"The Season Has Changed"

In the words of the newly anointed Russian President Medvedev, “the season has changed.” While we’re not sure if he’s actually referring to the literal possibility of the season of spring having arrived in Moscow (the prospect of which has poliarniki extremely excited, though half of us is doubtful, the other half unbelievably optimistic and ready to agree: yes, Medvedev, spring is here) or if Putin’s heir, in that deep yet painfully clichéd Russian soul sort of way, is meaning metaphorically that the thaw is on in Russian politics. Regardless, we are trumpeting change of all kinds in Moscow. So today, to herald the potential early arrival of spring in Moscow and the beginning of butter week (Maslenitsa, the Russian Orthdox equivalent to Mardi Gras) we will recap our survival so far of the Russian winter with our highs and lows (mainly highs which are broad enough to include some lows as well).

1. The All-Russia Honey Fair: Until our visit to the All-Russia Honey Fair last week, we had no idea just how good honey could be. In fact, Keeli thought she didn’t even like honey. Filling the entire hall of the giant Manezh exposition center just off Red Square, hundreds of honey sellers from every corner of Russia (and Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan) managed to surpass all of our previous honey expectations. There was honey the color and consistency of cream from the Jewish Autonomous Republic of Birobidzhan, dark, rich chestnut honey from Tatarstan, and lightly colored, fragrant acacia honey from southern Russia. There was also mountain honey, honey made by monks, and then the honey products: honeycomb, honey butter, honey mead, honey cream, honey pills. Honey pills, you ask? As we learned at the honey fair, honey is good for all things at all times. This important fact tempers my concern at the amount of honey I have been eating (in fact, as I write this now, I am dipping into some of Birobidzhan’s finest). I can rest assured that the Birobidzhan honey is helping my respiratory system (it has also caused Keeli a mild allergic reaction, but this is surely part of the healing process), the dark amber honey is indeed, as we were told by honey seller, “the stomach’s best friend,” and the honeycomb we purchased from a Russian man with an improbably long beard, is an integral component of the “honey diet,” even though it tastes sweeter than a lump of sugar. In short, we went home with a bag full of honey products, and a cup of a fizzy alcoholic drink made from honey (it helps hair and nails). One week later, we are going to have to institute serious rationing, since we were met with an abandoned hall when we tried to make a second honey run on Friday evening. Otherwise, there may be dire consequences for our respiratory systems, stomachs, hair and nails when the honey runs out. Erik

2. The discovery of Superbit DVDs: We are excited about the rule of law coming to Russia, which indeed includes a crackdown on piracy of all kinds, but please, we still want to have our cheap counterfeit DVDs and my, have we found them! Available for 120 rubles (5 dollars) each, every American movie released here in Russia can become part of our home movie collection. This discovery is beyond excellent and has totally changed my quality of life. I cannot tell you how many hours of the Russian sporting channel I watched on tv (you see bobsledding is pretty easy to follow when you can’t understand Russian: they’re going to start at the top and end up at the bottom) before discovering the abundance of American movies available in English at my very fingertips. Keeli

3. The Moscow Metro. I could wax poetic for days about my love/hate relationship with the Moscow Metro. It is the most mind-boggling phenomenon of Russia in my eyes. In a place where disorganization reigns, the metro is insanely efficient. A train every 50 seconds and thousands and thousands of people underground pushing and elbowing their way on and off at every station at all times of day. I have never been shy about my love for public transportation systems, but never before have I been so torn in my equal love and hatred of a transit system. I have taken to standing and walking with my elbows out at all times just to try to create a buffer zone of personal space. I am cultivating this ability to disembody myself entirely while in the metro. I have memorized my regular routes and now walk into the metro station confident that my feet will take me where I need to be and my brain can begin the process of the space-out for survival. The person beside me blowing their nose onto the floor of the metro, I didn’t even see it. The unbathed drunk next to me whose head is bobbing dangerously close to resting on my shoulder, I’m not even here. Heated to 9,000 degrees with more strangers pushing parts of your body than you thought possible, the Moscow Metro chews up the remaining bits of individual humanity you possess and then magically spits you out exactly where you wanted to go. Keeli

4. Khachapuri--Everyday in everyway. To explain to those of you who aren't yet initiated into the cult of Khachapuri-love, Khachapuri is a Georgian cheese bread whose only close equivalent I can come up with are the cheese sticks at Doozy's in Lincoln, NE—although this is way better. Erik keeps telling me I'm going to get sick of it sooner or later. What foolishness! He clearly doesn't understand my love of my favorite food group in Russia: the bread with good things stuffed in it group (also includes pirozhki). The rest of the Russian food groups go something like this: fried goodness (including potatoes, onions, chicken cutlets and pork cutlets), beets (also including borscht), mayonnaise-based salads, the sugar group (chocolates, cookies, tea cookies, pastries, and cake) and finally the tea group. Note that Erik's editorial commentary on this posting is that my favorite food in Russia is indeed not Russian (duly noted Erik). Keeli

5. Our apartment and our neighborhood: The fact that the apartment is on the market and could be sold at any minute makes us appreciate it all the more. The apartment building is massive and monumental, constructed by Stalin as a gift for the triumphant Soviet polar explorers (poliarniki) of the 1930s (hence the name of our blog). The apartment itself is a veritable museum of Soviet everyday life. Living here is like method acting for the aspiring Soviet historian. While probably a turn-off to any prospective buyer, we feel thrilled every time we see our furniture and appliances appear in old Soviet movies (since everyone in the Soviet Union, from Belarus to Bishkek, had the same armchair, lampshade, and casserole dish). The apartment was built with charmingly little concern for energy efficiency, its palatial ceilings (never mind the cracking paint) rising up 18 feet. Meanwhile, the central radiator system of the building runs so hot we frequently need to leave a window open.

Walk outside our door, and you find yourself in the heart of central Moscow. Tree lined Nikitskii Boulevard runs in front of you. To your right, begin the Old Arbat (a charming if souveneir-laden pedestrian area, and one of Moscow’s most historic streets) and the New Arbat (its brash, casino-laden cousin, with four lanes of screaming traffic). The Kremlin is only a ten minute walk away, as is the Musical Conservatory. Right next door is the house where Gogol lived, wrote the second volume of Dead Souls, and burned the second volume of Dead Souls in the fireplace. Just beyond that, a cozy Georgian restaurant where Keeli can get her Khachapuri fix, and old Georgian men with leather vests and dark sunglasses serenade diners with their renditions of Georgian urban folk songs. I realize that I end this post sounding a bit too much like a tour guide, but this is only to encourage those of you out there thinking of visiting us to come soon, while we’re still here. Erik