Love and Soccer

Let's face it, America. We just don't watch soccer. Maybe I'm wrong (doubtful...) but soccer is pretty much only used as an introductory sport for little ones. Kind of like how everyone should have a basic knowledge of the piano before trying another instrument, everyone plays soccer before going on to the sport they actually want to play. That, and those little ones look so cute in their soccer uniforms. So, unless a major game like the World Cup is on, a hot, famous Bristish player comes to play in America or our niece/nephew/kid are playing, we as a nation tend to be pretty uninterested in soccer. If you say otherwise you're either lying, saying it only because you watched the World Cup last time it was on or you're part of a small percentage of actual fans.

The last time Hubs watched a game as a matter of fact was when he last played in one at the age of five. Poor guy got bored and into a fight. With one of his teammates. So when we were invited to go watch a game with one of Hubs' co-workers, I was the only one excited about it. Hubs has his own theories about soccer, none of which I will share with you today.

It started off great. Our friend came over and we pre-gamed with some snacks and drinks, since we didn't think alcohol was served at the stadium. Which is crazy because you always here about crazy soccer fans killing people over bad calls, good calls, losses, victories, bad hot dogs, ect. To think that there's not booze readily available at the event means that people just really feel that strongly about the game of soccer. (and how hot dogs should be made)

By the time we left, we knew we'd be a little late, so we walk/ran as fast as we could to the metro station. When we got off the metro, we couldn't help but notice the crazy amount of military men and women in full on SWAT gear. I'm talking helmets, those sticks they beat you with, protective armor over their chest, the whole deal. And I'm serious, there are HUNDREDS of them! So we ask our friend about it and he says that because of a riot that killed a lot of people after a soccer game, they've really tightened up security on game days. We were a bit confused, surely this riot would have been televised, right? Well it was. When it happened twenty years ago. It's like the old Russian proverb... "Fool me once, shame on you...Fool me twice, I F***ing KILL you!!"

As we got closer to the coliseum, we started to hear it. The dull roar of fans. Fans who spend their entire lifetimes dedicated to their team. Generations of lifetimes. And the coliseum is open, so I really felt like I was headed to an ancient stand-off in the Roman Coliseum. I was a bit surprised when we got in and the players weren't wrestling lions.

Inside fit 75,000 people and I'd say we were at about 50,000 at least. Whats even more impressive are the fans. In America, we have to post all the words to the one-line chants and have some kind of clapping noise so that we can all keep the beat correctly. But here, the fans just know the chants. And they keep their own beat. AND they manage to lead the chanting and clapping with all 50,000 people at the same time. There's no prompter telling them to start chant #3, they just do it. And it. sounds. awesome. Our friend was excited about the crowd doing the wave, which seemed more like child's play after a taste of all the fans could do.

And getting a goal. Wow. We were pretty excited about that. (see the money shot Hubs took with the camera of the goal. as it's happening...) Nothing like seeing 50,000 crazy fans going ballistic all at the same time. Until they start waving those team scarves and you get repeatedly hit in the face by the fan in front of you. That's kind of a shock. But only to Hubs and me apparently.

Back to the military. They're still everywhere. They're lining the field between the field and the fans and we both wondered if they actually thought that they would be able to stop a rabid crowd from rushing the field. I think it's mainly there for the random naked streaker, which apparently is still a problem in Russian professional soccer.

And on the way home, they were everywhere. In fact, they lined the way to the metro. First time we had to wait in a giant line to get into the metro and certainly the most intimidating. A few were on horses and one even nipped at Hubs. I can't help but laugh a little at that one, since I was following, saw the whole thing and laughed then too. Luckily, he has this awesome thick wool coat that protected his handsome arm. That coat now has some horse slobber dried into it. Not funny but so funny.

On the way home we stopped at our favorite, El Cantina for some drinks and food and ended up closing the night with a rockin' cover band, fajitas and margaritas. Just like home.

We are so blessed to have these kinds of experiences. What started out as a soccer game (meh) ended up being this crazy combination of outrageous, hilarious and memorable. We had so much fun and it kept us giggling about horse nips, scarf slaps and getting "Ground Control to Major Tom" stuck in our head throughout the week following.





Cheers to expanding our ideas of fun and enjoying it through and through. Dahvi Spartak!

Love and the Life of the Party

Hubs is always a hit at parties. He's my favorite party accessory because everyone loves him and he loves everyone once he has a drink or two in him.

So when "Oilfield Workers Appreciation" weekend happened and the office threw a big party for the entire staff, I was excited for Hubs to get to know his co-workers a little bit better. Even though spouses weren't invited, I knew the night would be a great time for Hubs to break the "new guy in the office" blues. Or maybe "the only guy speaking English" blues. Either one, I was happy for this equalizer of people - vodka.

I got the phone call a couple hours into the party when Hubs called and asked me to meet up with him at the restaurant. Having already experienced a night out in our tiny Siberian town, I was quick to redeem myself and/or make the same mistakes again.

When I arrived, Hubs had quite the posse surrounding him. Just as I had suspected. Hubs had become the life of the party. I jumped right in.

Immediately we were ushered to the already packed dance floor. Apparently, Hubs had avoided hitting the dance floor by saying that he only dances with his wife, so he had no excuse once people figured out I was there. Dancing in Russia makes me laugh because anything goes. If they've seen it on a random music video, they'll try it on the dance floor. It was also on the dance floor where I caught myself humming along to the techno songs and I realized that somehow this music had made its way in and I had no idea how. Probably because they play that kind of music everywhere, from the supermarket to waiting rooms. Even Hubs was singing along, it's all they listen to in the shop at work.

Even now, I'm really not embarrassed. We were both swept into the Russian way. And love it or hate it, the Russian soundtrack is weird techno music.

If I thought the Russian club scene took some getting used to, Russian work parties are even more or a culture shock. That much booze at a work sponsored party in America would be a liability. Here in Russia, it's the standard. I don't know how people look their co-workers in the eye on Monday.

Hubs told me that Monday that at least two people greeted him by name in the hallway. He didn't recognize either of them. If that's not proof of a successful work function, I don't know what is.

Cheers to the successes in the workplace with the people we only half-remember but will never forget.

Love and the Dacha

I can get on board with the Russians when it comes to play.

One of the examples of the Russian brilliance is the Dacha. Most people have them, they're summer cottages outside the city, in the woods meant to leave your troubles behind, even if only for the weekend. And not just one weekend here and there. We're talking every weekend that the weather will allow, these people are out. It's genius. 

From what I've seen, not all these dachas are in the greatest shape. Some that we passed by looked like they were on nudge away from toppling over. Others seemed to be randomly shaped pieces of plywood held together with twine and prayers. We were lucky enough to have a Dacha experience while we were in Siberia. One of Hubs' co-worker's family had a Dacha a few miles out of town, and off we went! 

The Dacha that he had was beautiful, right on the river and complete with a banya. Food is of primary importance to a good Dacha weekend, second only to vodka and we were well taken care of in both categories. When we walked up, while preparations were being made to the shashlik (grilled meat). This meat had been marinated for a full day then cooked over hot coals and wood chips. So delicious. We learned all the tricks. You eat the shashlik then chew on some fresh dill to really bring out the flavor. Vodka. More meat. More fresh dill. More vodka. Repeat. Throw in fresh fruit like wild blueberries straight from the vine. Vodka. 

The men had some banya time, which was followed by a dip in the icy cold river just a few feet away. Seriously, it doesn't get much more Russian than this. I didn't get to participate in the banya part. I didn't bring a bathing suit (lesson learned...) and wasn't about to join the menfolk in my birthday suit, so I sat it out. 

We had the best time with our new friends. It truly felt like family. Pictures in this case tell the best story, so I'll leave you to enjoy our special Saturday without too many words.

Cheers to the family you find abroad. And the rivers you jump in with them.

Love and a Summary of Siberia

Siberia was a little rough on the home stretch. In the end, here's the final numbers...

24 Days

12 Books

3 Bottles of gin 

2 Seasons of Downton Abbey (twice)

20 Mystery meals

3 New album releases

15 Ramen soup dinners

30 degree fluctuation in temperature

8,652,136 Cups of coffee in the hotel cafe

But we really can't complain. Yes, we were isolated, bored and walked every inch of the town at least two dozen times, but we gained some memories that we will treasure forever. Siberia was good to us. And I can say that now that I'm sitting comfortably in my favorite Starbucks.

While Hubs was at work, I was on my own for meals, which I decided to have some fun with and try lunch roulette. Since Siberia isn't very expat friendly, English menus are few and far between. And by few and far between, I mean they don't exist. There was one at our hotel, but everywhere else, we were on our own. Pointing at things and hoping for the best. It's like the Hail Mary of eating out. I would love to say that I got really good at this game, but unfortunately, I only digressed. So badly, in fact that at one cafe I went to often for lunches, I almost always accidentally ordered the same thing... goulash and this barley stuff. I didn't mean too, but I would get so nervous right before ordering that I would point and realize immediately after that it was the goulash. They must have thought I was crazy for the stuff. 

I did manage to find a hamburger in Siberia. What a treat. First off, they spell it "gumburger"which, of course cracked us up. It wasn't the best, certainly not Whataburger, but it might as well have been by the time I got to it. It had the texture and taste of a meatball, shredded cabbage was used in lieu of lettuce, the sauce was unidentified but one was green and one was orange. It was perfect. This cafe also had nachos on the menu. Too good to be true? Yes. The chips were some type of nacho flavored corn chips, with strings of mozzarella burried underneath sour cream, salsa and guacamole. But they had jalapeños, so it was totally worth it. I ordered it a couple times while we were there. I also ordered sushi at this place. I know. Not ok. But I was looking for an adrenaline rush and it's about the best I could do in this town. 

People are much nicer in Siberia. It's the same thing that you would find back home - small town charm vs. big city. People smiled more often and are much more helpful in stores and restaurants. I made one friend at the tiny grocery store close to the hotel and we "chatted" every time I came in. We had a system. I walked in, pretended to look like I knew what I was doing, she would push past her co-workers and help me with what I needed. And at checkout, she would talk to me in Russian. Unfortunately, all I understood was "Americanski", so I imagine she was asking what an American was doing in Siberia, then proceeding to lecture me on being careful. As small as the town was, I wouldn't be surprised if she managed to put our story together, which would explain why she seemed almost maternal in our interactions. No proof since I have no idea what she said, but I did feel taken care of. And it wouldn't surprise me if her clucking was offering some bit of advice. That tone is universal among all maternal types. 

Hubs' co-workers were a huge part of keeping us sane during our extended stay, but those stories don't have to share the spotlight with anything else. 

The misery is definitely outweighed by the sweetness of memories and love. In fact, I do believe that the reason we found ourselves so lucky at the end of our stay in Siberia (besides the fact that we were leaving...) was that there were parts that were so unbearably miserable and low for both of us. It's true that you can't understand pleasure without the pain. 

Cheers to the pain, to getting down low and rising up to see the greatness in it.