Already Gone

In Russia anything [most randomly and always unexpectedly] can happen. Two examples: 1) here Russians have blown up a picture of the Tsar and the Tsarevich to the size of a gigantic poster and placed it on the lawn in front of the Church on the Blood in central Yekat; 2) lovely Anna Mikhailovna now has bangs. Yesterday evening we had Irish coffee together. Both of these grand things suit her splendidly.

The bag has been packed. The vodka has been purchased and the bottles now lay wrapped twice in plastic bags and once in skirts [an Aeroflot frequent flyer has learned to always be prepared for the very worst] in my bag. Several gifts have been acquired, yet no one will receive “Christ’s Appearance to the People” this year. Two weeks ago there were many copies of it in the store – two days ago they were all out of Ivanov! I bought another reproduction for Katharina and now at least I know what to bring next year… Ahead of me today are my usual two flights back to my OWN motherland – to Moscow and Stockholm – in the latter Malin will be waiting for me tonight. I can’t wait! All the while I cannot stop reading Evgeniya Ginzburg. I am in love with her. Now she was a real woman. In prison, in labor camps, on Kolyma – she was first and foremost a woman. A true woman. She makes me proud of not only my sex, but also my profession. Who knew being a philologist could be a secret weapon?

Constant Tent Face

The weekend at Pilorama 2009 was truly one of those ‘once-in-a-lifetime’ experiences: sleeping in a tent on top of a car next to a former GULAG camp… Now, that’s a first for me, comrades! On this picture you may even catch a glimpse of my travel comrade Matthias – who taught me just exactly WHAT the red [diplomatic] plates on his car are for – as he’s removing the green tent cover after a rainy night.

Visiting the Pilorama Festival 2009 at the former GULAG camp “Perm-36” filled me with this strange proud feeling, a sort of strong sense of not being alone. When I visited this museum – the only one of its kind in Russia – for the first time in February 2008 I was not filled with such a feeling. As a matter of fact, then I sensed nothing but loneliness as I and Meghan were the only visitors to what seemed to be the Edge of the World on that snowy, cold day a year and five months ago. My second visit was much different. After six hours of driving from Yekaterinburg, Matthias and I arrived in time for some more rain in the evening and a free excursion of the museum together with the USA’s general consul Tim and his very cute, very young female translator [somewhere in the back of my head there’s a voice that tells me that I might have seemed to be a mirror version of her to Matthias – who works for the German Consulate – in the eyes of people at Pilorama, but I do my best to block out that voice]. The excursion lasted over two hours and I was surprised at how much I remember from the last time I was there, when I also – incidentally – translated the entire excursion to Meghan from Russian to English. After the excursion we tried to have some dinner at the ‘food court’, as I nicknamed the tents which served different kinds of very Russian dishes [buckwheat, anyone?], and were almost successful. We walked around and looked at all the many different people that had gathered at the festival and marveled at the amount of tents already in place on the field across the river from the camp. Everywhere people were drinking beer – despite the fact that the museum’s website clearly said ‘alcohol forbidden’ during the festival – and thus we concluded that Russians do not count beer as alcohol. We decided to make up for lost time and went back to the car and drank red wine. After that I tried to make friends with a Russian – he said his name was Igor and I take his word for it – and gave him a shock in the process, nevertheless, he still accompanied us as we went to listen to some of the artist giving concerts the first [Friday] night. I fell asleep in a tent on top of a car to the numbed voice of a narrator commenting a documentary film about the history of GULAG that was shown on stage after midnight… Definitely something you don’t do on a day-to-day basis, comrades?

Saturday morning began with several cups of coffee and taiga honey on salty crackers as breakfast from the back of the car as we waited for the festival’s second day to begin at 11.00. The weather seemed to be promising in the morning, but it soon started to rain, and as I had not brought any pants – all I had with me was the mini-skirt I was wearing since most of my clothes were dirty due to constant traveling the Urals for the past ten days – I felt very cold and escaped into one of the camp buildings. This particular building had two rooms with two exhibitions that both turned out to be very interesting to me personally. The first exhibition was in the first room and was about the famous German concentration camp Auschwitz – a great opportunity for me to refresh some old knowledge [when I was a very young child I was obsessed with German concentration camps and knew EVERYTHING about them; now that I’m an adult – I think? – I’m obsessed with Soviet concentration camps…]. The second exhibition was in the second room and was about Soviet dissidents, some of which had been ‘connected to’ [i.e. served time in] “Perm-36”. As I read on big posters about these young Soviet dissidents, I could not but notice their professions – they were all philologists: translators, teachers, poets, writers – and which university department they had all graduated from – the Philology Department! Philologists, just like me! These were MY people! These people had studied just what I’ve studied; they’ve also made it through 20 centuries of Russian literature and several special courses on stylistics and grammar and Latin and come out of it as – dissidents! I felt a strong sense of pride for my profession. Philology may not be something you can make money on, but it is the best way to keep a clear head when things around you become messy. Philology is the answer to every question. At least to all the questions that matter.

Then it continued to rain and we were informed that we had missed the USA’s general consul Tim’s solo concert [not on banjo, but on guitar] as it had been rescheduled from 18.30 to 13.30 and we were greatly disappointed by both this fact and the heavy rain that kept pouring down. No, we had not brought even as much as an umbrella. We discussed our next move and decided to head back to Yekat which we did. During the six hours on the road back my body felt extremely tired of traveling – after seven hours on a bus on Thursday and twelve hours in a car during less than 24 hours. We came back to Yekat and had a later dinner together at the best place for Russian traditional ‘pirogis’ [pies] in town – my suggestion – and I ordered two big cherry beers and Matthias agreed that this is ‘the girliest drink in the world’. Then I got back to the dorm after midnight and could finally spent ten hours of quality time with my bed and all the teddy animals in my bed – a bear, a dog and a mouse. They had all missed me just as much as I had missed them and it felt very good to be reunited with them and to know that this would be more than for just a night – but for five whole nights!

On Sunday I washed my clothes – finally – and started to pack things into my bag as I’m flying to Sweden on Thursday next week. In Kurgan I managed to buy a couple of gifts for friends and family, but I still have to buy many, many more and I haven’t got a clue as to what to buy since I’ve already brought back everything one could possibly bring back from Russia to my family members and friends. Name the Russian souvenir – I’ve given it to someone during one of my trips back the past half of a decade of living in the Eastern Motherland. I don’t know what to give to people. I’ve been thinking of buying a huge amount of reproductions of my favorite Russian painting – “Christ’s Appearance to the People” by Ivanov – and give them to everyone I know. But perhaps not everyone will come to see and understand and love this painting the way I do? Also, several people I know pretend to be ironic when they’re actually serious deep down. I’ve toyed with the idea of not bringing anything at all. Nothing. But I already tried that one year and people back home were deeply disappointed by me due to this behavior. People expect gifts. For example, I have to bring Mother’s favorite Ukrainian vodka, or else she’ll have me written out of her will [i.e. no red little house in the Swedish woods for me to live in as professor emeritus]. Also, Malin just had her b’day in July and I have to come up with something extraordinary for such an occasion… I might only get the Ivanov reproduction for Katharina. She’ll get it.

Currently I’m reading Yevgenya Ginzburg’s 800 page memoir of her 18 years in GULAG camps entitled «Крутой маршрут» [English title: “A Journey Into the Whirlwind”]. At first I didn’t like it – the ‘Introduction’ is terrible; purely in ‘poor taste’, I would say and you could argue with me but I would just nod and say ‘read it first, argue later, good comrade of mine’ – but now I can’t stop reading it. I fell in love with both her and the memoir when she wrote about the 1st of September 1936, where she for the first time in her life was unable to celebrate the start of a new academic year due to having lost her job as a university teacher [because she was sentenced as having been ‘affiliated’ with a ‘trotskyist’]. When I read about her feelings toward the start of a new academic year I realized that they mirror mine and so she won me over. Now I read it and stop for a while to cry and then I read it some more and cry some more. Also, it is very interesting and highly healthy for me to read about Stalin’s GULAG camps from a female point of view after this huge amount of Shalamov. After all, women are not men. And that’s why I’m going to read this big book until done. It will not take long, I don’t think, considering there’s a two flights and a train trip ahead of me next week…

Between Yekaterinburg and the museum “Perm-36” there is, if I remember everything correctly, one patch of good road. It starts about an hour before you arrive in Yekaterinburg [outside of Revda].

Kurgan

Strike a pose! Neptune, me and my surprisingly long, blonde braid in Kurgan on Monday.

What does one do with all one’s free time during the short but sweet Russian summer? One might, as I did, go south – but without leaving the region we all love and know as the Ural Mountains [Kurgan is in Зауралье, and we don’t count that as Siberia yet] – and visit a friend in the home of her parents’. Which is what I did. I came back from my trip with Shalamov on Saturday morning, spent the day walking in the sun with Xenia, bought train tickets and left on the train the next morning, thus on Sunday. After about five hours on the train I arrived in Kurgan, was met at the station by Marina and our four lovely days of sunshine, all-you-can-eat home-cooked meals, swimming in the river Tobol and watching Soviet movie classics could begin. And that’s exactly what I and Marina did together with her kind parents in their flat 20 km outside of Kurgan – we sunbathed [until we were completely red and white and resembled different interpretations of the Russian civil war on Wednesday evening], we ate good food, we swam and we watched Soviet classics, like «Броненосец Потёмкин» [“The Battleship Potemkin” – I’m embarrassed, of course, but must admit to not having seen it before…] and «Влюблён по собственному желанию» [this movie is awesome and I highly recommend it!]. We tried to find out where in Kurgan the famous poet, Decembrist and childhood pal of Pushkin Кюхельбекер [Kyukhelbeker] had lived, yet could not. The best we could come up with was a street named after him in a village outside of Kurgan… Yet on the beach we read out loud to each other from Tynyanov’s novel «Кюхля» [“Kyukhlya”] and felt very good and intellectually educated about ourselves. The time spent in Kurgan was so splendid that I did not want to leave but after four days of having my cell phone turned off and living without the internet I decided that it was high time to return to civilisation. So I placed myself on a bus and traveled seven hours on yet another Russian road of imminent and inescapable death. I wonder how come Russians as a species have yet not become extinct. This is the land of Fatalism. I am not a fatalist. I’m just… a попутчик. An innocent попутчик.

Tomorrow morning I’m heading out into the Urals once again – this time to the Pilorama Festivale at the former GULAG camp “Perm-36”. It will be a weekend full of all the things I love most in life – Ural nature, Soviet concentration camp and poetry slams! This time I won’t be risking my life by bus or train – I’m going there together with Mattias [works at the German Consulate in Yekat] in his car. We’re going to be tenting for two nights. Get ready for the constant tent face of ´09!

Remember the movie I was in on the 1st of June? Well, here’s one of the stills from the shoot – me with Ivan Golovnev, the director.

24

«В этой могиле мы умирали 3 суток и всё же не умерли. Крепитесь, товарищи!» [“In this grave we were dying for three days and yet we did not die. Stay strong, comrades!”] These famous words on the wall of the cellar of the monastery in Solikamsk, where – possibly – Shalamov spent a night in April 1929, are from his short story “The First Tooth”. In the short story on his way north to a concentration camp, he looks up at the wall and sees these words. The real words do not remain, though, this is the work by Shalamov fans who have written the quote – twice! – there in his honor. Foolishly I thought myself to be the first one to go there after reading the short story… And yes, this is how happy visiting his cell made me on my 24th b’day!

«Здесь жили и умирали жертвы репрессий 1920-50 г. В 1929 г. начался лагерный путь Варлама Шаламова. 100-летию писателя. Июнь 2007 г.» [“Here lived and died victims of repressions in 1920-50’s. In 1929 began the camp road of Varlam Shalamov. To the writer’s 100th year anniversary. June 2007.”] By the evening of my 24th b’day I had made it all the way up to Krasnovishersk, a road that took Shalamov five days to travel by foot in 1929 but me not even two hours by bus in 2009. Here I am pictured hugging the monument made in his honor in that northern Ural’s very small town.

In 1931 Varlam stood and looked out over the river Вишера [Vishera] and thought to himself: «Мне уже 24 года и я еще ничего не делал для бессмертия» [“I am already 24 years old and I haven’t done anything for immortality yet”] (quoted from his «Антироман Вишера» [“The Antinovel Vishera”]). In 2009 Josefina stood and looked out over the same river and thought to herself that the first step towards immortality had been taken already some time ago – when I was baptized in the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost.

Incidentally, this is the one kind of photograph of myself I’ve always wanted – showing me doing what I do best: academic research! Here I am collecting documents and articles in the Krasnovishersk’s library on the 17th of July. I knew there was a reason for why I had left half of my backpack empty upon going north… so that I could fill it with books and stuff on the way back!

This must be the most random picture ever taken of me [though there have been many random pictures of me which my grandchildren – thankfully – will not understand if I do not leave explaining notes behind]. Here I am leaning on a police car with the words «Пермский край» next to two young detectives – Volodya and Vanya – originally from Krasnodar, currently stationed in Krasnovishersk.

The places life can take you! Who knew I would have the best b’day in my life six hours north of Perm’ on the site of Shalamov’s first concentration camp? Who could’ve guessed that I would meet so many great people and see so many interesting places? Life is surely amazing and very surprising! What a b’day this was! I can’t wait to turn 25, comrades, even though I don’t what I will do then because there’s clearly no beating this experience!

All Things Considered

Look, Lillbubb! [That’s my sister, and no, comrades, ‘Lillbubb’ is not her real name. My parents might be mad, but they’re not THAT mad]. This is your new perfume – Valentino’s “Rock’n’Rose” – that I might not be able to bring home to you in this awesome package above that I bought it in on Sunday. I hope you’ll like it! [ or KNOW you’ll like it…!] Also pictured – slightly below and slightly smaller – is my new perfume “Miss Dior Chérie”. Yes, I finally bought a new one! And now I can’t stop sniffing myself…

Last Sunday began like all other Sundays in this my most fabulous Russian existence – with me scrubbing the bathroom floor and disinfecting the toilet in the morning. Afterwards this particular Sunday took many unsuspected turns and twisted itself especially wildly after 9 p.m., leaving me wondering – drunk on red wine upon my return to the dormitory just before 1 a.m. – if everything that happened that day had really happened not solely in my head but also in reality. I decided not to find out and thus I did not pinch myself. Sunday was wonderful and fully normal during the day though, when I and Xenia went to shop for perfumes in the snobby beauty store «Золотое яблоко» [“The Golden Apple”] and left having spent a small fortune. Then I saw how cheap the ruble is right now and so I didn’t feel so bad and besides, I really needed a new perfume and also I badly needed a new mascara and besides, I know that if I don’t buy perfume for my sister then no one else will and she will be left without the splendid experience of using expensive smells from an early age. Xenia and I were so content with ourselves after having spent four figures that we decided not to take off our ‘spender’s pants’ straight away but have lunch together at Mama’s Biscuit House. And we did. I had my favorite soup – «грибной крем-суп в хлебе» [“crème mushroom soup in bread”] – and washed it down with an alcoholic drink. Before 4 in the afternoon! I love summer, indeed, as much as I love Sundays.

On Sunday evening I was confronted with my own ignorance. Yes, I know I’m supposed to be an ‘experienced expat’ by now [I’ve spent half a decade in this country!] and that as such I should take an active part in the ‘expat community’ but I don’t because I’m really busy most of the time and now when I’m not busy at all I just prefer to spend time with people I like – and the people I like tend to be Russians and not lonesome, fraught expats that have oatmeal cookies mailed to them from Alabama twice a week. I’ve never given the British Consulate here in Yekaterinburg so much as a thought but due to the James Hudson scandal of last week – I’m off the record if you are – I found myself on Sunday evening trying to help a journalist from Moscow so badly that I got myself drunk with her and a local journalist by the end of it. And the funny thing is that I didn’t know anything and couldn’t help them at all. Funny, indeed.

Flashback to Saturday – when I went with Katya to see an art exhibition combining Social-Realism paintings made in the 1930-40’s with Russian paintings made in the 1990’s. Katya sighed every time I stopped in front of the paintings with names beginning with ‘Comrade Ivan’ or ‘Worker Ivan’ or ‘Engineer Ivan’ and grunted at the sight of rough-looking Russian male comrades, workers and engineers in all sorts of Socialistic suits and Communistic poses. She said she likes ‘intellectuals’. I said I’m really also into ‘intellectuals’, but that I can’t help myself and tend to get sexually aroused when looking at possibly sweaty and uneducated men holding various pieces of industrial equipment in their hands. Katya sighed again and again. Then we looked at paintings by Malevich – not part of the Social-Realism art show, though – and she said: “I do not understand this!” and I laughed because it was a funny thing to say in front of a masterpiece. I forced myself to enjoy Malevich for at least ten minutes because it is not every day that you have the opportunity to enjoy Malevich, you know, comrades.

After the art show Katya and I searched for Shalamov’s “Anti-novel Vishera” for a while in bookstores but didn’t find it and so we went to her place in Uralmash. That’s on the outskirts of Yekat, comrades, that’s where people are really ‘roughing it’. Katya’s mother had prepared dinner for us and we ate and drank red wine and had an inspired discussion on Russian politics. I do not often have inspired discussions on Russian politics with cute Russian 20 year old women, but Katya’s special. She was one of my students during my first year as a teacher of Swedish at Ural State, then the previous academic year she spent studying journalism in the U.S. of A. and has recently returned from there, where she realized a thing or two about how things are ‘hanging’ in the Russian Federation. She said she read, read and read and came to the conclusion that there is no freedom of speech in Russia. I couldn’t agree more, but I usually don’t think about it because when I think about it I tend to write articles about it and I’m too old to risk my visa for speaking my mind. And so, yes, in a way one could claim that my biggest dream of having ‘a taste of life in USSR’ has come true now finally – also in my Russian reality the only place where one can have an honest conversation about the things that truly matter is the kitchen…

Yesterday was Monday and I felt a bit tired of my ‘new life’ because it is so healthy and all and makes me feel too good about myself at times. Yesterday I decided to take a break from it and eat nothing but «сметанники» all day long. I ate four ‘smetannikis’ and did not feel the least bad about myself or the fact that I had four ‘smetannikis’ at all. In fact, I felt very pleased with myself and was thinking of repeating it today but today there were no smetannikis in the store and so I’m back with «гречка» [buckwheat] and working out in the mornings.

Yesterday I told my mother about my plans to go to the site of Shalamov’s first concentration camp in the northern Urals for my birthday on July 16th and explained that I’m a bit scared because it is far away up in the most rural parts of Russia [well, that’s not entirely true, but hey, what would YOU say?]. My mother said: “But you have Jesus and his dad by your side every step of the way!” to which I added: “Don’t forget their bird, mom, don’t forget the bird. Every sin will be forgiven, but not if it was a sin involving the bird, mom.” She said of course and thus I went ahead and searched online for all the information on buses and trains that I need. Today I went and bought train tickets to Perm’. I’ll leave tomorrow night at 11 p.m. [lovely Anna Mikhailovna said she would do me the honor of following me to the train station], arrive in Perm’ 6.30 a.m. on my b’day, take the 9 a.m. bus to Solikamsk and arrive there at around 2 p.m. to see the monastery where Shalamov spent the night in April 1929 and about which he wrote the short story «Первый зуб» [“The First Tooth”]. Then in the evening I’ll head further north on the bus to Krasnovishersk – where Shalamov was in a concentration camp between April 1929 and October 1931 – where I’ll spend the night. On the 17th I’ll check out the site of the camp and then leave for Perm’ at around 3 p.m. to catch the train back to Yekat. I’ll be back here early in the morning on the 18th.

At first I wasn’t sure if I wanted to buy tickets back straight away. But then I decided to do it because if I don’t then I might not come back. I have this crazy secret dream of disappearing into Russia and never show up again. Change my name and leave everything behind and go live somewhere random and rural like one of those ‘old believers’ or wonder this country endlessly and meet her people and forget about everything else. Thus to make this crazy secret dream not become true on the day of my 24th b’day I bought tickets back. Just in case. Even though I don’t think I’ll consider those 700 rubles I spent on the train tickets back as ‘wasted’ if I do decide to disappear into Russia this week…

I would, however, think the money I spent on my sister’s perfume was wasted and that’s why I’m coming back. Definitely. In 16 days I’ll be back in Sweden!

Верхний Тагил

Give me a piece of war equipment and I'll climb it! Once that’s been settled, comrades, let’s put aside the various phallus symbols present in the picture above and focus on where it was taken: in the small town of Верхний Тагил [that’s Verkhny Tagil, or ‘Upper Tagil’, as opposed to the bigger city of Нижний Тагил – Nizhny Tagil, or ’Lower Tagil’ – strangely enough located higher up than Verkhny Tagil…]. On Wednesday I asked lovely Anna Mikhailovna to take me to her hometown – located two hours north-west of Yekat – for a day and a night and she said yes. In her hometown we were delighted by all the wonders of Russian small town life. We walked in nature with cows, we walked in town with goats and we ate delicious food prepared by lovely Anna Mikhailovna’s babushka. We also visited the local museum and left a note behind in their guestbook – as all true philologists should. I told her my crazy idea of how to celebrate my birthday next week – and thus the evening together was spent studying the Archipelago GULAG map as we tried to figure out the exact location of the concentration camp in the northern Urals where Shalamov started his ‘Soviet prison sojourn’ in 1929.

We found it, by the way. The camp – ‘Vishlag’ – was located in the town of Krasnovishersk [six hours north of Perm’]. There’s even a museum and a monument there in honor of Shalamov. And that’s where I’m going next week to celebrate my 24th birthday – with or without lovely Anna Mikhailovna. I’m so excited!

Intrinsic

On Monday my new visa card arrived in the mail and I celebrated being financially sound once again the only way a member of my generation can – by shopping. Thus it is time to fashion blog today, even though I’m embarrassed by my purchase as it should have been done in another century and because the picture above does not [thankfully, perhaps?] reveal just how short this brown leather mini-vest is. Anyway, I like it. The brown blouse I also bought yesterday just to go with the vest. The pockets, comrades, are real indeed. Thanks for asking.

Today I finally managed to register to take the TOEFL test in Stockholm on August 1st. I think the registration process was more difficult for me than the actual test will turn out to be. I couldn’t pay for the test online for some reason, so I had to call their head office in Holland – of all places! – but it turned out that I did not call Holland at all, but India – outsourcing, comrades – as a matter of fact, and a kind gentleman with an unmistakable Indian accent helped me with everything and kept calling me ‘ma’m’ over and over again on the phone. I’m very thankful that I’ve finally managed to register. There’s no turning back now – now I’m 225$ poorer and one step closer to Berkeley. As a way of celebrating my registration I practiced a little for the actual test this evening and learned a new word – intrinsic. It means ‘natural; fundamental; inherent’. Thus today was a day not lived in vain as I learned a new word and used it at least once during the day – as the title for today’s post.

I spent the past weekend with Xenia and her family in their house outside of Chelyabinsk and spent more time in a car driven by an adventurous Russian man on terrible Russian roads than I would ever want to again. Only thanks to a summer miracle did I make it home in one piece. I went swimming for the first time this year in the river Miass – I can’t go swimming in the Yekat area since it is forbidden due to heavy pollution in the lakes and rivers around here. I also picked many berries – strawberries, wild strawberries [why is it only one kind of berry in English when it is two kinds of berries in both Swedish and Russian?] – ate much vegetables and fruits, confronted rough Russian village life in reality and up-close, thus continuing my new life in a splendid manner. My new life is great so far. My new life is nothing spectacular, really. It is almost identical to my old life except it will probably last longer as it is better for my health and I’ve heard that good health is the key to a long life. I’m working out every morning by going on a run and cooking a real, healthy meal once every day. So far I’m doing alright, but it takes much will-power to keep it up and even though I used to think that I had a lot of will-power it has turned out to be obvious that I do not have such great amounts of it as I would’ve wished.

While visiting the Russian countryside this weekend I reached the conclusion that even though I’ve lived in Russia for five years already I do not know Russia. At all. Okay, so maybe I know Russia a little bit. But the point is that I thought I knew her better. Turns out I didn’t. I almost had a new article done in my head on the theme ‘Russia is not a country, but an anecdote’ that I was going to write in Swedish and publish in the Gothenburg Post this summer but visiting the Russian countryside made me not want to write funny things about this country but burry my head in her earth and wet her soil with my most bitter, most salty tears instead. This country is a disaster. No, I’m not being ironic. I’m being honest. This is not good, Russia. I’ve been living in a bubble. The real Russia is not part of my life in Russia. My life is not a ‘Rybak fairytale’, of course, but it is not the true nightmare one may find – any day, any time of the year, any century – in the Russian countryside. But the visit was good. In general. On Saturday night we went to get washed up in uncle Tolya’s banya [Tolya is short for Anatoly] and he said: “If I would’ve know that a Swedish lady was going to visit my banya then I would’ve made sure to make it super hot the real Russian way!” I liked that he called me a Swedish lady; not a Swedish girl. I’m not a girl now, and I’m not even a woman – I’m a lady… Uncle Tolya and I discussed the differences between Soviet communism and Swedish socialism while we drank tea and my hair dried and I realized that I love this country. Also I am sure that uncle Tolya was very handsome when he was young and it is a shame – it is always a shame – that I’m out of luck when it comes to men.

I think my vest would look very good when lip-syncing to Cyndi Lauper.

The Human Experience

Now avaliable in a body near you!

This was the picture I tried mms:ing my mother on Friday evening - of me picking strawberries in a village outside of Chelyabinsk, a town in the Southern Urals that's known for two things: out-of-this-world radiation and rough men. Are the two connected? Probably. Anyway, look Mother, could I be wearing anymore red?!

Unproductiveness

This Russian-kind-of-crazy-looking green and orange building is my favorite. Incidentally, it was only cleaned it up this good for Dima Medvedev’s visit in the middle of June. That’s because it is “The Residency of the President of the Russian Federation in Yekaterinburg”. Anyway, I think it looks weirdly splendid.

My plans for the summer of 2009 were splendidly lucid, comprehensible and set in stone – I was going to work, work and then work some more. I was supposed to read all the books I never get a chance to read during the academic year. I was supposed to work on my dissertation [with a little help from all the books I am supposed to have read on literary theory]. I was supposed to prepare for the conference in Swedish as a foreign language in Stockholm in August; I was supposed to prepare for my lecture on Shalamov at Gothenburg University in September. I was also supposed to work in form of writing enough blog post for my ‘paid blogging’ during the month of July for the whole month of August, so that I would be able to take that month of and just enjoy myself and my vacation.

So far the summer of 2009 has only been marked by one word and that word is ‘unproductiveness’.

On Monday I spent the entire day in bed reading Nabokov and eating various things I should probably not being eating without practicing hard physical labor on a field somewhere. On Monday evening I suddenly felt a strange urge to write a letter to my future professor at Berkeley – strange it was because it was more sudden than anything else; I haven’t written to her in six months. In my letter I confessed that I’ve experienced ‘an unexpected twist in my academic interests’, i.e. that I’ve fallen flat on the floor for the entire body of works produced by Varlam Shalamov. She answered me within ten minutes that she considers Shalamov to be the best 20th century writer on this side of WWII. Wow! She said she’d love to read my essay comparing Shalamov and Dusty. She also said that my idea for a doctor’s dissertation comparing the two isn’t so crazy, after all, but could be done. Wow! Then she spent the rest of her letter convincing me that Berkeley is the best place for me and it was as if the world had turned up-side-down because abruptly I wasn’t the one trying to get in, but she was in fact trying to get me to come to them. Wow! Then I answered her letter to me just as fast as she had answered mine. Her next answer came only a day later, in which she explained that there’s no reason for me to continue to bother the department during the summer holiday. Back off, Josefina, back off – is what she said, in other words. Anyway.

On Tuesday I had tea with the people at the Literature Museum here in Yekaterinburg and they asked me to write an article about my book for their magazine. I said yes. They said: “Mail it to us before Thursday then!” I had not seen that coming. Anyway, I wrote an article explaining which places in Yekaterinburg are presented in my Russian novel and I think it turned out alright.

On Wednesday I had Anna Mikhailovna and Katya over in the evening. We ate plenty of tasty things and drank chocolate soy milk that I bought – unbelievable! – in a Russian store that very same day. Katya is allergic to milk products just like me, so yes, you could say that we’re almost soul mates. Anna Mikhailovna is just lovely and does not have to be allergic to anything to be cool. I finally worked up the courage to ask her to make me a painting of Shalamov – and she said yes! I can’t wait. I am not only a huge admirer of Anna Mikhailovna’s paintings, I also own a few of them [they were gifts from the artist herself] and have begun collecting them. Secretly. I plan on selling a few of them fifty years from now and in that way buy a college education for my grandchildren. On Wednesday evening I tasted raspberry beer that Katya brought and I have come to the conclusion that beer is a wonderful thing. When it doesn’t taste anything like beer and contains almost no alcohol.

Today – today is Thursday – I spent almost four hours with my former more handsome half. We took a long walk around town and talked, talked, talked. It was very nice. We had lunch together at a beautiful restaurant with Russian cuisine called ‘Demidov’, where I had never been before. I had the mushroom soup; he enjoyed the borsht. The food was splendid, as was the interior of the restaurant. I’ve never seen such a huge bear hanging on a wall that was shot on Kolyma! Now that’s what I call hunting. As a matter of fact, I had not thought I would have such a great time with my former more handsome half today as I had. I think we could actually turn out to be good friends. And he told me not to write anything about his ‘personal life’ here, to which I answered: “You told me you don’t read my blog anymore!” But I cave in regard to his right to privacy and thus – my lips are sealed in that matter.

Tomorrow morning I’m going to Chelyabinsk for the weekend. With Ksenia. On a bus. We’re going to go swimming and so that’s why I’m bringing my swimsuit which I haven’t used since… on Tjörn in August 2008.

Next week I hope to start being productive. Or at least pretend to be on my blog. I just need… rest. You know, don’t you, comrades?