Trip to Bergen

We finally got our acts together and took the plunge: a four-day weekend road trip to Bergen. We left on Thursday, October 4th, and came home Sunday evening, the7th, after negotiating--or I should say failing to negotiate--a humongous, frustrating traffic jam that started on the single lane headed toward Oslo about 40 km. outside town. We found out--much later, from Halvard--that the jam was caused by people returning from an autumn holiday.

Now, if I had my pictures on flickr better organized (see Our Trip To and From Bergen after you click the link with jzkfeld at the bottom of this post), or had kept a proper log when I took them, you would know exactly where each was taken and whether on the way or on the way back. Alas, no such luck (except that the pictures from Bergen proper are clearly from Bergen proper). I was too busy taking in the spectacular scenery to carefully note each time I went "click."

On our first day of traveling, my tummy rebelled at the curvy roads; a rarely indulged-in Coke helped a bit (though not, I regret to say, enough). However, said tum seemed to acclimate so that our return trip on Saturday and Sunday, with a stopover in Loen, was infinitely better.

It was an unusually sunny day in Bergen on Friday, and quite warm, perfect for walking. We also had the pleasure of youthful company: Halvard's son Magnus and his wife Elizabeth, who are both studying for their Masters degrees in Bergen, met us at 11 at our hotel and were our guides for the entire day, ending with dinner at a Chinese restaurant. We started out at the harbor where we strolled among the old wooden Hanseatic buildings on the wharf. I learned something about what I'd wondered about... the widespread use of wood in buildings in Norway (from stave churches onward) and how some of them have lasted for such a very long time; isn't wood subject to rotting? It seems wood does indeed sometimes rot; apparently salt accidentally preserved some wooden buildings and repairs or reconstruction may involve timbers floated in sea water--at least in the case of these structures on the wharf. From the harbor, we set out for nearby Hakons Hall, originally erected in the 13th century by King Hakon Hakonsson for ceremonial and daily use, falling into disuse during the centuries without a monarchy, used as storage, eventually for Bergenhus Castle, restored and refurbished at the end of the 19th and beginning of the 20th century, destroyed except for the walls when a German ammunition ship exploded in the harbor in 1944, and restored again. While we were looking at a curious gargoyle, Magnus was reminded of an interesting story about a statue of the archangel Gabriel on the cathedral at Trondheim; apparently the sculpture who was commissioned for the job used Bob Dylan's face as the model for the archangel. Talk about popularity!

On our stroll, we passed a statue of a famous Norwegian violinist--Ole Bull. Below the statue there is a mythic figure--as Elizabeth explained--with a kind of harp. It seems this somewhat demonic figure is associated with the idea that Ole Bull "sold his soul" in exchange for receiving his very great musical talent. I wondered if this juxtaposition undermines the very tribute to the violinist implied in the creation of the statue. After talking with Elizabeth, and later with a very interesting anthropology graduate student with whom I went to the National Gallery, as well as with Heidi, I came to the conclusion that there is a certain ambiguity in the statue. I learned that Ole Bull's talents were so great that people went into a kind of frenzy or even fainted when he played; thus, the mythic figure may be saying something like "his gifts were so great, he could only have gotten them from a demon" in a somewhat humorous way. On the other hand, there was such a negative attitude toward music and dancing on the part of extreme pietistic sects in Western Norway, that they may have believed more literally that such music was from the dark powers! Not quite knowing how to take this statue is, I guess, just an example of being just a bit outside Norwegian culture.

After lunch we decided we would like to see the Bergen Aquarium, all of us being fond of watching seals, penguins, and fish. I was amazed to discover a pacifier depository in the carp pond (Karpedammen). Note the picture!

Children are apparently encouraged to give up their pacifiers by depositing them in this pond (and you can see them, too, though I did not see a carp with a pacifier in its mouth). Was this another example of the culture of the welfare state? The state (or is it the city or the equivalent of a county?) steps in to help parents help their children grow up? Quite extraordinary! (By the way, I'd recently discovered that the state DOES help people not to get inebriated after work or on the weekends. Supermarkets cannot sell alcohol later in the evening--after 8 o'clock on weekdays and after 6 o'clock on Saturdays, I believe.)

Altogether a very lovely day. Interesting conversations with Magnus and Elizabeth throughout. I was particularly interested in Elizabeth's anecdote about her brother's school's accommodation with the wishes of a Muslim girl's parents. (Her brother is the vice principal.)
Apparently, the girl's father did not want her to play co-ed sports or take showers with all the other girls. But Elizabeth's brother was eventually able to convince him to allow her to play sports with the boys, while at the same time granting his other wish by providing separate shower facilities for two Muslim girls. I've heard other stories, as well, with examples about problem-solving and the development of trust on an ad hoc basis, like this one. But the issue of the integration of Muslim immigrants into Norwegian society is much too complex to go into here.

Water is never far away in Norway--fiords, lakes, rivers (calm or full of rapids). At the lower elevations, delicate birches blazed bright yellow among the evergreens in lush valleys; the higher elevations without trees had their own stark beauty. Even there, we saw the occasional small dwelling. For a while I thought that some Norwegians might have had their "hytte" or cabin in these cold high spots (population density seems so low, and farmhouses are widely dispersed rather than clumped; Norwegians don't seem to mind isolation at all), but I soon learned that these dwellings were used by those pasturing their sheep in the summer at the higher elevations. New word for me: transhumance. See the links for pictures of the magnificence.

More Museums, Treats and Walks

Since my last entry, we've seen all or part of four more museums, as well as visited the largest park in Oslo, strolled through a much more clearly immigrant section of town (where someone asked us if we wanted to contribute to a mosque, and where David bought some pakoras from a street stand), participated in a "River Walk" in celebration of the autumnal equinox, and been treated to an overnight in a beautiful hotel an hour outside of Oslo, where the entire anthropology department and staff gathered to discuss changes in their program (as a result, I believe of pressure from the state to get students out faster).

We've been to the Resistance Museum in Akershus Fortress, the Museum of Contemporary Art (with very serious and up-t0-date commentary on all the stages from abstract expressionism through minimalism to contemporary conceptual art), the Historical Museum (only made it through the first floor--earliest settlements through the Vikings through the medieval period) and another museum of contemporary art, the Astrup Fearnley Museet. The latter was probably the most eye-opening and enjoyable because of an exhibit of contemporary Chinese art called "China Power Station, Part II." I had talked briefly with an anthro student whose subject was contemporary Chinese art and she had tried to explain, in response to my questions, that, yes, contemporary Chinese artists consider themselves connected to international postmodern art (installations and the like), but they are also unique. Seeing this exhibit helped us to understand just what that meant. Much of the exhibit was digital and oddly humorous. There was a video about a group of friends who buy a used car and try to travel to China's borders to "infiltrate" them with toy remote control tanks and other such "military" toys. Seemed very tongue-in-cheek indeed. The display included all the many items taken on this trip--packaged soup, underwear, toothpaste, etc. There was also a video of a spider exploring what seemed like a couple of naked human bodies (up hills, into crevasses--you get the picture), which, accompanied by jolly music, was almost laugh-out-loud funny. And among the nondigital pieces there was a wildly listing "city" consisting of famous buildings from many places (e.g. the Pentagon), all constructed out of pigskin (sewn, it appeared). For a city of half a million people, Oslo seems remarkably well endowed with cultural opportunities. And it's very walkable (throngs of people out on the weekends, lots in the museums and parks) and has a very good system of trams, buses and trains as well.

The weather is slowly getting a bit cooler, with more gray and rainy days. I sometimes feel I don't want to go out (spoiled Californian that I am) into the chill, but discover that I am stripping layers of clothing off once we've been out for a while, walking briskly. One of our recent walks was in Vigeland Sculpture Park which contains 212 striking sculptures--depicting humanity in all its aspects--which was started in 1924 by Gustav Vigeland. I've included an example above. The more markedly "immigrant" section of town we walked in is called Grønland--best Salvation Army thrift shop I've ever seen, but in spite of a half hour spent browsing in it, no sale!

On September 20, we were invited by a woman in the anthro department to join her and, as it turns out, two young daughters, as well as her friend and her young daughter, on a "River Walk." Apparently, the occasion was a celebration of the autumnal equinox. The mayor--or was it a candidate for the mayoralty?--inaugurated the ceremonies, emphasizing (apparently), the themes of light and warmth, important as the year turns toward the dark. We were told there were 30,000 people present. The entire length of the riverbank was studded with candles, various performers were situated at intervals, as were displays (including trees decorated in aluminum foil) created by schoolchildren. There were choirs, drummers, a rock band, but most spectacular were the fire-eaters who performed at the opening ceremony. These guys were stripped to their waists showing off their elaborate tattoos and were remarkably good at dancing with flaming torches, swallowing flame, running fire all over their bodies without apparently singeing themselves, and looking just a little bit demonic. See the picture, taken by David, above. The fire-eaters were among the most professional acts. The whole experience felt pleasantly medieval. And rather small-townish, though Oslo has half a million inhabitants. It was a mild night and we enjoyed our brisk hour and half walk downstream on the bank of the river Akerselva--now an environmental park (cleaned up from industrial pollution)--which has quite a few rapids and waterfalls.

A couple of days before our River Walk we were treated to an overnight at a hotel about an hour away from Oslo in Holmsbu, as guests of the anthro department. The setting of the hotel, on Oslofjord, was beautiful and peaceful. Picture above. I understand that some of the women actually went swimming in the ocean (brrr!), but I contented myself with a swim in the slightly-heated pool and a warmup in the jacuzzi. Once again, there was scrumptious and abundant food. It was a smoked salmon lover's paradise (several kinds), and there were, as well, mussels, shrimp and what looked like miniature lobsters (though David gave up on his, unable to gain entry), not to mention a variety of salads and meats, and very-bad-for-me cakes. We were told by folks that we would get tired of the food at these events because it was always the same, but, alas, that doesn't seem to have happened yet.

I got to talk with several faculty and staff members. Once again I got the impression (and was sometimes told outright) that Norwegian women don't worry about combining career and motherhood because of the benefits they receive in this welfare state. In fact, because of these benefits, it would appear, the birthrate (unlike in other European countries, such as Italy) is quite high. Take a look at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/4786160.stm We certainly have noticed that parenting is totally accepted in the academic world. It seems to be expected, for example, that everyone will leave at around 4 o'clock; that is when children get picked up from daycare.

Least you think I am waxing too idealistic about all these attractive aspects of Norwegian life, I will add a bit of ethnographic detail that moves in another direction, perhaps. We did notice that, pretty much as in France, work life is separated from home life and life with friends. New people on the faculty in anthro don't seem to be invited to dinner at other faculty members' houses; in fact it would seem that most of the faculty do not socialize with each other. Kind of lonely, it appears, for people who don't have social networks, such as those coming from other countries.

Oslo Walks and Social Events and a Sense of Norwegian Politics

We've pretty much settled into a rhythm of working during the week and exploring on the weekend, though there have been some midweek exceptions. One was an amazing dinner (to which I was very cordially invited) at a downtown hotel for 120 Anthropology M.A. students who had just received their degrees. Apparently, the program in Anthro has recently been re-organized and so the students who were taking their time were given something of an ultimatum--hence the large number. The Master's Degree seems to be much more important in Norway than in the U.S. For one thing, all Master's students do field work. Ph.D. students are chosen from the best Master's students and (get this!)are entirely supported for (I believe) four years.(And they do field work as well.) The joys of a small, rich country!

Many of the students, both MA and PH.D. (and this is based in part on what David has told me about his conversations with them) seem to do field work that has an "applied" aspect. For example, David told me about a student whose subject was Norwegian drug regulation. Apparently there is a great deal of such, with the result--in her view--that new drugs take a long time to become available, and, while there are none of those horrific and constant ads for drugs such as we see on TV in the U.S., perhaps (again, in her view), there is not enough research and innovation. This student spoke of a patient she knew who had spent a great deal of time in a hospital in Norway, but, she thought, could be cured of his illness, were a particular drug available to him. I think this student's goal is to change things, once she has well understood how they presently work. This activist orientation has some overlaps, it seems, with the present orientation of anthro in the U.S. But here, the students' knowledge at least seems to be quite pragmatic and the goal less wholesale and theoretical than--at least I get the impression--it can be in the States. Perhaps some of this activist orientation has to do with Norway's role in the world at large-- as a peacebroker (e.g. the Oslo accords, the Nobel Peace prize, and more), and as a strong supporter of various international aid and development organizations.

In any event, the dinner was scrumptious, starting with what appeared to be very very lightly cooked and marinated tuna (which David, no fish eater, declared one of the best things he'd ever tasted), moving on to roast duck, and ending with a dessert that involved what I think was a small scoop of sorbet, covered with a lattice-work of hardened chocolate, as well as a bit of a layered puddingy-cake. The organizer sat across from us and tried to translate the four or five apparently quite lively and jocular speeches that were made. In the din, I'm afraid I barely heard her translations, but it was incredibly gracious of her to make the effort. I did manage to converse some with her husband, an Australian, who sat to my right.

Norwegians do seem extremely international. Of course, our contacts are anthropologists. But, aside from doing field work, so many people we've met have been to many continents and countries. I must say, too, that the Norwegians we've encountered (and this includes random folks on trams or on the street or in stores) seem remarkably without "edge." They are open and friendly and without suspicion. To take a small example: we were heading towards what we thought was the train station on Saturday last, and stopped to ask a woman--who was standing in her front yard--for directions. She was carrying a plate of cinammon buns and promptly offered one to each of us! (We took her up on her offer.) Our friend Halvard says this attitude is at least in part the result of having nothing to fear. Education is available, jobs are available, and one doesn't have to worry about the distant future. The elderly are all guaranteed care! Though apparently--speaking of pragmatic and activist goals--Halvard and his wife Heidi, who was trained as a nurse--are writing a paper about how the right to care in one's old age, at home or in an institution (which is recognized as such!! compare the situation in the U.S.!!!) is, nevertheless, not fully carried out at the present time. Apparently, the issue is that the women (so this is a feminist concern too), often unskilled, who perform much of this care, are assigned too many cases, are stretched too thin, and are not paid enough. The "welfare" state's claims and the reality of eldercare are apparently different, says Halvard.

An aside on the medical front: I was a bit surprised to hear the same complaints from Heidi, about the medical system in Norway, as I often make in the U.S. about our (blankety blank blank) HMO, Kaiser. Apparently doctors have caseloads of 2,500 patients (doesn't this number sound familiar, Kaiser members?) and the tendency is one complaint per visit, just as it is for us. Take a look at my poem, "HMOgenized," http://www.poemeleon.org/judy-kronenfeld3/ Well, I'm still in the process of getting a sense of the relation between the ideals (fantastic!) of the welfare state and the practice.

Which reminds me: on Saturday last we strolled around downtown. There was a lot of festivity because the elections were on Monday. One of the "right" parties sponsored a huge stage with a rock singer and a couple of back-up musicians. David and I wound up talking at some length with a woman dressed in an eye-catching lime-green outfit who wore a sign that said something like "Feminist Patrol." (Among other things she said that old-fashioned rock music went with the "right"; the "left" would have rap!) We asked what her feminist concerns were. Again, for an American, it does seem that Norwegian women have some wonderful rights and privileges. For example, women may take a year off to care for their babies, at full salary. (Our daughter-in-law told us, by the way, that Russia allows THREE years off--but the salary is very very low.) Norwegian single mothers are supported in their pursuit of education for a number of years. What more is needed? Apparently, the number of years that these single women are supported used to be five and it has slipped back to three, which is not enough to make them marketable. And, also, while childcare is not hard to find for children up to the age of 1 and after 3, there are few provisions for the in-between years. Finally, the lady in lime said that the sectors of the economy in which men and women worked were entirely different and that many women worked part-time, and thus were entitled to less of a pension when they retired.

The weather has been mostly sunny and cool. A couple of windy, rainy, cold days, but that's all. We've enjoyed strolling around Oslo. Here's a picture of one of the main shopping streets, Karl Johan's Gate, part of which is for pedestrians only, with the Royal Palace at the far end.

On this past Sunday, we took the train to Sognsvann, a lake in the Northern part of Oslo, and joined hosts of walkers, joggers, cyclers and strollers as they made their way around it (a pleasant 3.5. kilometers). We noticed that there were signs prohibiting cycling, but, nevertheless, a fair number of cyclers. David said he's heard it remarked that Norwegians are not blind obeyers of "the law." If it's fair, that's one thing, but if it's not.... Maybe it's not fair to deprive cyclers of this beautiful ride!

I only observed one soda can and two pieces of plastic wrap--the only litter on the whole path. I think that's wonderful!

The presence of this serene and lovely and quite large body of water not far from the city center reminded me how much I miss water--just to look at, even!--in SoCal. Especially during the summer. I also really enjoyed ( I miss Izzy!) watching the several blond labrador retrievers we saw swimming to retrieve the various things their owners thew out in the water (sticks, tennis balls, etc.) Here's a picture of the lake.

Magnificent cabin weekend--our intro to Norway

But first, a little about getting there. Our trip from Vladivostok began auspiciously when the Korean Air agent Dan had mentioned (he of the excellent English) did not bat an eyelish in response to our saying we had four bags. We had expended a certain amount of anxiety, Stateside, on the issue of baggage allowances. The flight from Vlad to Seoul and from Seoul to Amsterdam was supposed to allow only one 20 kilo bag for each of us, and a rather small piece of hand luggage. So much for the difference between theory and practice. We had not looked forward to repacking our worldly goods in the Vlad airport and giving them to our son and daughter-in-law--until we saw the latter two again (maybe in Norway, if they decide to visit, maybe later... much, much, later). Incidentally, water bottles also accompanied passengers from Vlad--right onto the plane. Got the impression no one cared! A total contrast to our experience later on in Munich (where every compartment and item in the many compartments of my stuffed flight bag was thoroughly examined). Anyway, we breathed a sigh of relief.

The Russian turista that hit me during the latter part of the Seoul to Amsterdam flight was less auspicious. Suffice it to say that I ignored several stewards' barked orders to stay in your seat!

Our trip from Amsterdam (after a night in a hotel there) to Oslo was, thankfully, easy and pleasant in our leased Europe-by-Car Peugeot. Spent a night in Kolding, Denmark en route, then decided to chill for a day in Goteborg, Sweden, just aimlessing around, and so spent a couple of nights there. Enjoyed a conversation at our breakfast table, with a Swedish psychologist who was attending a convention of neuropsychologists in Goteborg. She told us an anecdote about the Swedish Prime Minister, who, after meeting George Bush, said: "George Bush is not stupid. He's just very unlucky when he is thinking." Anyone know if that made it into the news anywhere?

After just a couple of days getting adjusted to our rented house in Oslo, we set off on Friday afternoon for a weekend with our friend, Halvard (and his son Nikolai), at his "cabin," or, as I learned it is called in Norwegian, his hytte. Heidi was able to join us on Saturday. When Halvard first mentioned inviting us to the "cabin," I braced myself for an outhouse, no indoor plumbing, water from a well, and lanterns, not to mention sleeping bags. I think my model was the cabin of her childhood summers my friend Betsy often described to me--in the Michigan woods--about which she had very fond memories. (I plead my totally urban New York childhood for a certain lack of enthusiasm for such a place.) When I gingerly asked Halvard if we'd need, say, sleeping bags, he told me the cabin had "all amenties." But I wasn't prepared for how comfortable and charming the place is. Interestingly enough, one of the participants at an Oslo conference on "Performing Nature at the World's Ends" that I later went to one day of, with David, was on "Holiday Practices and Norwegian 'Hytte.'" The dictionary gives a definition of "shack, hut, cottage." When I saw Halvard's, however, I told him it seemed more like a "chalet." Catch that picture of the dining area!

Halvard and Heidi's cabin is very close to the very huge Lake Nisser in Norway's Telemark region. This is one of the most pristine and stunning natural environments we have ever experienced. I mean "stunning" in quite a literal way. Looking out at the lake from my chair in front of the cabin, I really did feel awestruck, unable to take my eyes away.

The weather was fresh and invigorating, windy at times. We took a short walk around part of a higher smaller lake, Lytingsvatnet, as well as a brief jaunt down to a place on Nisser where Halvard and his family swim (too cold this time). There were blueberries and red currants on our path as well as some very exotic looking mushrooms (including some definitely poisonous ones identified by Heidi). The rocks were covered in lichen collages. We also accompanied Halvard on the neighborly task of bailing water out of a wooden boat seemingly uncared for by its owner. The boat is moored near Halvard's fiberglass one; intriguing-- it's made out of overlapping planks in the Viking manner, and apparently also has a square sail, as did the much much larger Viking ships (which we saw in the Viking Ship Museum in Oslo a week or so later).

I am now trying to get into a writing rhythm. It does take a while to adjust to a new country, landscape, house, desk, view. It is a little lonely, too. Since we've been away from home, I have had several enheartening poem acceptances (nothing like acceptances!!!!), though it's been a little crazy trying to keep up with my submissions. I've loaded most of the relevant files on my laptop, but there's always that one that got away, not to mention the hard copies I don't have at all, my attempt to save money by not using too much paper here (where prices for everything are shocking), etc. etc.

Backtrack to Vlad

Well, before I get to the Norwegian Experiences.... I thought I might describe some aspects of our two weeks in Vladivostok from August 4th through 17th (ok, ok, only 43 degrees North compared to Oslo's 59) where we visited with Dan and Lisa and our adorable granddaughter Anya (as of August 21st all of one year old).

The Korean Air flight from LAX to Seoul was reasonably comfortable; we managed to snooze on and off for twelve and a half hours, and as well in the very modern and glossy Seoul airport, where we stretched out on banks of seats at the gate for some of the four hours before our couple of hours flight to Vladivostok. Our arrival in Vladivostok was a trifle more Kafka-esque. We had been given a customs form on the plane but the stewardess seemed very vague about whether we needed to fill it out, as well as another form (migration control) which we more clearly did need to fill out (one half of which was collected on our arrival and one half turned in when we departed), and about which Dan had forewarned us. We disembarked and found ourselves in a small crowded room in one of several lines for several windows (apparently passport control). A gentleman behind me was struggling with filling out what appeared to be an alternate version of the migration control forms; he had apparently not received the forms on the plane, for some reason, but had picked one up from a table--partially filled out and abandoned by a previous traveler. I tried to help this gentleman, as much for something to do while we waited--hot and sweaty, clutching our flight bags and laptops, and almost pressed up against one another--as out of kindness. Eventually the window we were waiting for, and which we were now fairly close to, closed (and I thought of Kafka's parable "Before the Law"--how does it go? This door was meant only for you, and now I am going to close it. ) Our line straggled over to the left and we lost our moderately good position. Eventually we made it through the ploddingly slow passport control, turned in the halves of our forms at migration control, and placed our hand luggage on the conveyor so it could go through the metal detector, while wondering how or when we would deal with that customs form. Then, all in a woosh (and I really can't quite remember exactly how the rest of our luggage appeared, but it was quick!), Dan was there, shepherding us and our bags rapidly outside where we got to kiss our granddaughter and our daughter-in-law and piled into the family's SUV (next to the much-missed Anya in her carseat in the back) and were on our way to their apartment.

внучка That's the Russian for granddaughter. Sounds like vnuchka. I also learned grandfather, дед, which, in the diminutive, sounds like dyeduchka. And I knew бабушка, babushka, grandmother. Not a lot! Barely became able to say "I don't speak Russian." The kids' townhouse--one of a block of them occupied by consulate staff--is on a hill and gated. A guard goes through the ritual of looking underneath the car with a mirror on a long handle every time one returns to the gate. The kids call the road down to town from their place "the goat path" and it's immediately clear why. Rocky and steep and unpaved, it emblematizes the curious mixture of third word and first world that Vlad seems to be. On the one hand, the town seems bustling to a naive Western eye. I went with Lisa to an enormous Chinese baby store which seemed to have even more goods than a comparable emporium in the U.S. I visited a rather elegant market (complete with lavish fountain) that seemed not all that unlike the ones in France. (See picture-- to the right, I hope.I'm a first-time blogger and still struggling with various matters, including layout.) We went to several very good and even excellent restaurants (more on that later).There are some wonderful streets (the one with the Pushkin theater, for example) and buildings that seem to have been carefully restored (the train station, for example). (See the pictures of each of these.) On the other hand, the roads were sometimes in terrible repair, and there are lots of those grim Soviet-style apartment blocks similar to the ones we saw in Posnan, Poland when we visited there from France in 1993. They have ugly, purely functional entry ways, and many of them look like huge hunks of concrete are about to drip off them and crash into the street. And, to give another example, right below the kids' house, there are a bunch of houses that almost seem like squatter's shacks (though I know nothing about issues of land tenure, I'm afraid): patched together out of bits and pieces of material, with metal roofs. Or maybe there are just remnants of the rural style of housing in the city; certainly they looked quite a bit like the rustic rural houses we saw on our trip to the Soviet style "recreation base" in the latter part of our trip.

On to that trip to the Kavalerovkii District on the Russian coast of the Sea of Japan! The trip was long (about seven hours each way). The quarters were Spartan (bathroom down the hall, hot water iffy, extremely thin mattresses on wooden cots--David and I piled the two thin mattresses up on one of the cots and crowded in together so our hip bones wouldn't quite so quickly hit bottom) but the scenery was amazing. The recreation base was on a very placid lake; we rowed for a bit before and during a misty rain and the next day took a brief swim in the separate swimming area. The coast was just five minutes away. Beautiful expanses of beaches, some rocky and with interesting rock formations; much Russian camping on the beach--with cars and improvised or actual tents. We enjoyed meeting Dan and Lisa's friend Dima (Dimitri) who works at the consulate and suggested the weekend at this place; he served as a guide. There was a quite beautiful sauna at the recreation base (not exactly my thing, but I tried it briefly) as well. And a karaoke night at the restaurant/bar on Saturday which was actually a lot of fun.

Food: We ate at a couple of traditional Russian restaurants, and a Georgian restaurant, ordered out from an Indian restaurant, had a lavish brunch at a place run by someone from Long Island, and for a final extravaganza, went to a "game" restaurant complete with many decorative examples of the taxidermist's art. There David had wild boar (not stuffed!), Lisa had bear, I had quail and .... hmm, can't remember what Dan had. (But he told me in an email-- it was moose!). All washed down with cold vodka (my first vodka solo, I think!). Overall, I liked Russian food; we both particularly enjoyed a cold soup called okroshka which is made from potatoes and vegetables and something (fermented?) called "kvas" that I'm still unclear about. Much Russian food was reminiscent of the food of my youth (after all, my mom came from Lvov, which is now in the Ukraine!). Blinis were of course like blintzes; borsh was of course like borscht (though we usually had it with the sour cream and minus the meat); and pelmeny was very much like kreplach or pirogen (minced meat wrapped in dough and served in soup or fried up separately; I think in Russia they're called something other than pelmeny when they are, as were pirogen, in my youth, stuffed with cheese, or potatoes, or blueberries.Yumm).

It was a delight to really get to know the much bigger Anya (whom we'd last seen in the U.S. in February). She's a whiz at putting shapes into her shape box, loves to direct adults into the "proper" walking position (they must walk behind her holding on to one or both of her hands, and not on the side of her), and she has the most endearing smile in the world (naturally!).