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.

Love and a Long Week

No big, funny event to talk about today.

That's not entirely true, I guess. I got my first double call today in Moscow from a dear friend who looks after me while Hubs is gone. For those of you who don't know what the double call is, it's a technique I've used with friends and my mother to signal emergencies. Let's face it. With the invention of Caller ID, we all ignore some calls if they're not convenient or you don't have the time for what you know will be a long catch-up sesh. But if the caller immediately calls back (the double call...) then you have to pick up. At the risk of past bosses finding this out, I have excused myself from some really important meetings because of the double call and only a handful of times has it not been worth it. But I only have one friend with enough attention-seeking issues to abuse it and I won't say his name or the bar he manages in Corpus Christi in order to respect his privacy.

Contrary to what some people may think, I don't lounge in bed all day. But today, thats all I wanted to do. We're almost done with week four of Hubs being gone and it's getting a little rough. To make matters worse, he hasn't had phone reception since Monday, so I don't even get to hear that goofy laugh, witty one-liners, or tender, loving voice. I miss it all.

I have to interject now and let everyone know that, no joke, Coldplay "The Scientist" (you know, "nooooooobody saaaaaaaid it was eeeeeeeeasaaaaaayyyy...") song just came on in the coffee shop we're sitting in. I can't make this stuff up. I would cry, but there are too many Coldplay jokes out there to not crack a smile.

Anyway, the double call wasn't an emergency for my friend, it was for me. I'm still not sure if she knew that I was moping or not, but had she not called again, I probably would not have left my bed. But I don't have to describe what being sad and staying in would have looked like. We've all done it.

Instead, I want to talk about Hubs. I want to laugh and remember instead of be sad and wait for him to get home.

Here recently, I've been sharing our wild love story to a lot of people I've met. I don't mind, in fact I love telling the story and every time I remember a detail I had forgotten and it takes me back to a time so recent but, having come so far in such a short time feels like forever ago. So here's our story. Some of you have heard it, some of you are a part of it, some of you are in for the surprise of your life when you hear it. But I do believe that you will all love it.

When I met Hubs the first time, it was through mutual friends and he was actually dating someone that I knew. We didn't talk, just a quick introduction and that was it. Fast forward about three years and there were are at a bar, with quite a few different mutual friends. I was freshly out of a relationship and had decided that I would never date, much less marry. I didn't have too much longer before I turned 30 and would be labeled a Career Girl rather than a confused 20-something who can't seem to hang on to a man. So when a tall, handsome man walked in, I purposely ignored him. How cliche, right? Like I should instantly like this guy because he was significantly taller than me? Whatever. Ignore. But he recognized me and says, "hey, I know you." And then he walked off. Oh boy. Where did this guy know me and what embarressing thing had I done to make it memorable? I wish I could say this was the first time this kind of thing had happened, but I had already learned that people will remember the crazy things the lanky tall girl does, whether she notices them or not. And my friends know exactly how to convince me to do stupid things.

Once I mustered the courage to ask him how he knows me, and the relief that came with it not being embarressing for me, we hit it off. We chatted every now and then and I gave him my number. I will swear till the day that I die that I gave him my number because I thought we would be friends. Not that it mattered, he didn't call me anyways. Not for an entire month. And the only reason he did was because he was talking about me to ANOTHER mutual friend (how we didn't meet sooner is beyond me...), our friend put it together, made some texts, which I played very uninterested (he didn't call me for goodness sake!) and THEN he called and we made plans for dinner the next night.

Our first date was a Friday night. I found this incredibly strange. Who plans a first date for a Friday? I mean, if ot goes bad, you've wasted a good going out night. And you can't use the "I have to be up early for work" excuse. But that's Hubs, he doesn't think like that. The idea that our first date could be a train wreck didn't even cross his mind. It sounds so silly but it's the Friday Night Date concept that started to get my somewhat jaded heart ready for loving him.

We talked for hours, then an impromtu trip to the dance hall. Which led to planning a second date wade fishing. Yep, wade fishing. For those of you who know what people look like when they're wade fishing, you can understand what a bad choice for a second date this was. But, I had decided with this one that I would be myself to a complete fault. And the quicker he could see me without makeup, and not being a fan of mornings, the quicker we would know if we're just wasting each others time. He picked me up at 6am, I wore the rubber waders in the form of oversized overalls and out we went into the water. I baited my own hook without any help while still squealing every time I thought a shrimp was going to attack my hand as I was goin in. And silence. We just fished. We didn't need to talk and fill time with empty conversation but we learned that we each love outside. We love birds and sun and water and all the noises that come with it, we don't need to muddy it up with talking just to talk.

Not that we didn't talk ever. It seemed that when we made plans to meet for lunch or dinner, we would need to block off at least two or three hours because there was always a story to tell or laugh about and getting to know each other was so fun. Hubs is an easy person to talk to because he oozes honesty. That little part of his brain that should tell him, "hey that story probably won't impress the ladies..." just doesn't exist and I love that.

Hubs instantly adapted to my off-beat group of friends, our weird hours, even weirder jokes and affection for spontaneous karaoke. You always know where you stand with him, which makes it near impossible not to like him. And he routinely sided with my buddies in our famous shit-throwing battles (proverbial, not literal...) which also helped his likeability.

I could go on and on and on about the small qualities that I saw in those early months that Hubs and I were dating. Little did I know that I would later eat my speech about taking things slow and not jumping straight into talking about marriage. Because just under four months to the day of our first date, we were engaged. And the only reason it wasn't a month earlier was because he had to order the ring...

And those little things that impressed me so much about his character have turned out to be on a much larger scale than I imagined. Which is exactly whats keeping us so happy here so far away from home. If it weren't for his laughter and humor, our story about buying buttermilk instead of milk would have had a different ending. If it weren't for his super social awareness powers, our attempts at guessing what the Russian means without actually knowing Russian would probably have us in a Siberian prison. If it weren't for his thoughtfulness, I would probably cry myself to sleep every night being so far away from home. If it weren't for his easily talked into an adventure spirit we would never have been crab hunting, exploring random cities, dancing in a Russian night club, or a whole host of other crazy things we've tried. If it weren't for his kind heart, we wouldn't be blessed tenfold that kindness by way of friendships old and new. And if it weren't for the combination of all those things, on top of the added qualities like honesty, compassion, hard work, dedication, and enormous capacity to love it wouldn't be near as exciting as it is to look forward to the adventures that will come in the next fifty years.

I miss you so much, honey. Come home to me soon.

Cheers.

Love and the Banya

The long-awaited Banya Blog. Obviously, there will be no pictures, I don't think there allowed in there... I tried to copy some from the website, but no such luck. If you want a visual, the official website has some good ones here.

I've been wanting to go to a banya for awhile now. It's kind of a staple here in Russia. In fact, Hubs actually beat me to it because they have a banya at his rig site in the middle of nowhere. So imagine a forest, twenty miles away from the nearest town or person, a couple old, nasty trailers with bunk beds for sleeping and a complete banya. Something we would consider a luxury is a necessity, even to all the dirty oil men out there working. Fascinating.

So, my friend that I lunched with last week has been a few times, so she offered to take me and I quickly accepted. Hubs had given me a bit of an idea about how it works, but I went in with a pretty open mind and I was so excited to really get into the heart and soul of Russian culture.

The banya we went to is the oldest in Moscow and it is beautiful. 1100 ($33) Rubles will get you in for three hours and you add on other things that you may want. They have everything you can imagine as far as spa treatments go. Scrubs, wraps, massages, you name it. They also serve cafe style food, teas and, of course, booze. Your bill can really start to add up.

This particular banya has two levels, the upstairs is a little more expensive at 1700 Rubles ($55) and offers a little more privacy, but it was closed for renovations. Besides, I wanted to full Russian banya experience, like everyone else. Little did we know that Tuesdays are senior citizen discount day. Now, we haven't actually confirmed that, but its the only explanation for why we were the youngest people there by at least 50 years. No joke.

There's something you should all know about Russians. For the most part, modesty is not a priority to them. But before you judge them, think about this... Before the fall of Communism, there really wasn't such a thing as privacy. A friend of mine helped me understand this by telling me a story about her experience at a doctor's appointment. The doctor wanted her to strip down, even though she just needed a prescription for something like a cold. She, being from America, refused and demanded a new doctor that wasn't such a creeper. But they weren't being creepers, thats just the way they do things. Secondly, after the fall of Communism, Russians went from only receiving propaganda, to being able to get their hands on popular magazines. And these magazines were usually Playboys, and various fashion magazines. This all influenced norms in style and behavior.

So, now that we have some insight into the Russian brain, on to describing this banya experience.

Here's the breakdown. You walk in, rinse off and head to the steam room, a large room with wooden benches and a stove. Actually, from what I've read, it is two stoves. One with the fire that heats up the rocks in the other stove. These rocks heat up and once everyone is in the room, one of the staff throws water on the rocks to create the steam. And boy, does it get hot in there. You just start sweating like crazy, and you feel like you're breathing straight steam. You really can't stay in more than ten minutes or so, partly because it's uncomfortable, but I think it's also unhealthy.

You can buy these branches that are bundled together and you hit yourself with them. It's supposed to promote good circulation and let me tell you, it really does feel great. We didn't pay for a Babushka to hit us with the branches, so I'm not sure how great that would feel, but I'm sure I'll find out as I get bolder.

As soon as you get out, you stand under a bucket, placed high on the wall, pull a string and POW! The coldest water ever is poured on you. I knew it was coming and this was the part I told me friend that I probably wouldn't like. Surprisingly enough, it was awesome. Couldn't get enough. And it's good for you! The heat and sweating cleans out your blood vessels by expanding them and releasing toxins, and by immediately going cold again, those blood vessels retract, leaving the toxins out for disposal.

They also splash some type of oil on the walls. It smells like peppermint and even though my sinuses were fine to begin with, I felt like they were completely cleaned out. I'll definitely be going back at the first hint of a sinus infection. My lungs were squeeky clean afterwards! There really are tons of health benefits to this including circulation, kidney health, better immune system, heart health and it releases endorphins.

You take some breaks inbetween, sitting and having tea and snacks in a waiting room type area, and you are free to bring your own masks and scrubs instead of pay the spa prices. But you really don't need them. My skin felt so great after a few trips even without the aid of scrubs and such. Very, very refreshing. (once you got out of the heat...)

I'm sold and we've already planned to make it a weekly trip. And for those of you who will make fun of my new ritual, I can't wait till I look like I quit aging at 29. You'll be sorry. All of you.

Cheers to doing as the locals do. Only the Russians could find a way to be healthy without working out and eating healthy foods.

Love and the Beach

Monday was a real treat for me. I got to hang out with some new friends. You may know them, Misty May-Treanor and Kerri Walsh? Yeah, no big deal.

The FIVB beach volleyball Olympic qualifiers tour made a stop in Moscow over the weekend and I was able to go on Saturday and on Monday. Saturday was qualifiers, so there were lots of teams playing, mostly men's teams. Monday was the women's playoff day and by far my favorite.

What always strikes me as funny about beach volleyball fans is the fact that they are ready to play. It's like they're just waiting for Phil Daulhausser to get injured so they can stand up and say, "Good think I wore my board shorts today... Sub!" In the land of Speedos, I have never seen so many pairs of board shorts. Not even in our coastal town back home. So strange.

I went on my own, packed a lunch and basked in the sun. It was heavenly. Speaking of Heaven, I then heard some people behind me speaking English! I don't normally go up to people when I hear them speaking English, as tempting as it is some days. Mainly because people are weird. Even English speakers in a foreign country like Russia. In fact, in my experience, I'd say it's a pretty good indicator that one is bat-shit crazy if they're in Russia and English is their first language. But I was in a pretty specific group of people and after finding some courts, I was really jonesin' to find people here to play with.

They ended up being really nice! The guy was from Belgium and his girlfriend or wife was from Russia, but a small town outside of Moscow. We chatted about living in Moscow, volleyball and, of course, Hubs. I still can't go five minutes without dropping a Hubs Bomb into the conversation. My new Belgium friend played beach ball on the national level until he his achilles ruptured. (I can hear the collective virtual "oooooowwww" from here...) Then he moved into coaching. When I told him about the courts in Gorky Park, he seemed excited to play!

After the tournament, I went for a quick walk around Victory Park, where the tournament was being held. It didn't have the garden-like atmosphere I found at Gorky Park, but it was nice all the same. Lots of food and trinket stands, memorials and people eating ice cream and strolling around. The park has a rich history and is a place to pay respects to vetrans of war as well as the strength of a nation. Napolean himself camped out here back when he had the city surrounded and waited for the people to give him the keys to the Kremlin. Now, it hosts fountains and monuments to great wars and vistories. It really is a special place.

So, even though we didn't win (Walsh/May-Treanor came in 2nd to China), it was a fantastic day. I still haven't heard from my new friends, and I might not. but the conversation alone is another indicator that I'm gonna be ok. That life isn't so different here. And to wrap it all up, I got to take in a pretty amazing view of a pretty amazing city. A pretty amazing home.

Cheers to new places, faces and views.