My New Haircut

I've been dreading cutting my hair, but yesterday finally took the plunge...what do you think? : )

Protests and Snowmen and Tver, Oh my!

Below are a ton of pictures from the last month...sorry for the delay!

Office Party (Feb. 10)

Me and Nazee

Dima

Natasha and Robin read and perform a 4-page poem (which I had the pleasure of translating) as a farewell gift for Wim, co-founder of AFEW. This was a goodbye party for him and his wife, Rian, executive director and founder of AFEW. They are going to China to try to open a new AFEW office there.

Wim and Rian read the fortune that they pulled out of a giant fortune

cookie that they received as a gift.

Protest (Jan. 28)

Nazee, Tina, Arseniy and I attended a protest in front of the Ministry of defense in honor of Andrei Suchov, a young soldier, who was severely beaten by his elders in the Russian military. On New Year's night, some of the older soldiers in an army unit in Chelaybinsk took to harassing a younger soldier. Suchov tried to stop them and, in turn, was raped and beaten by eight men. Forty of his fellow soldiers witnessed the crime and not one came to his aid, even after he was left bleeding on the ground. He is, till this day, in critical condition and will have both legs and his male organs amputated. Sergeants and generals from Suchov's military unit are trying to cover up the controversy--and hence their asses--by saying that Suchov brought this upon himself. Unfortunately, Suchov is not the only one who has fallen victim to this sort of crime. Last year alone, approximately 170 young soldiers died from the antics of what in Russia is called the "Dedovshina" ("Ded" is grandfather/old man, and the ending "vshina" implies a mass of something. Hence, men who have served for a few years are known as the "Dedovshina".)

Suchov's case has stirred a sleeping giant and much of society is up in arms about the barbaric institution that has infested the Russian military for more than 20 years. Committees have been instituted to come up with a way to root it out and the organization of soldiers' mothers has threatened to go on a mass campaign to stop young men from serving.

This particular protest was organised by a young woman named Marina Litvinovich. This entire situation was leaked to the media around Jan. 26 and so the protest was thrown together as quickly as possible. Due to time constraints, the protest was unofficially permitted but it didn't undergo all the necessary bureaucratic processes, making it very convenient for the police to start threatening to arrest people after a couple of hours. They quickly tried to sweep Litvinovich into a van to arrest her, but were forced to release her when the entire crowd of protesters, along with the media, swarmed the van. The protest drew around 500 people, who stood outside of the metro station Arbat arguing and discussing what should be done and calling for the removal from office of Russia's Defense Minister Igor Ivanov.

"SHAME"

"SPEAK OUT"

I just couldn't help myself: the glasses, the face...!

Marina Litvinovich (right), who was just released by the police, asks everyone to leave the premises to keep her from being arrested. Protesters were outraged that their peaceful assembly was being peacefully disassembled.

"We're just discussing," yelled the woman (left).

"If you want to further discuss the situation, lets go to a cafe and I would be happy to talk with you there," Litvinovich said in a calm, gentle voice. "But if you don't all leave now, I am going to get arrested."

The crowd slowly dissipated as the police started growing in numbers, but a few brave protesters stayed until the end. Nazee and Tina left while Arseniy, my camera and I hung around a bit longer. We almost got arrested. Ok, so we didn't almost get arrested but later in the day Nazee couldn't reach me and she thought that we got arrested, and that's almost as good as actually getting arrested. Of course, I would have stayed until the bitter, bloody end (although this time it wasn't bitter or bloody) if Arseniy didn't force me to put my camera away and get the hell out before we got swept into a van and taken in.

Snowmen Galore!!

After the protest, we walked around the city as this was one of the few days when the sun was actually visible in the sky. It was probably about -25 degrees out, but the sun and blue sky were worth the trouble. As we walked down one of Moscow's oldest streets (Arbat), we almost passed right by a huge exhibition of snowmen. It was incredible! Right in the middle of this pedestrian street were over 100 gargantuan snowmen. We later found out that these were the remains of a snowman contest. It was simply splendid!

Me with Punk Rocker Snowman (and my new hat and scarf set!)

This is me inside GUM, a large shopping mall that borders of the Red Square, located directly across from the Kremlin and to the left of St. Basil's Cathedral.

Tver (Jan. 23-25)

You can congratulate me on the successful completion of my first business trip! I accompanied two Boston University researches on a trip to Tver, one of Russia's most historical cities.

We boarded the train to Tver only moments before departure. The two researchers I was traveling with had seats a few rows ahead of me, and I was thrilled to have two hours all to myself to catch up my reading. I threw my bag onto the overhead rack, my camera under the seat, and pulled out my current book of choice (Bulgakov's Master and Margarita). After ransacking my purse in search of my handy, yet dull to the point of uselessness pencil, (yes, I still underline words I don't know) I released my seat back and dove in where I last left off. A tall, thick man in his late thirties was my left seat neighbor and right off the bat he offered me the window seat, which I graciously refused so as not to waste time relocating. He kept climbing in and out of his seat to go smoke, and I realized that it would have been faster to have switched seats with him than to let him out every time he needed to go on a toxic binge. So there I was, reading away, not paying attention to anything around me, when something started falling on me in a continuous stream. I was so startled that I didn't even think to get out of the way: I just sat there, book in hand, staring straight forward while an entire pile of magazines, which were carelessly thrown on the overhead rack, made their way through the crevices and onto my head. The train was full and yet nobody seemed to notice that I was being ambushed by a horde of possessed literature. The man next to me jumped up heroically and started collecting the magazines from the floor around me. He laughed awkwardly as if it was somehow his fault, and reassembled them on the overhead rack. Just when we thought it was over, they came down again, even harder than before. Again I stared blankly ahead, as my knight in ironed black tried, in vain, to stop their fall. After the third downfall, I was growing bitter.

When the magazine affair had been resolved, I got right back to business. The man left again, and when he came back, he sat down and very suddenly and nervously turned to me and asked if I wanted to watch a movie with him. The fact is, I hate 99% of mainstream movies and I didn't want to do anything but read my book. But alas, that thing happened to me that happens when a guy asks for a woman's phone number in a club and she doesn't want to give it to him but she can't think of a quick out, and before she knows there it is in his shirt pocket on a crumbled gum wrapper. So I agreed, albeit reluctantly, and he opened his briefcase and proudly took out a small DVD player. While he was setting it up, I was still trying to think of a way out, but it was no use. The movie options were limited and I went the safe route and picked the one with Matt Damon in it--The Grimm Brothers. Although the cinematography was nice, all in all it was primitive and pointless, as expected. After a few minutes of marveling at how well Matt Damon spoke Russian, I drifted off until I noticed that the sound had disappeared. I came to, and realized that the man was addressing me.

"Do you like the movie," he asked smiling like a schoolboy.

"Yeah, it's very interesting," seeped the words through the teeth of my fake smile. "Why, you don't like it?"

"I don't care," he said. "I just want you to enjoy yourself." Just lovely isn't it? Who knew that the train came with a free dating service? Before I knew it, there was a large bottle of beer and two plastic cups on our little pull-out table. I kindly thanked him but informed him that I don't drink beer, which only intensified the awkwardness. Nonetheless, we talked for a few minutes while snacking on pistachios and I found out that he was a doctor (check!) who travels between St. Petersburg and Moscow every week. He inquired about what I was doing and asked, flirtatiously, if I could use his help in Tver: I informed him that that wouldn't be necessary. Our train's final destination was St. Pete with only a quick stopover in Tver. It was a good thing that I told my train date that I needed to get off in Tver. The train stopped and I started trying to figure out where we were--after all, it was too early for us to be in Tver.

"Are you going to make it?" he asked raising his eyebrows. He saw that I didn't understand what was going on. "You know, the train only stops here for 2½ minutes." When I realized that we were in Tver (a 1/2 hour early) and we had already been stopped for one minute, I jumped up to grab our researchers.

"We're in Tver!" I yelled frantically. "And the train is going to leave with or without us in one minute!" The woman researcher, Jill, tried to tell me that it couldn't possibly be Tver, because... "Don't argue," I said as tactfully as one can say the words "don't argue". "Just get your things and lets go!" I scrambled to get my things and threw my hand out for a quick handshake with my neighbor. "Liza," I said. He said his name, too but I didn't catch it and didn't clarify. He held onto my hand and stared at me with a clumsy smile. The whole time I was baffled: has he been living under a rock?

"Ok, thanks for everything," I said gently pulling away, but it didn't take. "Ok, well, it was nice meeting you, I really must go now." He squeezed my hand a bit tighter. I yanked myself free and two seconds later I was on the platform with the researchers and my coworkers, Denis and Arseniy, who arrived a few days earlier and came to meet us.

In Russia, it is common practice to 'catch a carriage' (i.e. car) on the road, much like one would catch a taxi. As a girl, especially one who was taught never to get in the car with strangers--even when being lured with candy--I would never dream of doing such a thing, but when traveling with men, it's pretty convenient. However, there were five of us and we didn't fit in one car, so Arseniy and I went by foot. Although I could tell that the city was quaint, I was unable to fully appreciate it due to the solidification of my brain into a solid cube of ice as it was 20 below zero, Celsius of course. Just as I started thinking that my feet would have to be amputated due to severe frostbite, we reached the hotel. We signed in left our things in the rooms and went to a nearby cafe to unwind and plan the next couple of days.

MEET THE RESEARCH(ERS)
Although I generally don't talk much about work, I found this trip particularly interesting, so I thought I would share.

Jill, whom I mentioned earlier, is a fellow at Boston University and is working in the field of HIV/AIDS. She lived in Russia for a few years so aside from a thick American accent her Russian was excellent. The second researcher, a tall portly man named Seth, is a professor of epidemiology, research and statistics at BU and has dedicated the last 20 years of his life to HIV/AIDS research. Seth doesn't speak a word of Russian, and that's where I come in. This round of coffee and cake was my interpreter test-drive, and by the end of the night my brain was sending signals much like the blinking orange light shaped like a gas pump next to the gas-o-meter. Jill and Arseniy carried on one conversation while I translated between Seth and Denis. Then, suddenly Seth would want to know what Jill and Arseniy were talking about. While I was translating what they were saying, they would casually drift on to a new topic, leaving me with the task of talking in English and listen to a completely different conversation in Russian all at the same time. I should note, that unlike other members of the conversation, I couldn't zone out for one second. This level of concentration is out of character for me and after three hours I was completed spent and terrified about the two days to come.

My only saving grace was that I am very interested in the content of these long and convoluted discussions. Basically, the organization that I work for, AIDS Foundation East-West (AFEW), hired Seth and Jill to do an analysis of what kind of research would best serve the needs of HIV/AIDS prevention programs in various regions of Russia. Before this trip, I couldn't begin to imagine what would go into such an analysis, but by the end of the first night I started to get a bit an idea. They had plans to meet with drug addicts, HIV-positive people, narcologists, doctors, outreach workers, professors of social psychology and local specialists working in the field of HIV/AIDS in order to assess the local situation from every angle.

The main preventive approach used to stop the spread of HIV is called harm reduction, which simply means that when dealing with a group that engages in risky behavior (i.e. drug users, commercial sex workers*), we assume that we can't stop them from doing what they're doing, so we attempt to minimize the risk involved in their activities (i.e. distribute condoms and conduct needle exchanges). Some of the main questions we were trying to answer were: How many people are already infected? What groups are most at risk of infection? What is the attitude of the general public towards HIV-positive people? What are the barriers associated with reaching high-risk groups in order to teach them about preventive measures and encourage them to get tested? What are the barriers to getting people on treatment and having them adhere to that treatment? Basically, it's epidemiology, research, statistics, social work, social psychology and politics all rolled into one and I was mesmerized by the way they were attacking such a boundless problem.

That very first night, for example, we met with a nervous and yet very focused young man named Maxim. He removed his jacket to reveal a Boston sweatshirt, which greatly aroused the enthusiasm of or researchers. "Did you wear that on purpose?" they asked. Clearly he had not. Maxim is an outreach worker who conducts a needle-exchange programme out of his own home. He works with injecting drug users, getting them clean syringes, distributing information about HIV/AIDS and encouraging them to get tested. He too is an active user, which on some level earns him the trust of his peers. He seemed extremely devoted to his clientele, and so being was a great source of information for our researchers.

The next day, after hours of translating interspersed with gluttonous food consumption, Arseniy and I, again, took off by foot to our last meeting of the day. The sun was starting its decline (much like my ability to function) and we took the scenic route through a park. There we found a tall wooden slide, where you sit on your behind and plunge down an icy chute. I made Arseniy go first to make sure that there were no serious risks involved. After his successful run, I made my way to the top, and after a few minutes of doubt and hesitation, I shot down like a nuclear missile, right passed Arseniy who had positioned himself to catch me in case of an emergency. Then, I got to walk across the mystical Volga river the largest in all of Russia. I say mystical because one of Russia's most famous songs is about this river, and it always seemed like a fairytale place to me. Walking across it made me feel very close to the Russia that I dreamt of before I actually got here. Unfortunately, right on the wall that would normally be covered in water, there was a bright red swastika. On the adjacent wall, there was a swastika with the key slogan of the nationalistic, fascist movement in Russia: "Russia is for Russians". Being as I have not met anyone who actually condones this movement, and since all of the swastikas were clearly the work of one talented artist, I tried not to let it bug me and wrote it off as an isolated incident, even though I know that it isn't.

Our last meeting of the day was at an organization called "Your Choice," a center for commercial sex workers. They come to the center for consultations, workshops on how to prevent infection, and to pick up condoms and informational brochures. We were going to interview them, but after talking to the people who run the center, and being informed that the girls weren't scheduled to arrive for another hour and a half, Seth and Jill decided to end their day. I decided to stay. That night, a local doctor came in to talk with the girls to remind them about the free medical examinations in her clinic. I sat in as she met with them.

They arrived in groups of 4-5 accompanied by their pimps. As I sat there watching them interact with the doctor, I could feel physical pain inside my chest. One little girl sitting directly across from me looked not a day over 15. She had straight, long blond hair; rosy cheeks; small perfect lips that were constantly curled up in a smile; deep dimples; and large, round, innocent eyes. When the doctor asked her why she hasn't taken advantage of the free medical examinations, she smiled a childlike smile, her eyes sparkling and shrugged her shoulders much like a child would if asked if she preferred macaroni and cheese or a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The doctor pushed them to commit to coming in during the next couple of days, and they looked to each other for support like small helpless bunnies.

"I'll go if you go," whispered a small, thin girl to her friend. "I just don't want to go alone."

They all sat linked together, arm in arm, whispering to each other and giggling. Their behavior didn't deviate from that of normal teenage girls.

Seeing them made me realize that we tend to label things in a way that makes life comfortable for our conscience and justifies our role as "positive" members of society. So being, it is much easier to think of sex workers as "whores" than daughters, mothers, sisters, wives and friends. I have lived in such a bubble all my life that I couldn't even start to imagine the myriad of reasons that would lead these girls into the hands of their putrid pimps.

As they sat around the table and talked nervously to the doctor, their pimp sat behind them, slouched in his chair, legs spread out wide in front of him. He smiled to himself and it seemed that he was pleased that visitors were seeing how high-quality his merchandise was. Every now and then he would throw out some encouraging phrase about how important it is for them to get tested--of course, he doesn't want damaged goods. At some point he got up to make himself tea and rudely reached across the table in front of the doctor.

"You really should get tested," he said mockingly. "We need to keep you healthy. One day you'll be mothers: don't you want to have babies and families?" The words were ok, but the tone and condescending look made it clear that he didn't give a rats ass how life turned out for them.

The next day was more of the same: meeting after meeting after meeting. At some point I just started shutting down, so that I could see that, in theory, people's mouths were moving but I didn't hear a single word of what they were saying. When it was time for lunch we stood on the side of the road while Arseniy tried to catch us a car. Denis left for St. Petersburg the night before, so we could finally fit in one car. When a car finally pulled over for us, Arseniy stuck his head inside to establish a price. They agreed on 100 rubles and we started climbing in. The car was tiny and I was worried that Seth just plain wouldn't fit. Jill, Arseniy and I quickly slid into the back seat to find that the driver's seat was on the right-hand side. Seth plopped down on the left front passenger seat, so that his back side was in the car, but his legs, arms, head and briefcase were outside, and the chances of getting them all inside were not looking good. I held my breath and prayed that we would not have to pull a Whinnie-the-Pooh-stuck-in-rabbit's-doorway stunt right there in the middle of a busy Tver road.

"He, he," Seth chuckled awkwardly. "I can't get my head in." I lifted my eyes reluctantly and saw that he was desperately pulling his head into the car with both hands. The driver, a young man who looked like a rapper, sunk back in his seat and leaned against his door to watch the struggles of his larger than life passenger. After fighting with his head for a few moments, he finally managed to get it inside.

"He, he," he chuckled again, but this time even more embarrassed. "I can't seem to get my legs in." And again, he struggled, with both arms to pull in his long, large legs. After a few minutes, he had successfully managed the unthinkable. And there he sat: his chin tucked into his neck with the back of his head pressed against the roof of the car, and his knees almost up to his chest. By then the driver was no longer amused and clearly regreted having stopped for us. Seth swung the door shut and it bounced off of him. I felt so terrible for him, and at the same time, it was insanely difficult to hold back the hysterical laughter that was bottling up inside Arseniy and I. When Seth was finally in the car with the door closed, our driver swung around to us:

"One hundred and fifty," he said glowering at us, and sped away.

TO BUY ANOTHER HAT (Also Tver)
That night, while we were waiting for the car that was supposed to come pick us up to take us back to Moscow, Seth and Jill went to an internet cafe, while Arseniy and I went off in search of a scarf to match my mustard-yellow hat. We looked in every store in a good-sized mall, and there was nothing to be found. Dejected, I succumbed to the reality that I would have to go all in and buy a hat-and-scarf set. We walked into a store that was full of such sets and I started trying on a particular style that they had in all different colors. I looked at the price tag only to find that the sets cost 8,000 rubles (almost $300).

"Are they really 8,000 rubles," I asked bewildered. The saleswoman looked at me as though I were a complete moron.

"No, they're 1,000. See, it says right there, 1,000," she said pointing at the tag.

"Oh, I thought that was an eight." I showed it to Arseniy for confirmation.

"Yeah, it really does look like an eight," he agreed shaking his head. She stared at us with a stone face.

"How can it look like an eight if it's a one?" she barked. "You are the first people to say that it looks like an eight." I began to wonder how many people, exactly, had looked at that particular price tag, and if they did, how many of them took to discussing it with the saleswoman instead of leaving because it was so expensive. Arseniy took the scarf from me and walked over to her to show her that we weren't crazy.

"See, it really does look like an eight," he said patiently. She glanced at it and I could tell that her stubbornness would just not allow for her to admit that the one really did look like an eight.

When she saw that I was genuinely interested in the merchandise, she softened up and came to help. I tried on every color of that particular set that they had, leaving her with seven or eight scarves and hats to re-hang. We narrowed it down to two or three, each of which I tried on at least three or four times. After 20 minutes, I left with a brand new, orangish-yellow-brown, wool scarf and hat, with my beloved mustard yellow hat and my rainbow scarf tucked away in a plastic bag.

*I know you're wondering why I don't just say "prostitutes," so allow me to explain. Working at AFEW has forced me to become more sensitive to the political correctness used to describe our clientele. "Commercial sex workers" is the term that is widely accepted in this realm of work. The underlying idea is that the word "prostitute" stigmatizes one person involved in the industry of prostitution, and it really is just that: an industry. Thus the term "commercial sex worker" implies that this is a business exchange where there is a boss, staff and customers, thereby taking some of the stigma off the "prostitutes" alone.

Entrance to the park where Arseniy and I found the ice slide.

Arseniy takes to the slopes!

I prepare for my icy plunge.

This is a view from the Volga River.

"RUSSIA IS FOR RUSSIANS"

A bridge across the Volga River...this is what I always imagined Russia would be like.

Mexican

My friend Liza and I went out in search of Mexican food, which is one of the things I miss most about the States...Taco Bell, where are you when I need you! We found a place called Santa Fe where a burritto costs $20 and a small glass (non-refilable) of diet Coke costs $2. I have to say that the food was very high quality, but I was looking for Mexican food, not a low fat, healthy, well-prepared meal. Oh well!

Sleeping Beauty (Jan. 11)

Svetlana, Barbara, Dima, Boris (distant relatives) and I went to the Kremlin Theatre to see Sleeping Beauty, the ballet.

Pushkin Square (Jan. 13)

After Friday night Shabbat services, me and Sarah, an elderly woman I met at the temple, went for a walk around Pushkin Square.

Statue of Pushkin (left)

Across the street from Pushkin (Note full moon!)

Big Ben Ice Sculpture