Category: Posts

The Moscow Metro is an undisputed marvel, one of the greatest transportation systems ever created. I would wager it’s quite possibly the only public transportation system to be classified as a tourist attraction. Just have a look in any reputable tour guide. On any given day, you’ll find tourist groups from around the world standing in line to rub the lucky foot of the bronze dogs that decorate the walls of “Ploshchad’ Revolyutsii” or eager visitors taking photos of the elaborate mosaic portraits that line the ceiling of “Mayakovskaya”. But, just as Moscow is not at all indicative of the rest of Russia, the Moscow metro is far from the standard of public transportation for the rest of the country. In most areas, “marshrutkas” are the primary mode of public transport. These are not buses, at least not the ones you might picture driving along the streets of Chicago. “Marshrutkas” look like getaway vans with extra seats bolted in the back....

It was around October I believe. All current research Fulbrighters had been summoned to Moscow for a two-day meeting with the program advisers to go over additional information about the fellowship, as well as answer any questions and address any problems, etc. It was supposed to be a quick, easy, trip. It turned out to be the night I really wish I learned how to use maps better. Nizhny is located to the east of Moscow, about four hours if you take the Sapsan or “express” train.  All other trains take about eight hours or so, with many running overnight. I naturally had booked tickets on the Sapsan, due to depart that day after my Russian lesson at the university. I packed my suitcase for the weekend, headed to my Russian lesson, and asked my tutor which bus to take. Should be simple enough, I thought. There was a bus station right next to the university. I just had to get...

“Isn’t Russia dangerous?” “But the politics are terrible!” “Don’t they dislike Americans?” “But isn’t it really cold?” These are the primary concerns expressed whenever I tell Americans that I live in Russia, what Americans assume must be the biggest sticking points among the vast array of differences that exist between the two countries. With regard to the fourth, “Hello, I’m from Chicago.” The third is patently false, and the first is irrelevant to me, given the fact that I don’t get involved in the second.  I’ve never been a particularly politically-minded sort (I do note the irony given where I work). I have always preferred volunteering over protesting, and I have been given wonderful opportunities to do just that in Moscow. In fact, the government and politics are far from being the main source of my annoyances about life in Russia. What bothers me most are those little quirks that you inevitably encounter in your everyday life as a result of cultural differences. The Paper...

“Uh, oh.” I looked down at the paper tickets in my hand. Two of my best friends, Renae and Allison, had traveled to Moscow to visit me. It was April, and we were standing outside in the chill, attempting to visit the inside of the Moscow Kremlin. I wanted to purchase tickets to tour the inside of the Armory but had translated wrong and purchased tickets for all the churches instead.  “Can we change them?” Allison asked, jumping a little up and down in an effort to keep warm. “Um,” I hesitated. “We can try! But I’m afraid they’ll make us just purchase new ones.” I knew this was not what Allison wanted to hear. The trip from Chicago to Russia had not been cheap, and she was on a strict budget.  We made our way back to the glass ticket kiosk, and I attempted to explain the situation to the woman at the counter in Russian. “I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I...

When Liliya walked into a room, she instantly commanded it, with her high heels, pencil skirt and wrinkle-free blouse, the perfectly arranged bun on the top of her head. Whether speaking in English or Russian, she had a near-tangible air of confidence. No hesitation. No faltering. Liliya was the Deputy Dean of the Faculty for International Students at Lobachevsky University in Nizhny Novgorod. Make no mistake, she instantly left an impression, albeit a slightly scary one. When I arrived at the university in Nizhni Novgorod for my Fulbright, she was the first person I met. There I found myself, sitting across from a real, live Russian woman in power. And she was not what I expected. I have always been a bit conflicted about gender in Russia; it makes sense in some aspects, and, in others, not at all. I would say that my priorities and wishes often differ from that of the stereotypical “Russian” woman. When I was six or seven,...

By far the largest holiday celebrated in Russia is New Year on January 1st. While Christmas used to be a widely celebrated holiday with many festivities reminiscent of those found in the west, following the Bolsheviks’ rise to power and the newly instated state policy of atheism, religious celebrations associated with the holiday were strongly discouraged from 1917-1936. In 1935, many of Russia’s old Christmas traditions were co-opted for New Year’s celebrations. Now, for two weeks in January, Russians around the country stuff their bellies, exchange presents, dance, throw parties and—stay drunk. In my experience, no one can party quite like a Russian. Unfortunately, I have never actually experienced a Russian New Year. I was technically in the country one New Year’s Eve during my Fulbright, after flying into Moscow following a trip home for Christmas. Not wanting to spend another 4 hours on a train back to Nizhny after 15 hours on a plane, I had booked a hotel in...

I’ve never been in a fight. Jesse Coffey “accidentally” hit me in the face when I was in kindergarten or first grade while playing tag.  I couldn’t explain to my mother how that exactly happened, but I remember that it hurt. The entire left side of my face below my eye turned red and swelled up for about two weeks. But, until 2017, that had been the extent of my experience with fisticuffs.  When I moved to Moscow, I really struggled to make new friends. It is  always difficult building a life after graduating from college, especially if you’re in a new city and essentially starting from zero. It’s even more difficult in a foreign land—even more so in Russia. While in recent years there’s been a growth in the use of internet resources and other mobile applications for dating, meeting people and making new friends, most of the Russians I initially met either spent their free time exlusively with the...

My research, both in college and during my Fulbright, has always centered on the peasantry.  This intellectual preoccupation dates back to my first university history course in the winter of my freshman year. The course was “The History of Imperial Russia,” and the final exam question I chose to answer was as follows: “Was the Russian Revolution logical in the sense that A+B=C? In other words, was it, by 1917, inevitable?” For me, the key to the answer, without question, lay with the country’s largest social group: the peasantry.  The following fall, I took one of Northwestern’s most popular courses: “An Introduction to Russian Literature. That quarter we read Anna Karenina and the Brothers Karamazov”, diving into the world of Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. As I read the story of Levin cultivating his land and working alongside his peasants, I had the sense that what Tolstoy described was, in large part, at odds with the historical reality. As I had learned from my...

I’ve always been fascinated by history precisely because it lies at the root of so much of what we encounter in the modern world. The world is just a long sequence of cause and effect. When I read the news or visit a new country, my mind immediately starts trying to form a chain, linking the past with the present in an effort to understand: How on earth did we get here?  Currently, I live in Moscow, but that’s only a small part of my story. My life began somewhere else, and, as can be expected, how and where I grew up played a large role in bringing me to this moment.  I am a proud representative of Middle America. I’ll take Chicago over New York any day, and I think the West Coast is far too chill. My middle school is, quite literally, located in the middle of a cornfield, and yes, there is something to be said for Midwestern values....