From the steppes of Russia

Many years ago, I edited several installments from a science teacher, into a piece for a small, independently owned, Texas newspaper. As the narrator was a county resident, he was accorded a goodly number of column inches; within reason. The task called for a strategy of WMD. No, not Weapons of Mass Destruction but Words Mostly Deleted. [Editorial humor, don't ya know?] Given location, I surmised the "Catholic" church visited did not belong to Roman Rite; rather, it was likely Russian Orthodox.

***

 Russia: Land of the Czars

Getting there
   Former presidential candidate Sarah Palin may have been able to see Russia from her back porch, but I had a more intimate perspective. Rather than being "on the outside, looking in" my son Boone and I were on the inside, looking around. In the following paragraphs, I shall try to take you along on our journey, which began quite some time ago.
   After a presentation for "Operation Chemistry" at the 1998 National Science Teachers Association (NSTA) national conference held in Boston, two scientists from Los Alamos National Laboratory approached me. They invited me to join the Critical Issues Forum (CIF) program, developed as an international research program for high school students primarily from USA and Russia, but also from other countries. The program is committed to worldwide non-proliferation of WMD, Weapons of  Mass Destruction. After years spent developing this program, colleagues around the world became comfortable enough within the group to invite one another for home visits. When a friend emailed me from one of the "closed cities" and asked me to come for a visit, I recognized it for what it was.
   So difficult were the travel papers to fill out, we had to have special help. But it has been said a journey of a thousand miles, begins with the first step. We stepped on to a plane in San Antonio, Texas and stepped off at Sheremetyevo-2 (SVO) International Airport, into another time zone, another country, another world.
   One thing I must point out, foreign countries smell different. Not necessarily "bad:" just different. Sometimes a sense of paranoia overcomes you; mainly from knowing you can't just whip out your cellphone and call somebody from home to come and get you. I couldn't help thinking of Daniel in the lion's den.
   We were met by somebody who took us to Sheremetyevo-1, the Moscow airport, which handles domestic flights. Following a ten hour layover, we hopped a plane to Krasnoyarsk City. The last leg was a two-hour drive to the closed city of Zelenogorsk. This is the site of a secure facility, closed to tourists. But Boone and I had come as invited instructors, which accorded us certain privileges. Upon our arrival, many of the locals told us we were the first Americans known to have visited their city  where tourists are "persona no grata." There may have been no other way to visit one of the "closed" cities in Russia; my specialized background helped, as I could provide content my Russian friends were seeking.

"Special" education
   Making introductions: Coqva savut? (What's your name?) Minya savut Clabe. (My name is Clabe.) There is a difference between a "gymnasium" and a regular Russian "high school." At the latter, students learn two languages: their native Russian and either English or German. A "gymnasium" is a step above; in addition to the basic curriculum, students take on the challenge of extra language classes, which meet daily.
   Many schools in Russia experience difficulties with drugs, alcohol, and gangs, as do schools in the States. They seem, however, to have found a way to deal with social apathy: they do nor support a welfare state. Young people are encouraged to do well school and become productive members of society. The approach is Biblical: if you don't work, you don't eat. (This hardly bodes well for individuals with either learning disabilities or physical handicaps. - editor's note)
   In one 'special' school, a Major escorted us to a secluded place, where he displayed an arsenal that sent shivers up and down my spine: an Ak-47, grenades, a bazooka, rifle, shotgun, handgun, gas masks and so forth. You know, the usual school kit. This was one of those sensitive moments it seemed in our best interests to not ask too many questions, though I did wonder if this were some kind of ROTC (reserve officers' training corps) program? Just let me say they play "Sink the battleship" on a grand scale, out in the forest.
   After a particularly rough school day, the principal may call a meeting at the bana (sauna), where the vodka flows freely. There is also smoked cheese, lox, fresh fruits and vegetables, and comestibles unknown to me. Vodka loosens the tongue and people speak freely; but what is heard or seen in the bana, stays in the bana. When the vodka runs out, the meeting is adjourned. It may be 4:00 A.M. when the meeting ends but morning calisthenics always commence promptly at eight o'clock. Another school day, another ruble.

Borscht Belt cuisine: "soshlik," it's what's for dinner
   Having years of experience, I like to eat.Many of the foods we were served were a bit bland for our tastes: Russian moms don't use the spices we're used to. Any table top in the United States is likely to have garlic salt, season salt, ketchup, Tabasco, picante and more. In Russia we hardly saw more than salt and pepper - and sometimes we had to ask for those.
   Food is plentiful in the Siberian areas we visited but very expensive; often too costly for those on a meager income. Some things are the same all over: I recalled I had once asked about hunting and the Major told me, "Yes, there is hunting in Russia. If you have the money and can clear the paperwork, you can buy a hunting license. Sadly, much game has been poached, so hunting is no longer a realistic possibility."
   At breakfast, Boone and I were less than enthusiastic as we stared at bowls of glop. It was porridge but even the cooks couldn't say what kind. Sometimes it was runny, other times, thick. Boone avoided it like the plague. One time we had "pizza." Boone and I both watched as it came out of the oven. As in Japan, tomato sauce is not used on Russian pizza. Now, try not to gag: they use mayonnaise. Plus, they really like onions ... and fresh, unpasteurized goat cheese. But one thing to remember when you are with a host family: you never want to insult the cook, who is usually the momma. Nope, bad idea. So we did the best we could, smiled politely and said "thank you" to the momma. Swallow; nothing like it. Please may I have some water?
   Texas roadside barbecue offers some fine eating. In Russia, you might find roadside "soshlik." This is made from chicken or pork, marinated in something I never could identify, cooked over a fire in an open metal cooker. It is served on a birch branch, rather like shish-kabobs. I'd be willing to eat it again, given the chance.

Family life
   The cars
   Russian vehicles are smaller than most one would find in the Western world. Folks could not grasp the concept of a family truck. Describe a Ford F-150 and, in general, they had no idea what you were talking about. Petrol is expensive and, as in the States, comes in grades. Let's begin with some basic conversions. One gallon is equal to 3.78 liters, one liter costs 29 rubles. So, 3.78 x 29 = 109.62 rubles; 109.62, divided by 30 (rubles to the dollar) and you are paying $3.654 per gallon of gas. This is about a dollar higher than what we paid in Brady before we left. I will add that we also had to pay an exorbitant exchange rate to convert our currency. as usual, we reserve the right to complain.

Parents are the same, the world over
   Life in Russia is like life in the U.S. - kind of. The people work, marry, raise kids, and worry about paying their bills. Parents get sick and still go to work; it's different if a child gets sick. But people usually do not go to the doctor until there is no other choice. Instead, they "self-medicate." Sound familiar? The point is, we can relate; people are people and we need to try to get along.

*****

On our way home
   Many think the Church is dead in Russia: prior to 1991, it existed mainly underground but experienced a rebirth in 1993. With an escort, I visited a beautiful Catholic church and gave the preacher three New Testaments. The Brady camp of Gideons International provided two cases of New Testaments, which were gone in a flash.
   I had been charged with teaching at a top level school which prepared future political leaders. now, after many weeks, it was time to say Da Svidaniya to our Russian friends and return to the United States. The day before we were to leave, we learned no one was available to escort us through the airport. This would have been an excellent time to panic, save for the realization that God is in charge.
   Next morning, around 2:30, one of the teachers picked us up, drove us to the airport and hugged us goodbye. At the gate, we studied our instructions, mostly in Russian, and continued to pray. Minutes before boarding, we heard English spoken for the first time in several weeks. I approached a group of oil field workers, who were being rotated back to the States, after their time with a Caspian Sea oil firm. The leader told me he'd been away from home four months and had really missed his Bible study group. I'd been keeping a New Testament to read on the trip home but gave it to him; he thanked me.
   I'm sure the trip back was just as long as the trip over but knowing I was coming home, made it go more quickly. I'm no John Denver, but as I stepped off the plane, my heart sang, "Gee it's good to be back home again."