Snow, School, and S'Korea.

It snowed about three or four inches on Wednesday night, and it snowed a lot today too! It made everything fresh, white, and clean in the morning. I was so happy. Muscovites love snow because it makes the city prettier. If it doesn't snow for a long time, the snow that there is turns dark grey or black from the dirty roads. So, people always want fresh snow to cover up the gross snow.

This isn't Cathy's car, but the snow certainly piles up on her van like it did to this car. When Cathy drives to Hinkson, our morning ritual is different than when I walk and take the metro to school. We walk to the van which is about a five minute walk. Then we spend about ten minutes scraping all the snow and ice off the van. Then Cathy gets a shovel, and she digs a pathway so the wheels can easily turn out of the parking space. A parking space costs 2,500 rubles a month at least in our neck of the woods. That is about $75, but you do at least get a guard (and his seemingly rabid and scary guard dog) on watch for you at all times.

The fresh snow has made everything beautiful, so I took advantage of a few spare moments after school and took some pictures.

I like to call this a "snow relocator."

This snow has been relocated to the base of the trees.


Our school is surrounded by various apartment buildings...and of course lovely trees.

The kids definitely love the fresh snow, but guess who constructed this snowwoman? The Russian guards at Hinkson! Isn't her dress just lovely? I love the blue belt. ;) I wish I had gotten a picture of the back of her. She even has her own hairstyle. One of the guards at Hinkson saw me taking a picture; he started laughing, and then said something to me in Russian. I smiled and waved to him. I hope he was saying hello, but I doubt it. Most people don't laugh at you when they say hello. I have a feeling he was saying he created the snowwoman. I would have complimented his artistry if I had understood him at the time.

An icy path in the playground. The kids like to slide down this.

Lone snowwoman stares off into the distance...

My Sorel boots are seriously the best investment I made while preparing for Russia. It was totally worth the price, and let me tell you -- they were pricey. Never are my feet even a BIT cold or damp or wet.

The playground.

The designated snowball zone!

Kevin shaking all the snow off.

The sixth grade challenged the seventh and eighth grade to a fight. It went on forever, and I got several shots of them ramming and tackling each other. They're hilarious. Mr. Clark who was on playground duty said, "I wish I weren't on duty. Otherwise I'd be right in there."

School surroundings...

Hinkson.

Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful!!!

I feel like I'm really getting to know people here at the school now, and I am really excited that there are many different kinds of people at HCA -- young, old, fluent, terribly unfluent, native Russian speakers, native English speakers, etc. Most of the custodial staff is Russian, but we have several Russian teachers who speak English very well. I am so glad they're here. I love to hear them speak to one another in Russian in the teacher's lounge. Occasionally I pick up on a word or two.

One woman, I can't remember her name, is so friendly, but she doesn't speak a lick of English. She is a custodian, and every time she sees me she says, "Privyet!" which means hello. Normally I just smile, but the other day I ventured to return the privyet, and she then said, "Kak vashi dila?" Thankfully, I got that far in my Russian studies and knew she was asking me how I was. I said, "Horosho!" which means good or well. Her face immediately broke into a big smile, and then she put her hand on my shoulder and started spouting all sorts of things in Russian to me. I smiled, but I had no clue what she was saying. I imagine she was rejoicing at the fact that I knew at least a little Russian.

Regardless, I felt like I had a conversation with her...in Russian. I was thinking too...My learning Russian parallels with my nephew's learning to talk. On the phone he can say, "Hi. Wub you. Bye." That's a real conversation. It has a beginning, a middle, and an end. It's the same with the Russian woman...except I am playing the role of toddler. ;)

Speaking of children, I feel like I am really getting to know my students as well. Artyom (Ar-tyohm), one of my seventh grade boys and my only real Russian student (even though he hardly has an accent), has already played a trick on me. Is that initiation? He said, "Miss Beck, you have to play this maze game online. Mr. Brande, show it to her." I knew that there had to be a catch. The game was boring and poorly constructed, so I knew there was some other reason he wanted me to play. I knew...I just knew...it was one of those things where a scary picture pops up and scares you. I was right, and I jumped. I'm sure he told all of his friends, "I made Miss Beck jump today!" But Artyom wasn't malicious in his joke. In fact, he's been very kind and respectful towards me. He's also a movie/TV snob, and he asks me my opinion on movies and TV shows a lot. He asks me "Have you heard, seen, watched?" questions all the time. So, I can't be a complete geek...right??? He asked me, "What is your favorite superhero, Miss Beck?" Wanting to win his favor, I picked a random superhero (as if I cared). "Uh, Batman...Oh, wait, he doesn't have any super powers, does he? Um, Spiderman."

I have started teaching sixth grade. We're reading Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. I haven't read it. That was the one book I didn't read in my Young Adult Literature course, but I don't think they know I haven't read it. I think I hide it pretty well.

The chaplain at school asked me if I preferred a certain class yet or not, and honestly, I love them all equally. They are each unique in really wonderful ways, and I appreciate so many different things about them.

Sixth grade is good because the kids are still sweet and innocent -- especially the boys (at least as compared to the older ones). They are still babies. Here are a few of them:

These are a few of my Korean sixth graders.

In seventh grade, the boys are trying to be cool and grown up, so they are less timid and smiley.

All of my Korean girls in all grades are very quiet and shy. When they laugh, they cover their smiles. Oh, and they have AMAZING fashion taste too. I feel completely uncool when they are around. They are so naturally hip and stylish. And actually, that's true of the boys too. They are all really snappy dressers. I think it's a Korean pop culture thing.

I know you're not supposed to have favorites as a teacher, but I do have a few favorites already. It's not that I show favoritism towards them; it's just that they melt my heart. (See little boy with peace sign in the picture. He's absolutely precious.)

One of my sixth graders has a quiet voice, a lisp, and an emo haircut. He's absolutely adorable. In the halls, he sees me and says, "Hi, Miss Beck!" in his tiny little voice. So cute. But on the playground? He's vicious! He screams and attacks people with snowballs. It's like he has a completely different personality when he goes outside to play.

Another one of my sixth graders wanted my Gmail account on the first day. She's sweet. Phil said, "Don't be surprised if she comes and gives you her lunch one day. She's incredibly generous." She also came to me after class and wanted me to clarify something in the novel. She loves reading and learning.

One of my Korean boys has a mullet. He is absolutely adorable, and he's really good at vocabulary words. I adore him because he has a mullet and is Korean. The combination just kills me... :) He's in the picture too, next to the peace-sign boy, but you can't see his mullet. Sorry, I'll have to get a better shot to show you.

It's an interesting thing -- teaching Koreans. Eighth grade is reading To Kill a Mockingbird, seventh grade is reading Treasure Island, and sixth grade is reading Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry. Two of those novels deal with African-Americans, and we don't have any African-Americans in our school. Africans, yes - maybe one or two, but they have no idea what the southern African-American culture was like or is like now.

So, these Koreans are reading these books about a culture they've never seen or experienced. To hear southern slang or African-American language in a novel is easy for us southerners to understand, but for them... they get so confused.

"What is 'ain't?"
"What is 'ole'?"
"'No'm?'What is this? Why do they talk like this?"

One of my boys said, "Why they talk like this? They have bad grammar!" Of course, he has bad grammar too. So funny...

One of the African-American characters in the novel sees someone she knows and addresses him as "Brother Avery!" Ho-Jin said, "Whaaaat? She has brother? I am so confused!" I tried to explain that he wasn't really her brother. She just called him that because it's an expression of familiarity and affection.

All these little things we have to talk about. Otherwise they get confused very quickly.

All in all, I have a great group of kids I am teaching. Next week I am teaching a few lessons in the seventh grade. Then the third week I will teach a few lessons in eighth grade. The fourth week I will be teaching all grades all day long for six weeks.

Tomorrow I am going ice skating with Andrea and her Russian friends. I can't wait!!!!!!!

Do Svidanya!

Art and English Cafe.

This painting is on a billboard all over southwest Moscow and probably the rest of Moscow too. It's an advertisement for the Pushkin Museum's Turner exhibit, but what I don't understand is that the painting itself is by Kuzma Petrov-Vodkin, not Turner. (I had never heard of these artists before, so I had to do some research.)

I recognize the name Turner on the billboards, and I heard some of the Russians at the English Cafe talking about Turner's paintings. But I'm wondering if maybe there is a Vodkin exhibit there too? I am so confused by that...

Here are some pictures from English Cafe. I got them from a new acquaintance named Andrea, who ironically is good friends with Tim & Beth.

Burning our regrets as described in the previous post.

Watching the slideshow of things that are new and fresh.

The slideshow.

Some Russian attendees. Can you pick out the two Americans in this picture?

A very long update...(sorry! I have many stories to tell)

I feel like I have so much more to tell you. I am behind! Sorry, another long post...

Hinkson has been so welcoming -- beyond welcoming. Christiana says, "Sorry, but we're adopting you." I'm so glad they are. I feel so much like a lost child here. Everything is laborious. The signs are so confusing.

For example, I needed shampoo and conditioner, but I had to have Cathy write down the words for shampoo and conditioner in Russian. She wrote down "ШАМПУНЬ = shampoo." Cathy is really patient with me. "See, the first letter is sh, then you have ah, m is m, П is pah, У is oo, Н is n. -- shampoon." The Ь just indicates a soft sound. She did the same for conditioner. That one doesn't sound like the word. It sounds like "basalm" or something like that. I thought of balm and remembered it that way. She also teaches me how to say metro stations -- "prof" she says, and I repeat it. "sye" - "yooz" - "nye" - "yuh." Profsoyuznayah. That is where the school is. I live at Konkovo. That is the easiest one to pronounce -- "kon-koh-vah." People identify where they live by what the closest metro station is.

She also made a map for me so that I could walk home by myself from the metro. The map was pretty funny. The buildings were labeled as "circular building," "building that looks like ours," "another building that looks like ours," and "but this is the right building."

My daily route is as follows:
a 20-minute walk to the metro
a 10-minute ride on the metro (4 stops)
another 10-minute walk to the school

Sometimes Cathy drives to school though. She is the Russian coordinator at HCA.

I really am very helpless here. Cathy told me which rubles I needed to give the worker for the shampoo and conditioner, and she said, "They will probably ask you if you want to give coins to get back exact change. You can do that or just say nyet." I said nyet. The lady asked me again. I said nyet again. They didn't put my shampoo and conditioner in a bag for me, so I had to hurry because there was a long line. People were staring at me.

I'm still getting used to the keys here. I have to unlock FOUR doors just to get to the apartment. There is an outside door that takes a code. Then, there is an inside door that takes a little round metal thing that you press into a round metal hole, and it unlocks the door. Weird, but it works. Then you go on the "lift" (not elevator) -- one is a normal American size and one is ridiculously small; after that, I unlock a big door to the 12th floor. I have to jam and wiggle the key into there. Then, I finally get to the actual front door of the apartment, and that key is fancy-schmancy. It's huge, and it has ridges, bumps, and lines on both sides of the round middle. I can't really describe it very well. It looks like it should unlock the czar's palace.

I want so desperately to read the signs here, but even if I can make out the sounds of the words, it still leaves me clueless.

Some words I can figure out though. One microwave button says "СТАРТ," and that is easy. C is s, T is t, A is ah, P is r, T is t. So, you get S-T-A-R-T. The other says "СТОП." C is s, T is t, O is oh, and П is p. S-T-O-P. Stop. Rather you say it as stohp. That's at every stop light anyway.

I'm starting Russian class on Wednesday. They have an adult beginner's class after school. A woman named Svetlana will be my teacher.

One of the teachers is named Anna Ermakova. She is my age and teaches French and 6th/8th grade math. When I met her, I was astounded. She is my age, already a teacher, has two bachelor's degrees in Business Administration and Counseling, and a minor in French. I felt SO unaccomplished when I met her! She grew up in Russia, speaks flawless Russian, went to the U.S. when she was 15 as an exchange student, and speaks English with barely a hint of a Russian accent. I thought she was American when I met her.

Ironically, and this is where "It's a Small World" starts playing, she was an exchange student at my high school's arch enemy. I went to LFO High, and she went to Ringgold High. She was an exchange student in my hometown! Ridiculous! That is where she became a Christian as well. The family she stayed with was United Methodist and took her to church with her. Anyway, it's so strange. Anna was a sophomore when I was a freshman. If only I had decided to go to RHS instead of LFO, maybe I would have met her way back when.

On Saturday night we had English Cafe. It was so much fun. I really enjoyed it. There were probably 40-50 Russians that came, and we all had tea, coffee, and snacks. We created two concentric circles. Then the outer circle would have to move, and everyone would switch partners. It was amazing to see how little some people spoke English and how much some spoke. I talked to Nickolai for while. "I go by Nick. My name translates into many languages," he said. He is a medium-height 20-something-year-old who wore a black turtleneck with little white dots just on the front part. His shirt reminded me of the French beatnik that Audrey Hepburn's character is obsessed with in Funny Face. I felt like he should be reading philosophical poetry and snapping his fingers. Nick wanted to see the U.S., but he was denied three times by the Russian government. "They said, 'We're not sure you'll come back,'" he told me as he shrugged his shoulders.

Every English Cafe session has a theme. Saturday's theme was "new and fresh." So, we tried to use vocabulary associated with "new and fresh." We also had a discussion on the past and how the new year gives us a fresh start. Everyone was supposed to write down (in English, of course) their regrets from last year. It was fascinating. First, one girl named Polina didn't understand. "What is regret?" she asked. Then, her friend who understood regret explained it to her in Russian. "Oh! No, no, no. I have no regrets." She shook her head vigorously.

Christiana said, "You have made no mistakes this past year? None at all?"

Polina shook her head again with the strongest assurance. "I have no mistakes," she said.

Her friend, whom I can't quite remember the name of (maybe Anya?), said, "I do not think I regret anything either because if I made a mistake, it is to make something else happen. It works out for good in the end."

Cathy told me later that Russians are very fatalistic. "They believe in fate. Everything is fate. It is your destiny to make a choice -- good or bad." I don't know if Polina would have put it those terms, but it came out in "I have no regrets." So, that was interesting to see a bit of the Russian view of mistakes and regrets.

Polina later asked me a question. She pointed to my ear. "Did it...how you say....?" Her friend said "painful, hurt." Polina says, "Yes, did it hurt?" She was referring to my tragus piercing. I told her that it didn't hurt at all. Then she said, "Hm, maybe I will get it too." Who knows? Maybe I will start a tragus piercing trend in Russia. ;) haha

After we wrote our regrets on the paper, we all went out the "old door" that had a sign that said "out with the old." Then, we went outside in the freezing cold and burned all of our regrets. Then we went back inside the "new door" which said "in with the new." A little cheesy in my opinion, but the Russians loved it.

Then they had to choose a new group with new partners, and everyone had a new topic. We listed and talked about things we liked that were new: cars, clean sheets, showers, etc. All to build vocabulary and to improve conversational skills. I could tell the silent ones were completely lost...like Dasha.

Dasha looked like a 16-year-old version of Pamela Anderson. All she knew how to say was, "I am going to have a boyfriend." Everyone started laughing when she said that. "That is your New Year's resolution?" She didn't respond. I don't think she understood.

I went to an evangelical Russian church on Sunday with the Broersmas. It was really interesting. Kind of ironic because they had a guest speaker who -- guess what? -- was from America! But they had a Russian translator to translate the message for the church. The songs were all in Russian, and I wish I could remember some of the choruses to put on here. Cathy translated them to me so I could understand what was being sung. One of the songs was awesome. It had a traditional Russian "yaidie-yaidie-yaidie-yi-yi-yi-yi!" chorus. I felt like it should have been a song in The Fiddler on the Roof.

Last night I went to Girls' Night at Christiana's apartment. It was really fun to get to know the other women at the school. We made tacos, although we didn't have any taco sauce. Russia doesn't do Mexican food. We almost didn't have any cheese, and they all threatened me, "We'll just send the newbie to the store!" They knew I would have been lost. I would have brought back goat cheese or something gross. Anyway, we just talked and hung out. Olya, the computer teacher's wife, brought her son Henry. I loved hearing him talk in Russian. He's probably about three years old.

There is nothing better than little children talking in Russian. It melts your heart.

Today one of the employees at HCA, Nick, took me to the metro by the school to get passport photos. He is Russian and speaks nothing but hello, thank you, some numbers, etc. My passport photos weren't good enough because they were in color and too big in size. So, Nick drove me in a big yellow van to the metro. He was told by the principal (via a translator) to have the passport photo people take four pictures of me in black and white. So, Nick and I are in the van. I'm waiting silently, just listening to Russian radio. He is humming something, but then we get to a corner he needs to turn around. Well, people park on the sides of the streets and aren't very concerned with saving space for other cars to pass through. So, Nick pulls through a narrow space in between a car and a big van. The mirrors of the two vans touch, and then Nick starts yelling at the guy who is in the other van. I mean, they went at it! They were bickering and arguing about who was going to move. At least that's what I assume they were fighting about. The guy gets out of his van, and Nick rolls down his window. And they start arguing more. In my mind, I just felt like saying, "Nick, find a different way to get to the metro. It's not worth it." But Nick bickered, rolled up his window, backed up, and carefully tried again to get through the narrow road. I cringed the whole time. When we got through, Nick started humming again.

We went to the passport photo place, and Nick pointed to where I was supposed to go. He said, "200 rubles." That's about $6 for six photos. So, Nick pointed to the mirror and said, "Mirror." I think he was trying to say I could check my hair or whatever before I had my picture taken. Then the photographer pointed to what I was supposed to do. Then he actually was courteous enough to ask me which I preferred of the two photos he took. I didn't know I had a choice. I would have taken the photo more seriously if I had known that. The example photos hanging on the wall looked like they were straight from the Soviet times -- no smiles. The people were grimacing in the photos. So, I compromised and did a half smile...showing no teeth.

On Thursday I am taking my passport photos to Sveta who will start processing my visa and transferring it to a one-year visa, instead of a three-month visa. The principal's wife, who is the school counselor, said, "That means you can come back in the fall." And the principal agreed. (There is a teaching position open for high school English. If I didn't have to go back to the U.S. I'd stay at HCA in a heartbeat I think.)

My students are PRECIOUS. I have more Korean students than white students. They are absolutely hilarious. All of them are wonderful. I have one student who is half-Russian and half-Zimbabwean. I also have one student who grew up in Russia, but his parents are Uzbekistani. He speaks perfect English though. Most of my students speak English pretty well, but they are allowed to read the novels that are studied at school in Korean. However, they have to read them in English too.

Eighth grade can be characterized as LOUD. I have never been around such noise in my life. I mean, it's just like a public high school class in terms of volume. You just don't get the malicious disrespect that you have there. The 8th grade is friendly, but the boys don't make eye contact with me. Phil made all the students introduce themselves to me by giving their name, how long they've lived in Russia, and an interesting fact. The boys all looked straight at Phil, and he said almost every time, "Why are you telling me this?!?! Look at Miss Beck!" And they wouldn't. It was SO funny. The Korean girls are more warm, sweet, and open to me. They are very gentle and quiet.

Sixth grade can be characterized just chatty. Everyone wants to talk ALL the time.

Seventh grade is a combination of sixth and eighth.

All in all, I'm just adjusting to life here, trying to get rid of jetlag, and making friends with my students. I teach my first lesson tomorrow, and we're expecting snow for the next week! Yay! Right now it is either VERY icy or VERY slushy.

My classroom. I love the big windows! We have windows on three sides of the room.

My desk area. I enjoy it. I am right by the heater. :)

The view outside the big window. Very pretty. I love looking out and seeing people walk with their strollers in that little park area.

Much Love,
Meredith

the people I met -- a lunar landing, a footprint on an alien star

This is a very long post, but I don't see any other way. I have to describe in detail or not at all. At least on the topic of people.

Mr. Helms wanted me to borrow The Alphabet of Grace by Frederick Buechner while I was in Russia. It's very good. I've really been able to identify with a lot of what Buechner has said so far. I really like what he says here:

"Silence between people, strangers sitting beside each other on a train or at night or taking shelter under the same awning in a rainstorm. Two lives hidden behind faces, divided by fathoms of empty space, wrapped round in silence which one of them breaks then with maybe some word that in one way or another means Know me, Know me, clack-clack, and something that never was before comes into being as the other replies and something is made manifest -- a lunar landing, a footprint on an alien star."

I wanted to tell you about three people I met on the way to Moscow.

People love talking about themselves. Yeah, profound, right? It's true though, and I guess I've always known this. People love talking about what they are passionate about. I do the same thing as well, but on my way to Moscow I was the listener mostly, not so much the talker. It felt wonderful too. People opening up to me freely, answering my questions, telling me about their lives.

So, these are the people I met.

MATT PARRIE from Cherokee County, GA

On the way from Atlanta to Frankfurt, the man who sat next to me was an army soldier. He had no carry-on bag, but maybe a jacket though. Matt loves talking and told me so when he met me. "Sometimes my buddies turn to me and say, 'Dude, shut up,'" he said with a smile. He especially loves talking about the military. He loves the army; if he's not in uniform, he wears similar colors -- beige, brown, tan. He still looks like a soldier even in civilian clothes because of his drab clothing and lack of hair.

Politically, he is apathetic. He doesn't care about the president and doesn't think the government cares much about the military either. He was sent to Germany for three years at a base, so that was why he was going to Frankfurt. Matt was really excited about the free beer on Lufthansa airlines. I said, "Then you're probably going to the right country," but he said that he drinks only occasionally, unlike most of his buddies. Matt dips sometimes, and he asked if it bothered me. I said he could do whatever he wanted, and it would be fine with me. His dip smelled pretty good, not much different than Altoids. He'd spit in his bottle and say, "I'm grossing myself out doing this." Matt got dirty looks from the old Indian women sitting around us. He doesn't seem to be addicted though. He can choose to go months without smoking, dipping, or drinking, and he doesn't have an overpowering need for it all. We talked about the "addiction gene" and how he probably didn't have it then.

Matt has no passport. His army tags that hang around his neck provide him everything he needs: access to countries, food anywhere, a place to sleep (even in an airport). Matt showed me his army tags; he pointed out on his tag his social security number (what trust!) and his religion (Christian-Methodist). I asked him when he became a Christian. I realize now that that is a dumb question -- a question I will never ask anybody again. It is a meaningless question. I should have asked, "Why did you become a Christian?" That maybe would have gotten somewhere important. He asked me if I was a Christian. "I saw your ring," he said. (Thanks, Mom & Dad!) I said yes, and he told me about his spiritual life. He says that he's one of five guys in his unit of, I think, 60 people that go to church on Sundays. About half of the people that do go to church go because sergeants aren't allowed (they have to go to a separate service). That way they can sleep without being badgered by their sergeants.

He's going to live in Germany for the next three years if he's not sent to Iraq, which he says is probable, but he says the men in charge keep going back and forth about who's going where and when. On the bus that took us from the plane to the terminal, people thought we were "together" because we were talking freely and casually, as if we were friends. There was one family on the bus from Hartwell, Georgia. They were really excited when they found out I was from TFC. The father asked about Gate Cottage. "I heard one of your buildings burned down. How horrible!" Here we are talking about Gate Cottage in Frankfurt, Germany. It is a small world, but then again, the plane did come from Georgia. ;) I think they were Mennonite, and they were visiting missionary friends in Poland.

"Are you guys both staying in Germany?" he asked. He thought we were friends/dating/married.

"Oh, no. I'm going to Russia. Matt's in the army. We met on the plane," I said to clear up any misconceptions.

When we went into the terminal, we said goodbye. What do you say to someone you never see again? I just spent the last nine hours with him. Granted, he slept some, but we talked about important stuff. I know his life history -- saved at 13, screwed around until his faith was renewed at 19, married at 21, had a baby named Ryker at 22 who is now four, divorced at 22, and has a his fiancee named Lauren who is 22. I know Matt; now, he is gone, and I'll never seen him again, except in my memory.

"Good talkin' to ya. Best of luck," he said.

RAMAZAN ARABA from Turkey/Texas

During my layover, I was the minority. Everyone around me was Indian, waiting for the plane to go to Hyderabad. I had never heard of the city, but I assumed it was in India. I decided to ask though. One girl said, "This plane is going to India. I think you are in the wrong place." I told her that I was waiting for the next plane, but I soon discovered I was waiting for the plane after the next plane.

During my layover, I met Ramazan. There wasn't much space in the seating area at my gate, but there was a free seat next to him. "Can I sit here?"

"Certainly, certainly. Of course." Our conversation officially began when I asked him for the time. (Cell phones are useless as watches when there is no signal.)

Ramazan is an older man in his 60s. He was waiting for the next plane. I was waiting for the one after his. "My father is very sick, so I am going back to Istanbul to see him and my mother," he explained. "I haven't seen them in six years." Ramazan wanted someone to talk to, and so did I. More than wanting to talk, he wanted someone to listen. So, I listened to him, holding my bag and passport tightly so I wouldn't be deceived just in case he did turn out to be a sneaky thief. He wasn't. Ramazan is moral and upright. He believes strongly in acting with integrity. I didn't know how to talk to him. In his culture, the teacher is the authority. When he found out I was going to be a teacher, he pontificated endlessly to me (he almost missed his flight because of me). Having taught in Turkey and America, he knew the differences between the educational philosophies of the two nations. A brilliant mathematician himself, he taught physics in Turkey, and then he taught math in the Texas public schools for a few years until he could no longer handle the discipline issues. He disagrees with America's educational philosophy. "If you teach in Turkey, the student stands up when you enter the room. They do not speak unless you tell them to speak. The teacher has control. In America, they do not care. The student does not respect." Eventually, he quit teaching high school. Now he works at Verizon, but he teaches physics and math part-time at a local college.

I could hardly say a word except when he asked me a question, and he did -- he asked me many questions about my family and my plans. He spoke in his Turkish accent, making the syllables sharp and short. "You going to be a teacher? Let me tell you something. Listen to this. Teaching is a holy job. You hear? Teaching is a holy job. It is God's job. I am Muslim, but I don't care what religion you are. If you are a religionous person, you cannot be a bad person. The main religions -- Islam, Christianity, Judaism, if you are religionous, you cannot be evil. In Islam, to study is the highest calling. It is our duty. To study, to respect, that is what is right. But if you are religionous, you can do this too."

I didn't know what to say. I don't think I was supposed to say anything. How would it look to him for a 22-year-old nobody-girl who doesn't speak but one language (something he strongly reprimanded me for) address his beliefs? How would he perceive it? He would have said, "You are a typical American. You question your teacher. You disrespect your elders. How dare you!" I think I made the right decision. I didn't say anything. Nothing I could have said would have changed his dogmatic beliefs. My age alone automatically hinders me from having a valid opinion. So, I told him I was teaching at a Christian school to which he replied, "Oh? I applied to teach at Christian school too, but they would not let me because I am Muslim." When he left, he said, "Do you have paper?" I pulled out my journal to a blank page. He wrote down his name, his phone number, and his email address. "You email me a picture of Russia, but tell me who you are because I will forget." I smiled and said okay.

I told him that I would pray for his father, and I will.

JORGE ALVAREZ from Spain/U.K.

On the flight from Frankfurt to Moscow, I was seated next to a beautiful Spanish man from England. Dark brown hair, a light olive skin tone, very thin. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans with a chain from his front pocket to his back pocket. He had his head buried in a book the size of plane itself. The book was in English, so I knew he was fluent. He did not seem up for talking which was fine because I was tired. I asked if could put my backpack in the seat between us. He mumbled something I didn't understand. His accent was remarkably thick. I said,"I'm sorry, what?"

"I say I weell do the same," he smiled and pointed to the seat in between us. I finally understood. Then he laid his book there when he decided to close his eyes for a few minutes. Later the flight attendant began passing out Russian migration cards. I started to fill mine out -- passport number, visa number, first name, patronymic name, surname, date of entry, date of departure, etc. He did not though. I assumed it was because he didn't have a pen on him; so, I handed mine to him, and he thanked me and began filling out his card.

A flight attendant began to speak in German on the intercom. I heard "-6 Celsius" and something similar to Moscow. Jorge shuddered. It was the kind of shudder you could make a comment on. It was a big shudder, if you will.

"Is that bad? I'm used to Fahrenheit." I asked. I knew it was below freezing, but I couldn't remember by how much at least in Fahrenheit terms.

"Yes, eet is very cold."

Then he felt more talkative. He asked me where I was from. I suppose he should have known where I was from. The U.S. is the one the few countries that uses Fahrenheit. I said America. He seemed shocked to meet an American for some reason. "Amereeca??? Really?" Then he told me he was from Spain, but living in the U.K. "I leeve in Mahncesster."

"Mahncesster?" I thought he was trying to say "I live with my sister."

"Yes, yes. Mahn-chest-er." When he enunciated the middle syllable, I heard a faint ch sound.

"Oh, Manchester!" I said, finally realizing. I emphasized the a sound in "man" and the ch "chester."

"Yes, you have uh differeent acceent from us. An Amereecan acceent. Where een Amereeca are you from? I have never been to U.S. before." He seemed very curious.

"I am from the south -- in Georgia."

"Ah, so eet is very warm there. And you are going to Moscow why?" I explained to him that I was student teaching in Russia. He said, "Then you must know Russian very well." I laughed, said no, and then described the type of school I am teaching in. Then we talked about the different letters used in the Cyrillic alphabet.

He asked what my name was, but he couldn't pronounce it. Nobody can say my name correctly. It is usually Merrada or Merradeet. He said, "My name is Jorge." I told him my grandfather's name was George. He said, "Ah, but it is spelled differently, no?" He showed me on his migration card -- "Jorge Alvarez."

Jorge was going to Moscow on business. He works at a growing computer company in England, and they have branches in several European countries. So, Jorge is sent to all these countries to install techy things. He's been to Moscow four times on business. I told him, "Maybe someday you'll get to go to America on business." He said that he wanted to very much.

When the plane landed, Jorge walked with me to passport control, leading the way. I felt safe being with someone who knew English and had gone through Russian passport control several times before. Seeming to be rather chivalrous, he asked to carry my bag, but I said no. We went to the baggage claim. He and I were both ready to go and meet our respective "greeters" at the central pick-up area.

What do you say to someone you'll never see again? I know, I know. I hardly know the guy. I hardly knew any of the people I met. I guess I'm just emotional, but I take it all so very seriously. I mean, they are people. He said, "Well......I must go. I weesh you all thee best." It was very sad. I don't know why, but it was. Even though I wasn't close to him or didn't have a significant conversation with him, it's just strange knowing you'll never see someone again. I feel the same way about students at TFC. Some of them I don't know their names, but I have seen their faces for the past year, two years, three years, four years. When I graduate, I won't see them again. There's something sad about that. Maybe it goes back to the fact that eternity is written on our hearts. We should not have to say goodbye to someone.

Even though I said goodbye, "something that never was before" came into being and something was made manifest -- like Buechner says, "a lunar landing, a footpring on an alien star." And even though I said goodbye to three people on Wednesday, I said hello to many new people on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday -- Jeff, Phil, Luke, Anna, Christiana, Anya, Nickolai, Dasha, and Polina, and that story I will save for next time! :)

Much Love,
Meredith

Miscellaneous

The high was about 26 F degrees yesterday. Not unbearable.

This a building you see when you look out the living room and kitchen. It is a training university for civil servants and police. I suppose that should make me feel safe, but not really.

They are building a parking garage for the university.

This is Cody. He found a bag of salad dressing and ate it. He also found a giant Hershey's chocolate bar that was meant for my family's Ukrainian relatives and ate it. I was so nervous because I thought he was going to die. He threw up about an hour ago. He's fine. Apparently, chocolate doesn't hurt him because, Cathy says, he has had three or four chocolate bars before.

He's wanted to play tug-of-war all day with me. I was stuck inside the house by myself for most of the day because I couldn't figure out how to use the key Cathy gave me (it has a really odd shape to it; looks like it should unlock a czar's palace, not a simple apartment), so Cody kept me company.

This is the door and window in my room. It opens up to an enclosed balcony that wraps around to another room. My room is colder because of the door to the balcony. It also sounds like a haunted castle in my room because the wind blows so strongly. I kind of like it though.

The living room and dining room. It's very bright during the day, but once 3 p.m. hits, it starts getting dark. I felt like it should be dinner time then because it was so dark.

Hello from Russia!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm here!

I met three very interesting people on the way here. I want to tell you about them in greater detail. I was really sad to see them go, knowing I'll never see them again. I cried a little.

It was snowing when I arrived.

The woman who stamped my visa/passport gave me the look of death.

They have small flower shops that are open 24 hours. How charming is that!

I heard a man shoveling snow from the road very early this morning. It made me so happy!

I am on the 12th floor (I think) of an apartment building. The view from my window is of more apartment buildings.

The Broersma family is great! They have a friendly giant of a dog named Cody. He's sweet and likes to lean and jump on me.

I am going to Hinkson tomorrow to meet people and familiarize myself with the school.

A few pics are below...

More to come!

saying goodbye

(forgot to get a pic with Dad...oops)

the Georgia sunset at my back

The most beautiful sunset as we left Georgia...

flying into the German sunrise

Moscow at night

Moscow in the morning

This is the view from my window.






I do believe this is a park, but I am not quite sure.

Departure Day

I leave today at 6:10 p.m. It is nine hours to Frankfurt, Germany. There I have a four-hour layover. Then, I fly for three hours to Moscow. I'll be arriving in the evening on Wednesday the 21st.

Say a prayer for me! (I'm slightly nervous.)

"-31...positively toasty."

Oymyakom, Russia, claims that it is the coldest town on earth. In fact, they only close the schools if it gets below -50 degrees C (about -62 degrees F). Interesting video to watch, if you're curious.