower any justice, but it looks like some crazy scientist was trying to build a time travel/teleport pod, failed and put some shower heads in it. (Brilliant really. And a good reminder to never accept failure, kids...) I've seen some complicated showers in my day, but I'm a smart gal. I figure most of them out. This? This was too much. 

I pushed a lot of buttons and it made for an uncomfortably hot shower with cold water, which was weird. Come to find out, the pod doubles as a sauna, so I was getting some pretty intense sauna steam while unable to control the temperature of the water. Once I that got figured out, I could halfway enjoy my sometimes hot, sometimes cold shower water. I still don't know what controls that, but there are worse things in life. And, honestly, the Russians probably take showers with extreme hot and cold water like that because, like vodka, its good for your overall health and wellbeing. 

Hubs gets in the shower next and suddenly the water is completely dirty. It was a defining moment in our expat lives. The ever-present question of "is it just the way it is or should we tell someone?" So far, we had small experiences that led us to this question, but standing there in the bathroom, looking at the shower drain, watching straight dirt gather on the floor, this was a whole new tone with the question. Shit just got real. On the one hand, there was dirt in our shower water. On the other hand, Eastern Europeans and Russians really like mineral water, even over conventional medicine. Our fear of the answer to our question was cause enough to just let it go.

(Turns out it is not normal. And it hasn't happened again, so we're just gonna let it go. Down the drain, if you will...)

Meal times have been interesting and one of the only times in all of our struggles that make me want to laugh out loud in the moment. We walk in and if we have the unfortunate luck to be greeted by someone who knows zero English, we get a glazed over, bored look. Again, words can't do this picture justice, but it would be rude in any culture to snap a picture of someones face when they are clearly over you. Imagine the most disgruntled 15 year old, twenty minutes into a lecture about breaking curfew on a school night. Yeah, thats it. Then, just as quickly as she appeared, she disappears without a word and we're left wondering if she a. went to go get someone who speaks English, b. ignored us completely or c. is getting vodka and tweeting about how much she hates her job. Eventually someone else comes up who does know English and retrieves the only English menu for us to review. 

The food is good, but fancy. Hubs had a $40 sirloin last night. A sirloin smothered in gravy. Weird and sad because one of the foods (if it can be called that...) that I've been craving since leaving the States has been gravy. I bought a bunch of gravy packets when we were home and plan to use them when I miss home. Comfort food is hard to come by in Russia, but apparently we've been ordering the wrong things. 

I eat a lot of Caesar salads. In fact, while Hubs is at work, I have lunch on my own in the hotel and it's typically a Caesar salad and soup. Until today, when I asked for a Greek salad. I had gotten a little tired of the mayonnaise-based dressing and was ready for something a bit lighter. But I don't know how to say Greek in Russian, so my friend who has been my server every day for lunch happily brought me a Caesar salad. To be honest? I was thrilled. I absolutely love this girl, I want her to be my best friend. Every day, she speaks to me in English and I struggle through some basic phrases I know in Russian. She is far more advanced in her language learning that I, but I think she gets a real kick out of me trying. And through that, I really feel like we've bonded. She may be talking about how awful I am right now behind the bar, I may have fed her stereotype of Americans as crazy about Caesar salads or I may not even be a blip on her radar, but, when you're far from home, it's the little things that go a long way. Like a smile and speaking slowly so I can understand.

And there's breakfast. Sweet, sweet breakfast. It's not all good. Most mornings our meat has been a hot dog or variety of deli sliced meats (potentially horse, so we stay away...), some type of egg, fruits, veggies (the red bell peppers are AMAZING!!) and then there's this porridge stuff. At least thats what we call it. It was been served as a different texture every single morning we've been here but it is always good. The first morning, it was almost like a grain consistency, the next day, like rice, the next like cream of wheat and this morning it was like nothing else. I'm completely in love. I just want to gorge on this stuff, and I do. It usually comes with this apricot/marmalade/honey sauce and it. is. tasty. Hubs hates it, so it's probably a good thing that I don't know what it is because now I can't make it for us every meal of the day when we get back to Moscow. I will be on the hunt. I've gotten very good at grocery shopping based on the packaging pictures. 

At the end of the day, we do have a mini-bar that is restocked not only with vodka, gin, whiskey ("beesky" in Russian) and Snicker bars, so nothing, not even dirty water can bring us down, right? And there's always music. Right now, in the hotel restaurant I am listening to a slow, jazzy cover of "Billy Jean" while a muted Taio Cruz music video plays on the tv. And our neighbor played some pretty sweet classic rock this morning. All things that make me smile. 

Originally, I titled this blog "Love and Hotel Nightmares", but that's just not a fair statement. Or, maybe it is, but I'll let you be the judge.

Cheers to our nightmares and the sweetness that makes its way in  despite our worst ones. 

Love and an Introduction to Siberia

Took a little hiatus, and we'll get to all the adventure-packed stories of our visit back home, but first, for the sake of my emotional health and sanity, I must update you fine folks on our current location, Noyabrsk, Russia.

Here's the backstory...
The whole reason Hubs and I are in Russia is because of Noyabrsk. In fact, we were originally supposed to move and live here in this 100,000 person town in the middle of Siberia instead of Moscow, an eleven million person hub. The town was established in the 70's by the oil industry, so it's still fairly young, but unfortunately has peaked in infancy. While the oil field does still run the town and provide the majority of jobs and probably pretty well-paying ones by Siberian standards, most employees work on a rotational basis, thirty days on, thirty days off, so there hasn't been the kind of growth this place needs to open a Starbucks. Or even a McDonalds. Yeah, I know. Whoa.

Hubs, therefore communtes to work from Moscow for a few weeks along with his travels throughout the Russia/Caspian Region on various jobs. And I stay in Moscow. But this week we have to be in Noyabrsk to apply for our multi-entry visa. Maybe one day I'll write an entry about how to get a visa in Russia, but I'm afraid my blood pressure may already by high today and my sanity near gone, so I'll save it for a day in the future, when things have stabilized a bit.

The flight itself wasn't bad. I had to work extra hard to not think about the horrible reputation Russian Airlines have for using poorly maintained planes that routinely crash and kill all their passengers. Maybe someday I can adopt the Russian "positive" attitude ("Another plane crash? Flights will be cheaper now, no?" insert deep Russian accent in there, and you've nailed it.) but for right now, I adopt the American attitude, wishing I had some Valium. In the end, Hubs and I compromised between the two and drank vodka. Viva la Russia.

We made it to the airport just fine. The system for arrivals is borderline hilarious and again proves my theory that they make up jobs for the billions of people in this country that otherwise would have none. We get off the small plane, hop on a bus that they cram as many people on as possible and drive us twenty feet to the gate. Seriously. I could see the gate from the bus, read the words on the signs, everything. I could also see from the plane that it looked like a prison gate, which was unsettling considering that Russian prisons are typically in Siberia. The bus was probably because someone's brother-in-law needed a job and public transportation in town wasn't hiring.

Once we loaded everyone on and drove 15 seconds to the gate, we waited outside the baggage claim building for our luggage to arrive. It was a beautiful day as you can see from the pictures, a little chilly compared to Moscow and downright freezing compared to Texas in August, but comfortable and sunny, a welcome break after our flight. But then you have to think about what it's like waiting outside in January. Isn't someones brother-in-law's cousin work in construction and need a job? Have them build a waiting area for Heaven's sake! Another thing to remember if ever you're flying to Noyabrsk, you cannot lose your baggage claim ticket. A concept completely foreign to yours truly. Even as someone who routinely has luggage lost or late, I always lose my baggage claim ticket and it always works out in the end. But here, you have to give them your ticket and they retrieve your baggage for you. One Russian woman was unfortunate enough to have lost hers and I felt so bad for her as she was digging through the trash and making her husband search high and low on the street and in dirty corners for it. I don't know what she had to do to eventually get her luggage, but she did manage to walk out with it, and as far as I could tell was not missing any toes or fingers for not having that precious ticket.

As for our luggage, my sweet husband is just too plain nice for his own good, letting anyone in front of him who put any energy into shoving their way up the line. He might argue that he was only letting in women with children or the elderly, but I call it collateral damage. Sorry. For ya. At any rate,

We made it to the hotel after a quick stop at the office and I was completely exhausted, still not yet recovered from the jet lag of our trip from Texas back to Moscow. Silly of me to think that getting a hotel would be easy. Our hotel clerk used the same technique Hubs does, which is to just push through the language barrier by continuing to talk in your own language. Usually this makes me laugh, but I was so tired and worried that we were encountering an actual problem with our passports that it wasn't funny until typing it out just now. Apparently, one of the only hotel employees who spoke English was out, so they had to call her and bring her back in so that she could explain to us that we couldn't stay without registration paperwork.

Huh?

A friend of mine had told me about this registration paperwork awhile back, so I was instantly mad at myself for brushing it off with, "Meh, if we needed it, the company would have given it to us..." No big deal. Just call someone from the office to bring it up or talk to the hotel clerk. But then suddenly neither of our phones were working, an issue we have yet to figure out since they work just fine now. By the time I was completely convinced that we would be sleeping in the streets of Siberia, we finally got a call back, and Dan's supervisor smoothed things over, we were handed a room key and off we went before they could change their minds.


Our room was beautiful. Large, with plenty of shampoo and shower gels, eye covers for the late night daylight and a large tv. We fell straight to bed and dozed. Until our room phone rang and we were told that we were given the wrong room number. The room we were actually supposed to be in is about half the size and with paper thin walls. When I say paper thin walls, I'm not talking about your college dorm, people. I'm talking I can hear everything and our neighbor seems to be on Skype for hours at a time. With a small child. Who screams. Screaming child via Skype. That was our soundtrack our first night in Siberia. Eesh. It wasn't bad for me, I was completely exhausted and slept for ten hours straight, waking only periodically when the screams were particularly loud. And let me tell you, there is nothing more terrifying than waking up in a strange country, in a new city and thinking theres a woman and child who have somehow managed to get into your room. The sound was that close. And the hotel must know it's that bad because we had a pair of complimentary ear plugs on the bedside table.

Frankly, we were spoiled by our trip home to renew our visas. And maybe Russia wasn't too fond of her new guests abandoning her so soon into our acquaintance.Writing about it now helps calm the nerves I sometimes get at the possibility of failing at this grand adventure. I don't always have the best attitude when I'm in the moment, and sometimes it comes out in eye rolls, pacing, pestering Hubs, vodka and yes, even elbowing small children. (But usually only when they're cutting in line. Usually.) But, I have to remind myself that we won't fail at this because the "this" is "us". And if at the end of the day, we love each other despite our crabby days and babushka sucker punches, if we can make each other laugh and feel at home half a world away, it doesn't matter if a tear falls or a meal is skipped or if we are sleeping on the streets of Siberia because a hotel won't let us in, we haven't failed each other.

And, to start a new day, the next morning our hotel neighbor played Aerosmith's "Greatest Hits" album. And random Aerosmith background music? Now thats something I can get behind.

Cheers to neighbors near and far, without whom, our stories and our soundtrack might be lacking.