Journal for aschilba

When I returned to Simferopol from Russia, I felt a tremendous sense of homecoming and relief to be “home.” Strange how you can be in a culture that is completely different from your own, but still make yourself a little life there to the extent that when you return to the place, you feel as if you are going home. People are pretty damn cool in that sense.

In the United States I volunteer on a weekly basis with Walter, my mentally challenged elderly friend. Every Friday for my sophomore year I’ve walked, ridden my bike, or taken the bus to see him. We always had a ball of a time together and he became a good friend of mine.

My Friday schedule is a little bit different now that I am in Ukraine and on Friday afternoons I think about hanging out with Walter and shooting the breeze. Just lately, the other students and I have been volunteering some time on Wednesdays to work with kids who have physical and mental disabilities. They range in age from five to ten and know how to play. Usually when we walk in the playroom it is a HUGE deal; their favorite cars and toys are brought out and the kids shift into high gear.

Posted by Aleksander R Schilbach at 02:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Since I've been in Ukraine, I've had an itch. No not the itch that James Bond had in the movie Casino Royale either; I have wanted a harmonica. So last week I decided to drop some dough for a Hohner Marine Band 20 special. Though it sounds like some sort of weird laser ray gun, it is just a vanilla harmonica in the key of C.

I've practiced a bit out in the park and now I can just about jam some blues. Not like the guy from Blues Traveler or anything, but I can do a couple of riffs.

Today my friends and I met a woman who had one metal tooth. She warned that today was the devil's day and that we shouldn't go anywhere, buy anything, talk to anybody, or eat anything new. Strange. I made sure to do the same thing I do everyday.

Oh funny thing happened when we went to the Simferopol ballet--yes this town has a ballet. At the end of the show the audience claps in unison, not the big free for all that my American ears are used to. Johanna my friend from Sweden once commented on the fact that American audiences DO NOT clap in unison. I remember laughing at her because she said that an American audience clapping is like fingers on a chalk board for her ears. And here I am commenting on the absolute absurdity of clapping in unison. (BTW I have encountered this the uni-clap syndrome in Norway too).

Posted by Aleksander R Schilbach at 06:54 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

So right now in the world of offshore sailing, there are a couple of big competitions going on. I am following the Volvo Ocean Race which started a little over a month ago. For those of you interested in it here is the wikipedia link.

The site has a huge online sailing game where you set up your boat and then try to race it. The wind charts are all real time, though simplified, and you can select a number of different sail combinations and headings. My boat is called "three sheets to the wind." I messed up on the color scheme, so it looks a bit dorky and not as cool as other boats. There are people all over the world who are playing, and it is neat to check out other people's profiles and boats.

I suffered on the first leg because I started out a couple of days late. Then to make it worse, I didn't really check my status and heading all too much while in Russia. Due to this I managed to crash into the Canary Islands AND the African coast. But all fingers are crossed for a successful second leg.

Posted by Aleksander R Schilbach at 08:04 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

So about two weeks ago I was minding my own buisness on the computer in the post ofice internet center. I was occuping mytime with checking email, checking my online sailing game, and reading news. I hardly notice the middle age woman as she sits down at the computer terminal next to mine. After about a minute of her sitting down, she gets my attention and asks me in Russian if I speak English. (BTW, should Russian and English be capitalized? I forget.) To her delight I reply that I do speak pretty good English and could maybe help her out.

We are looking together at this email message which she received and it says something like this, "Natasha, I look forward to meeting you. Your pictures are very beautiful and I am so happy that we found each other." There was a bit more, but I don't exactly remember. But then I realized that this was from an American man in the United States who was trying to look for a wife through an online service.

She dictated to me in Russian what she wanted to say, and I wrote the response in English. She asked me how I knew to write this or that, and I replied that I was actually from America and was studying Russian here in the Crimea. Well that just about made her night! She was so excited that she introduced herself and asked me a multitude of questions regarding the languge and my family heritage. It was great to hear her tell me that she would have never thought I was a Russian/Ukranian because I didn't look like an American.

Damnit! I had a couple of paragraphs down, but the computer didn't feel right and the rest is history. So, I'll start over and hopefully this time it will match the computer's standards.

So. I helped this woman write an email back to a man in the United States. They had found each other through some sort of Ukranian woman/American man dating service. He was 47 and a real estate lawyer living in LA. I had a difficult time translating his adjective laden information that he posted about himself. After trying to explain what sophisticated meant in Russian, without actually knowing what the damn word was, I just told her that I approve of him.

She liked what I had read about him, but wasn't sure about his picture. Ovbiously this thing had been taken on a Monday morning in his office. He wore a grey buisness suit and he was balding with a few whisps of hair left. He looked worn, like somebody spending too much of their waking hours in a brown Lexus during LA's rush hour. Natasha didn't seem to notice those details about his photo, but she did notice his skin color.

Is he Arabic?!" she asked frantically.
"No, well maybe. I don't know."
"Well, is he American?"
I took my head off of the computer mouse and turned to her. I explained to her that one can still be an American even if his or her skin color is not white. I assured her that in fact there were many different colored people in America, and yet they are all American. She seemed skeptical.

After this we talked some more. I felt akward and made up an excuse to leave for home.

Posted by Aleksander R Schilbach at 12:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Today is Sunday November 16th and I am writing to you from Simferopol's main post office. On the way to the internet I saw a drunk man stumbling around. As I passed by he mumbled something to me, some phrase that probably soudned coherent and reasonable in his own mind, but came out completely incomprehensable. He was dressed in dirty clothes and could barely stand (10:00AM). Unfourtunately this sight is nothing new in Ukraine. Maybe it can be blamed on the ridicuously cheap booze here, I don't know. My host mother once told me about her late husband who drank himself to death and like many stories here about alcohol, it was very sad.

My mom called me last night which was wonderful. Unfourtunately she called while we were sitting in a bar. After I hung up, I got to thinking about how people grow up. Hell, I can remember when I first drove to high school. I had to get up early for some zero period class, so it was around 5:50 in the AM. We had our first snow of the year that day, and she wanted to "test" out this big green Oldsmobile. So, because my dad had already left for work, she goes out in her robe and jacket and gets in the car and gets it up to speed on the cul de sac. Once she is going around 10 mph or so, she slams on the brakes and the car skids a good half a car length on the fresh snow.
"Well, just be careful Alek."
She said those same words as we said goodbye on the phone line last night.

I have another story to tell about a woman who I met here in the internet center, but it requires a new blog entry.

Posted by Aleksander R Schilbach at 12:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The weather has turned cold here in the Crimea. Right now it is in the mid 40s and a bit breezy. Leaves of all shapes and sizes are everywhere. It is so beautiful that I constantly carry my camera with me. Coming back from big cities was a bit of a culture shock, but it felt good to be "home." Luda was up waiting for me when I got back to my apartment at around 4AM. After wishing me a happy birthday and good health for my family and friends, (that means you!) she inquired about the food that she packed me to take on the train. Not only was the food she packed delicious, it was plentiful. I had about half of a chicken, different cuts of sausage, cheese, fresh pickles and vegetables, cookies, eggs, and bread. The ride was a good one.

Photos:
Album 1
Album 2
Album 3
Album 4

Getting into Russia and out of Ukraine wasn't much of a problem, which was nice. (We went through Kharkiv.) Arriving in Moscow was a bit like stepping back into Western Europe, or even a big city in America. It was a bit cold and breezy but upon seeing the Red Square for the first time, nothing could have brought me down.

While in Saint Petersburg, we took a boat ride through the city. Because of the fridgid weather, only Jasmine and I were on the top open air deck. As I snapped picture after picture of the beautiful cityscape, she struck up a conversation with a guy and his family. They were from England and were taking some time off from work/school to travel. Cool. Two minutes later, Jasmine decides that the warm belowdecks viewing room sounds good and leaves. As soon as she descended the stair to below, we passed under one of St. Petersburg's many bridges. I heard someone yell "JOHN!" and turned to see the Englishman's head only about two feet from the iron bridge. He tried to duck, but it was too late and as his head hit the support for the bridge he was thrown backwards, breaking through pastic chairs.

I saw him dazedly put a hand up to his head, feel around and look at his hand; it was covered in blood. As the blood started running down his face, I jumped up and looked around for something sanitary I could cover the gash with. As there was nothing except for my filthy mittens, I bounded down the stairs and demanded in Russian that the bar lady give me the medical kit. By this time a worker on the boat figured out what had happened. So. By the time that I finally got the kit from the woman behind the bar, the guy was already coming into the warm cabin. After handing a woman the kit, I resumed my seat on the upper part of the boat.

I was sort of caught up in a flood of thoughts, but I remember thinking very clearly that this guy could have died. Hell, his whole head could have come off if he had been standing up, or if the bridge had been inches lower. I was joyus that it wasn't.

Strange how twists of fate seem to lurk in the shadows of life. Thinking back about this, I am thankful that he didn't die and that his gash was going to be just fine. In fact, I consider that the best part of our trip to Russia.

Posted by Aleksander R Schilbach at 06:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)