Моя семья

My family

Tuesday, July 12^th

As of tomorrow we’re halfway through the program. On one hand, time has seemed to just fly by. On the other, I feel like I’ve been here for six months. It’s a strange thing, but I am happy to have my return home in my sights. Because I miss you guys.

It’s hard to gauge how much my Russian has improved. Some days are more frustrating than others, those days that I feel like my Russian has somehow gotten worse than when I left. But Natalya assured Lindsay and I this weekend that our Russian is ten times better than the night we met her, back when we were just three days in. That made me smile…and then she invited us to her house for dinner and drinks next week! I’m so smitten with her, I think I’m going to miss her most of all.

However, I’m also going to miss my host family dearly. Inga, Masha (my host aunt), Lena, Johnny, and George have been so wonderful to me that I’ve started calling the apartment home. Especially considering some of the stories I’ve heard about other host families…here’s some of the worst stories I’ve heard, in comparison to my experience.

Lindsay’s host mother disapproves of her going out at night. Now, like I explained before, going out for us island folk is a bit tricky. We either have to be back before 1 (or before anything starts in Russia), or out past 6 a.m., otherwise the bridges will be up and the metro will be closed. When I tell Inga that I’ll be going out and I’ll be late, she either nods, laughs as she says “of course,” or just shrugs. One time, when I said I’d be back before the bridges closed, she looked at me and said “why? Nothing happens before the bridges close. Don’t do that.” Given, I always make sure she knows that I’ll be home late, and I always tell her where I’ll be going and what we’ll be doing.

Anne’s family has taken to talking about her in front of her, justifying it to each other by saying “she doesn’t understand what we’re saying anyways.” Now, comprehension is the easiest part of the language. I almost can always get at least the gist of what someone is saying to me…even if answering is a bit tricky. So it’s understandable that Anne’s a bit more than miffed with this habit. Once, when I told Inga’s friend to excuse my poor speaking of Russian, Inga whipped around and went off on me. For a full five minutes she kept saying “your Russian is perfectly normal. You’ve been getting better and better, and you’re very good. Don’t say that again, Sarechka.” Oh yeah. She calls me Sarechka. It’s probably one of the most adorable things ever.

Sam’s host mother makes him less than questionable food. Apparently he gets lots of meat blinny’s smothered in sour cream. I think the only time I got a less than decent meal from Inga or Masha was after Inga had several bloody Mary’s with her friend. Even then, the only problem was that the potatoes were half-cooked.

Joe’s host mother likes to watch violent Oprah-esque shows while he eats dinner. While watching shows about dogs gnawing off people’s arms and the like, she points at the TV and says “Idiots! Joe, do you understand they’re idiots?” Joe just tries to shovel down his food…Inga watches TV with me while I eat. She tells me about the shows (more often than not, it’s the Russian version of Scrubs), which characters she likes, and asks me about American TV. One time she asked me if I like Ashton Kutcher. I said he was handsome, but a bit stupid. She laughed and said that was always the case.

Have I mentioned Inga likes to talk shit? When my American roommate Cara couldn’t go to Finland, Inga said “Well, Finland’s boring and expensive anyways. You’re much better off staying here.” After I tried Bud Weisser for the first time, I told Inga it was amazingly delicious. Because it is. She responded by saying “Of course! Especially when you’re used to American beer that tastes like water.” Or when the electricity was turned off in the apartment for a day, she kept yelling about how she was calling people all day to figure it out. But she wasn’t saying people. She was using the art (oh yes. Apparently it’s an art) of Russian swearing to describe her distaste for those people.

I think my favorite night with the family happened last Wednesday. I returned home after studying at about 11:00. Inga and George had a couple of friends over who were visiting from Georgia. The table was spread with all sorts of food, and the kitchen was filled with cigarette smoke. Without even letting me put down my purse, they beckoned me into the kitchen, loaded my plate with fish, beet salad, a type of Georgian cheese bread, and…as I found out after eating half of it, tongue. George filled my shot glass with vodka and my larger glass with kvas (a mildly alcoholic drink, somewhere between coke and beer, that’s definitely an acquired taste), and proceeded to show me how to sip my vodka and properly chase it with fish. Until three in the morning, we laughed and talked, and George made sure my glass remained full of vodka. They asked me my preference between Bush, Obama, and McCain, to which I responded that I don’t have much of a liking for any politician. We bonded over the misunderstanding between Georgias (the country and the state) and Washingtons (the state and the city). Finally, George asked me if they looked black. I just laughed, but they were serious. I said of course not, to which they responded that in Russia they’re considered black. After many toasts to Russia, Georgia, and America, I said I needed to go to bed. They tried their hardest to make me stay, praising me for being “such a pretty American girl” and gave me kisses and one last shot before bed. Needless to say, my hangover the next day was totally worth it.