Red Inklings

I interviewed a young mom last week for my research, and she mentioned getting a massage as something she did when she found time for herself.

I couldn’t resist finding out for myself what relaxations Novgorod had to offer, with the weather slushy and the usual entertainment options–smoky dance halls filled with half-dressed teenagers or beating yourself with damp birch branches in a babushka-filled steam room–far from relaxing.

The mom was generous enough to answer my  off-topic query. She sent me contact information for a facial masseuse ($3 for a 1/2 hour massage!) and an osteopath.

Facial massage I can handle. Even enjoy. But osteopath? In Russia? I have a healthy fear of Russian hospitals, from friends’ study abroad horror stories–hospital beds decked out in leopard-print sheets and duct-taped Adidas sandals for hospital slippers, or prescriptions for drugs that were outlawed in the United States in the 1970s. On the other hand, we have Russian friends in the U.S. who have traveled back to Russia especially to consult with Russian doctors.

What do you think? Should I let myself be palpitated back to health?

I’m in Moscow for the mid-year Fulbright seminar, which meant an overnight train ride from Moscow. Usually I ride platzcart, 3rd class. The cars are completely undivided, but the tickets are cheap. This time I was treated to a luxurious 4-person coupe — me and three Russian men. I must say, my quickly pessimistic mind went through all the worst scenarios that could take place during the eight-hour journey.

Nothing terrifying happened. To the contrary — one of the men finally asked about my accent, thinking I was German, and then set into a long series of reflections on his travels in Germany and Turkey, the Tao, and the memory of water. He showed me the correct hand positioning for meditating and admonished me when I said I didn’t make any New Year’s resolutions and didn’t know who I wanted to work as.

When I actually talk to my cabin-mates, I sleep a lot better. Who knew.

Tomorrow our seminar starts, so I’ll share what the other Fulbrighters have been up to in their far-flung studies and professorships.

Russian media is neither independent nor objective. I know that, even though the facts of ever-erupting political disputes between Russia and its neighbors  lie somewhere between the anti-Western views of Russia’s media and the more muted “Russia’s always to blame” undercurrent in American media.

But today’s NTV report on Obama’s repeal of the global gag rule was an obvious case of anti-Americanism, or at least bad reporting. The global gag rule, instated by Reagan, repealed by Clinton, and reinstated by George W. Bush, refused American international aid monies to health providers who did so much as referrals for abortions. Opponents of the gag rule, according to a Reuters article, argue that the restriction not only restricts access to abortion, but to contraception, HIV/AIDS treatment, and basic health services.

Yet by NTV’s report, the global gag rule was only restraining abortion providers. (At this moment in the report, footage of a glowing parents and a newborn appears. Subtle.) Therefore, by repealing the gag rule, opines NTV, Obama contradicted his promise to lower the number of abortions.

Fact-check, anyone?

Novgorodians are enamored with the idea of “Novgorod through the eyes of a foreigner.” It was the theme of my talk at a cultural evening two years ago, when I was studying Russian in Novgorod State University’s (NovGU) prepatory department. Then it was the theme of a talk I gave at a Novgorod history conference in September. In December, it was the theme of a photography contest for the NovGU foreign students.

There’s always payback: America through the eyes of a Russian. There’s the Soviet-era duo of Ilf and Petrov, who traveled the United States in the 1930s to discover the truth of America for themselves. (Their travels were repeated recently in a Russian TV show, “One Story America.”) Then there’s Russian web-designer Artemii Lebedev’s blog documenting his 2008 jaunt through the United States. Lebedev’s route included my hometown, Fargo, thanks to the Coen brothers’ film of the same name.

Lebedev posts a smattering of photos and superficial observations: San Francisco, great trolley system; Seattle, convenient bike racks on buses; Billings, funny-looking bent lightposts.

Then Lebedev gets to North Dakota. He passes through the capital, Bismarck (“Nothing to see in this town.”). Then he passes judgment on Fargo: “If there wasn’t a movie by the same name, I doubt I would have decided to spend the night in this little town.” That was a little insulting, but he was right on when he wrote, “Reviews from people who stayed at local hotels all wrote the same thing, ‘We couldn’t fall asleep normally, because all night the trains were running and whistling right under our windows.’” My grandmother, who used to live a block from the railroad tracks, can attest to that.

The final photograph of Fargo was the observation that got me ruffled, though I give the guy credit for his simile: “In the provinces there’s not enough money for poles, so the traffic lights hang like sailors after a pirate attack.”

It’s one thing when we say, “Well…It’s a great place to raise kids!” and a totally different feeling when someone whizzes through the entire United States and passes judgment on your home. However, Lebedev is known for his caustic commentary, so it’s nothing personal. And even if the attention is negative, it’s still interesting to hear a foreigner’s opinion.