Love and Politics

Life as an expat has treated us pretty well. We step out of our comfort zone almost on a daily basis, but with it comes come great perks. For me, I see it mostly in the people that we meet. I'm not a huge fan of meeting people, but here it's the number one key to survival. Whether its learning where to go for your most cherished groceries, where the best burger in town in, how to maneuver on public transportation, google tries but it always comes in second to personal accounts and story-swapping. So, I've kind of seen it as my job to make those connections and get out to meet people. And although I'm pretty content with just the basics, like where the heck is the cheddar cheese is this city, we have been blown away by the cool things we've been hooked up with through casual conversations and connections. This year's election night was one of those things.

We received an invitation to the Spaso House, our ambassador's home here in Moscow for election coverage/cocktail hour. How busy and important does that make us look, right? So we were pretty stoked to go, if anything so that we could say that we were entertained at the Ambassador's home. And because we still pay US taxes and yet we can't shop at the embassy commissary, which has Pillsbury cookie dough and other items we're dying for. The least our tax dollars can give us is a night of free food and booze.

We arrive, flash our passports to the marines on guard for impostors to the VIP party and we waltz in. It didn't take very long to realize that we were horrifyingly underdressed for the occasion. Nowhere on the invitation was "business casual" mentioned, but maybe we got a different invite than everyone else. Or maybe thats just common knowledge to show up to the Ambassador's home looking nice. In hindsite, I think its probably the latter.

There was no other choice then to go in, avoid contact and start drinking our taxpayer wine, which, to be honest is the way I like to see our dollars at work. I dove right into piling my plate with food, too, because Hubs has way more pride than I do and I knew he would want to leave soon. No sir, not till I have my fill.

By glass number three of vino, we were feeling better. It helped that we were seeing more people who were also casually dressed. Albeit, they were the hippie photographers, but we'll take it. If we ran into any of our well dressed friends in town, we had a plan to immediately comment on the media dress code, or lack thereof. "Pffffftt… take a bath hippie, am I right? Another glass of red, please?"

Luckily, we didn't see anyone we knew until the very end, after I felt I had properly gotten the most out of my tax dollars for one night (which happens to equal three plates of food and six glasses of wine…). By then, the hippie photographers were gone, so we had no one to turn our nose up to. But by then, lets be honest, we had the upper hand as the most comfortable couple in the place. Boom.

When we left, we walked past all the drivers and their heavily tinted windows, waiting for the way more important people inside. We walked past the expensive apartments, the fancy restaurants. Past the pubs and drunks stumbling outside and into our little metro stop. We laughed the entire way home at the situations we find ourselves in, and how significantly unprepared we usually are. I mean really, who wears jeggings to an Embassy sponsored event at their ambassador's home?

We do. And we do it fantastically.

And eventually, we find ourselves not alone and so comfortable. And with a great story. We got to watch the polls close with a plate of gourmet food and wine, with a pretty cool international backdrop and lots of secret glances and giggles.

Cheers to those glances and giggles that take the story from mortifying to memorable in no time at all.

Love and Hurried Waiting

Let's try this again...

Hello. My husband and I refuse to quit honeymooning. These are our stories. 

You'll never guess where I am right now. Starbucks. I know I should be going local, I'm a huge advocate for local businesses, but Starbucks will always be the exception because if there's one thing I've learned in our travels thus far, its that this coffee shop will always have English-speaking baristas. That, my friends is gold. Solid gold.

But today is my first day at this Starbucks "office". Because I'm in Alaska. Yep. Alaska. This transition was a pretty wild road, starting with a lot of waiting followed by a week or two of flurried (read: exhausting) activity and now finishing up with more waiting. 

We were actually back home in Texas, waiting on our visas to get us back to Russia for our last few months of Hubs' assignment and planning one last sweet European Christmas. One month turned into two, which then turned into three, and suddenly we're reading our friend's posts on Facebook about snow in Moscow and falling temperatures. Where had the time gone? Anxiety was starting to set in because we were on a deadline ourselves and couldn't extend our time in Russia, but Hubs had certain obligations to finish with his program and it wasn't looking good. I have to admit that my anxieties got the best of me, yet again. Planning, timelines and to do lists became an obsession and none of it was working. 

In the back of my mind (way, way far back of my mind…) I knew everything would work out. Life happens and it keeps going. And I knew no matter how difficult it was, we would be ok because we're just like that. I had no idea it would work out as intricately as this… 

It came in an offhanded comment from one of Hubs' bosses in the Texas office that they were looking for people in the Alaska branch. Hubs, about as excitable as a puppy dog thought it sounded pretty cool so he got in touch with the hiring manager. Which led to a visit a week later, which led to a job offer two days later, which led to an official transfer approval three days later, which ended with a pack up your things, we're moving to Alaska in four days. At this point, realize we've both been waiting for our visas back to Russia for almost exactly four months. Suddenly, our well-rehearsed speech about how long we would be in town changed overnight to, "yeah, we're leaving for Alaska on Monday!" Most of our friends were shocked at first, but then remembered who they were talking to. This is kind of what we do. I swear we're not trying to one-up ourselves, it just happens naturally. 

So here we are. Alaska. "The final frontier" and they are not joking. It's been a real shock, my emails to friends who had lived here did nothing to prepare me for this strange land of personalized license plates, chattiness, military discounts, fleece and mountains. But we jump in nonetheless and adapt as best we can. Together, with lots of laughs, lots of plans, lots of dreams. It's our official tried and true method. 

As crazy as it sounds, this move did more for my peace of mind than it probably should have. My anxieties about our timeline and transition after Moscow are laid to rest. Rest assured, they've been replaced by others, but at least I have hope that no matter what the anxiety, my prayers are heard by a God who is extra creative in putting them to rest. And part of that is having a handsome, silly, fearless partner by my side. 

And so the honeymoon continues.

Cheers to the things and people that make us fearless.

Love and Themes

Here's a story my mother shouldn't read. But she will. And I'll be expecting a call very soon full of helpful advice like, "don't go to Siberian prison..."

If that isn't an attention grabber, I don't know what is. You'll never believe where our adventures took us back in early November.

So, I love theme parties. Love them. I loved them before Pinterest made them cool, if you can wrap your mind around that. So when some friends of ours asked if we were willing to co-host a party, I didn't need details, I was all in. The idea was simple. Get some people together who live relatively close and hop around from apartment to apartment and have a good, old fashioned wild time without spending a thousand dollars on over-priced drinks at a dingy Russian club. (Not to knock Russian clubs. They are second to none in the nightlife experience. Just really, really expensive.) To top it off, it was a Halloween party, so we were all dressing up. Fantastic.

I'm not a huge fan of Halloween. We didn't really celebrate it growing up, which was fine with me. In my family, we spent Halloween night staying up playing cards and eating junk food until I crashed. Then Dad, in an effort to avoid dealing with me being the only kid without a stash of Halloween candy, and also to replenish his secret candy stash, would go to the grocery store and buy up all the bags of candy at a discount. When I did dress up, it was for a church harvest party and I was Raggedy Anne for ten years straight. Not sure how that worked, since I probably grew three feet in those ten years, but I didn't ask questions back then.

I know I'm always complaining about it, but Moscow is expensive. Halloween costumes are no exception, so I was kind of dreading coming up with a costume for both Hubs and I. Part of why I kept a closet full of clothes that I barely ever wore was for last-minute costumes, and now, since I've cleaned out my closet and live on the bare essentials, I was at a loss. But, come to find out, anyone can come up with a pirate costume out of an ordinary closet. (open your closet and try it...) So, we were going to be pirates.

Which then made it very easy to have a theme...a Pirate's Lair!!! Yaaaarrr, Matey!!! From there, we (seriously, Hubs did just as much helpful planning, he's the pirate expert in the family after all) We decided to serve meatballs as "cannonballs" gherkins on those min-plastic swords, goldfish, black olives as "black pearls" and buffalo chicken dip as "chum". (That last one was a stretch, but I REALLY wanted buffalo chicken dip...)

Having time to plan, I inevitably changed my mind on everything at least a couple times. It's just what I do. And when you see bright blue feather eyelashes, you just can't pass them up. But pirates don't wear bright blue feather eyelashes, you say? Well, their PARROT does!!! Costume change, now I'm a parrot to Hubs' pirate. Which also allowed me to buy a blue tutu thing. That thing alone will pay for itself, I can't wait to see how many excuses I can find to wear that thing around town.

So the night came and I was so excited. It was about meeting new people, hosting a party with themed foods again, which is one of my favorite things to do and having a fun night out.

We got to our place around midnight after two stops. We had lost some of our crew, but pushed ahead with the stragglers still hangin on. This was my moment of glory. A chance to prove my theme party skills and wow the masses.

But ten minutes in, our neighbors were not wowed. And they did not appreciate that we were throwing a party downstairs.

Quick side note: Our upstairs neighbors have somewhere between two and two hundred small, wild children/monkey-elephants living upstairs. Their favorite activities are pushing things across the floor and jumping off of them, bouncing 20 pound medicine balls on the ground and playing synchronized hopscotch at all hours of the day and night. But apparently, since it stops around 11pm and doesn't pick back up until 6am, they feel that they can get really mad at us and bang on the floor to get us to be quiet.

Pffffttt... Whatevs.

What I wasn't expecting was for our doorbell to ring after two good stomps from upstairs. But Hubs went to handle it (in costume, mind you, and heavy on the eye makeup), coming back only to ask for a translator, which a friend quickly volunteered for and actually thought to get "out of costume" by throwing off his hipster magenta scarf. The rest of us all sat and ate in the kitchen, blissfully unaware of the shit show that would soon be unveiled.

Hubs and our new friend ran quickly to the bathroom to talk, leaving the front door open. Me, being the helpful housewife, went to close it and caught my first glimpse of the Russian police officers at the door. Oh. My. God.

So I run to the bathroom conference to check and see what solutions were being discussed and how we were going to laugh and be done with it in no time flat. What I wasn't expecting was to hear that they weren't backing down. That the Russian police officers, who are known around the world for taking bribes, are suddenly rule followers and insisting that they take Hubs to the station.

This is the point in which a good friend, convincingly dressed as Nikki Minaj, complete with stuffed booty shorts and a bright pink wig decides to get involved. Probably the most surreal moment in Russia to date was having Nikki Minaj arguing with a Russian police officer hell-bent on taking your husband, the pirate to the police station. While Nikki's uber-tourist boyfriend throws his two cents in and I'm having a conversation on what the US Embassy actually can do for us. (nothing.)

So, Hubs excuses himself to wash the makeup off (that's a funny statement) and leaves with the police and two of our friends, one has become our translator, the other just wants to go and see what happens. They pile into the small police/clown car and drive down the block.

Have you ever been in a situation where you are so overwhelmed by panic, but you're surrounded by people who are telling you not to panic, so you just don't? So, we all pile outside to get some air/plot how we are going to extract revenge on our awful neighbors.

Once outside, Hubs and our two friends round the corner and are back! My first reaction was to laugh. We had worried for nothing, all was fine and right in the world. And Hubs would not be breaking large rocks into little rocks in Siberia for the next 20 years.

And the story finishes like this...
Hubs, our friend/translator, our other friend who likes excitement and a police officer pile into the back of a tiny, tiny police car. They drive a couple blocks before the radio starts going off and the police officer pulls over quickly. The officers jump out of the car and start frantically putting on their bullet-proof vests and other protective gear and our Russian translator is staring wild-eyed at them. To which Hubs starts to get a bit panicked (Firing squad? For a lousy noise complaint?!) and asks whats going on. Apparently, there was a shooting down the road, so they had to run there and told them to leave the money in the backseat of the car. Funny how, despite their hurried demeanor, they still had time to haggle a bit over the cost of the "fine".

So, an hour and 2,000 rubles (roughly $60) later, they were home, safe, sound and ready to celebrate their brush with Siberian prison. Hubs and I made it for one celebratory drink at the club before we snuck out to the safety of our now quiet apartment.

It's terrifying to think about the worse case scenarios of expat life. Particularly for us in Russia, where we're not completely certain of rules, not certain at all of the language (minus the bad words, which probably shouldn't be used when talking to police in any country...) and not certain of our rights. We joke about it now, but it was also a good reminder to be mindful of where we are and where we do not want to end up. Also, to be mindful of how much eye makeup we put on.

Our night ended in a tearful hug (tears = me) telling Hubs to not ever go to Siberian prison because it would break my heart. He promised he'd try his best.

Cheers to the near-misses, the obscure second-chances and not going to Siberian prison.

Love and Resolutions

I would say that its unbelievable I haven't posted a new blog in two months, but really, it's not. You should see my journals. They start and pick up every couple of years like its totally normal. But, that's what happens when you like journals more than actual journaling.

But, New Year's Day and New Year's REDO have come and gone, which means I have no excuses not to start on that list of goals for 2013, one of which for me is to make a point of writing every day. (unless I happen to get stuck under a very large rock, which according to my favorite movie, "When Harry Met Sally" is the only logical reason anyone could be kept from anything.) I refuse to fall into the same cycle of my youth. I'm 30 now (yeah, missed that blog entry, too...) so it's time to shape up and get with it. Plus, its for my health. I've noticed a definite change in my mood after a day of writing and I'm finding that in the dead of winter I'm in desperate need of some extra endorphins.

So, I'll kick this off with New Year's REDO, the official start to 2013. To give a little background, we've been celebrating New Year's REDO back home in Texas since we rang in 2010 on January 7th. The idea is simple. We all think New Year's Eve is going to be awesome, but it's always a letdown. The best New Year's Eve before this one in Moscow was spent with my best friend from high school in a Bennigans because we got lost trying to find an imaginary location in Ft Worth that we thought would be picture perfect, like the green hill where they watch movies outside in "The Wedding Planner". And that certainly didn't go according to plan. The only reason it was the best to date was the level of ridiculousness we had reached jumping into a Bennigans, for goodness sake.

So, ringing in 2010 was a letdown for all of us in our circle of friends, we hadn't started our resolutions and had no desire to, seeing as how we didn't feel like the year had really started. So we took matters into our own hands, got some awesome party favors at half the price, dressed up nice and fancy, had a countdown to midnight and proceeded to waltz around our sleepy town yelling "HAPPY NEW YEAR" and blowing noisemakers into stranger's ears. It was a hit.

So after many years of success, our empire grew and the thought of leaving this timeless tradition back home was too much to bear. And although we had the absolute best, most surreal, awesome, storybook New Year's Eve this year, we couldn't pass up the chance to carry on the tradition. We took the franchise global.

If you'd like to try this at home next year, believe me, you will be a hit as well. You can't mess this up. It's a perfect formula.

In fact, I will give you the formula right now. And it works for all parties, but we will use New Year's REDO as our example. A. So you get the story and B. So that you, too, can make your own perfect party.

First, the food. Back home, New Year's REDO involves dinner at a nice restaurant before the festivities. Here in Moscow it's too expensive, so we do snacks. I hate cooking, but I love preparing snacks. And since there was no theme, I was free to use snack ideas I had found on pinterest that started with the words "easy" and "impossible to screw up". If "delicious" made it in there somehow, it was an added bonus. This time, thanks to some good friends who had gone home for Christmas, we had tons of Rotel and velveeta, so I was able to introduce them to the magic of cheese dip. Did you know that there are people in America, even (!!!), that don't know what Rotel is? It compels me to start a non-profit to distribute the magical, canned goodness to all our country men and women. Even those whose unfortunate circumstances leave them too far to the north.

Next, booze. Party hosting in Russia is a breeze, because if you tell people to bring booze, they bring it. Enough for everyone. It's so awesome. No chance of party moochers in this town. Plus cheap champagne in Moscow is even cheaper than cheap champagne in America, believe it or not! AND it's pronounced "champagnski" which I think is way more fun to say.

Party people, the most important part. It's nice to have a group of people that are not easily embarrassed, like to meet new people, eat cheese, and tell good stories. It's an elite group that we make up and not for the faint of heart. We've hosted a few parties now and every time, I've had a moment where I just take it all in and appreciate the fact that we have managed to find the coolest people in this city. Of course we miss our circle back home, but we couldn't ask for better subs. They came in off the bench ready to play, for sure! (But enough sentiment. Gotta save some for my closing statement...)

Neighbors can be tricky. Our neighbors especially. I'll spare you the story here, because I've already started that blog, so read on to "Love and Themes" and you'll understand the background. Bottom line? They don't like noise. So, in order to keep them happy, I wrote a note, copied it to Google Translate, where it magically turned into Russian words and had a few friends look at it. Once the note was approved, I walked upstairs with my new Russian note and a box of chocolates hoping beyond hope that they would accept my peace offering and be a bit more neighborly. And even though the chocolates and note were received without smile and/or neighborliness, it did work in the long run, considering my only goal for the whole thing was to not go to Siberian prison.

(As a side note, if you're ever in Russia, chocolates seem to fix everything. I'm going to start keeping boxes of chocolates in my bag for when someone yells at me on the Metro or I need directions. It stands to reason that people will be nicer if you give them things, and at the top of that list seems to be chocolate.)

Party favors are important because how else is anyone going to take you seriously at a redo party? Luckily, I found a party store close to my apartment and after only an hour of getting lost trying to find it, I DID find it! And it was totally worth it. Hats, noisemakers AND those tube things that you twist and confetti flies out were all there...IN BULK!! I can't wait to go back, although I'm not sure that I'll ever find it again.

We were going to head to Red Square to ring in 2013 at midnight, but at the end of the night the only people who wanted to brave the cold and the metro were myself and two of my Russian seestras, so we opted to go to the club a block away instead. And it was there, outside the club that we counted down and officially rang in the new year, surrounded by all the people who, for one reason or another we were not able to celebrate on New Year's Eve proper. Confetti, hugs, loud noises...it was perfect.

Unfortunately, it wasn't completely perfect since Hubs was out in Siberia freezing his sweet hiney off. Which only means one thing... New Year's REDO REDOOO!!!

Cheers to all the party people near and far. And how easy it is to find them when you have the right formula.

Love and Starting Traditions

Our first year wedding anniversary was on October 22nd. On that day one year prior, we brought out all of our friends and family to one of our favorite bars and surprised them all with an announcement that we were actually having our wedding ceremony right then and there. We were thrilled not only to host a different kind of wedding, but were looking for ways to invite all of our friends without having them all show up. I think our preliminary guest list was about 350 not including +1's. Hubs has a big family, but not that big. We were getting carried away and I didn't want to leave anyone out. Now, I can actually say that I invited most all of my facebook friends and family members, but only had to deal with the 150 that wanted to go to a wedding shower/going away party for Hubs. Sheer genius.

Also genius was the fact that I now had two anniversary dates to celebrate. One being our courthouse wedding and the other being our surprise wedding. So we spent the better part of this first year trying to come up with what would become the first real Dan and Sarah Callis Family Tradition. We decided that our courthouse wedding anniversary would be the traditional anniversary, and we would celebrate with the annual themes and flowers associated with the year. First year being paper, this was pretty easy, and if you haven't read the blog about that anniversary, you really should, because it might go down in history as the best one ever.

For our surprise wedding anniversary, we wanted to do something unique, just like our unconventional ceremony. When it occurred to us that we should just keep the tradition going. That we should surprise at least one person every year on October 22nd in honor of the most fun surprise day in our history. Brilliant.

But then, we remembered that we're in Moscow. And our anniversary was in a day. Who were we going to surprise and with what? I mean, we surprise ourselves every day by buying milk instead of buttermilk (kafir). Or by buying weird black olive flavored mayonnaise instead or regular mayonnaise. How on earth are we gonna catch anyone by surprise in a city where we live in a constant state of surprise ourselves? Most of our new friends know what kind of mayonnaise and milk to buy, and are WAY more savvy about ex-pat life. How on earth are we going to pull this one off?

In the end, it was a simple solution. No one in Moscow is ever expecting a cake. Baking here is a real bitch. I've heard all the excuses. "I can't figure out my oven,""the flour and sugar are different," "chickens here aren't happy and give us awful eggs..." You name it. And frankly, I believe it all. I've ruined every single thing I've ever tried to bake and roughly half the things I try and cook on the stovetop. (although I have mastered the meatloaf.) So, we took a trip to our new favorite store, Stockmann's which keeps a good amount of not only cake mixes with English instructions (something you don't think about until you buy a bunch of brownie mixes in Dubai only to find the instructions in Arabic...) but also frosting!

So, we baked the best yellow cake from a box, topped it with some chocolate icing and headed out to our friend's apartment down the street.

About halfway there, I think it hit us both that our new friends are not familiar with our somewhat eccentric qualities. You don't really consider yourself eccentric when you're surrounded by equally eccentric friends. It took awhile, but on this long walk to start a new tradition celebrating our marriage, we had to come to grips with the fact that we were in a new place. That we would either embrace these slightly off-beat, maybe a little weird qualities that kept us so entertained between the two of us for so long, or we would change. We were about to have our first test in grown-upness really. Funny that it took this long for it to happen.

As usual, the walk was long and full of nagging doubts about our quirks and crazy ideas. But I have to go on record now and say that I wouldn't have survived this long without those quirks. Not only my own, but Hubs' as well. He keeps me laughing and sane and hopeful and content and loved. All with his crazy ideas and witty banter. What a great year we've had. And what great years await us.

We may have woken up our friends, but I think they enjoyed a hand-delivered cake/mini anniversary celebration. And it felt so much better to be in the company of people who strengthen our marriage, our purpose and our sanity while we're so far from home. It takes so many more than just two in order to make a marriage work and every October 22nd from here on out we want to celebrate those people. We wished this year that we could have celebrated with many, many more dear friends who have been there for us, but we only had a day to plan and Hubs had to be back at work the next day.

There's always next year...

Cheers to our people. And to our confidence in those people as well as in who we intrinsically are as people and now as the most blessed married couple.

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. 

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.