Christmas Still

Its the 29th of December, and still Christmas. The big celebration doesn't happen until January 7, Christmas and New Years rolled into one. Most of the lights are up now, which means practically all of the buildings (except ours - owned by our client - a real scrooge) and all of the parks. The grocery store is a mob scene. And you would not believe the amount of alcohol these folks are buying. The store is crammed full of pallets of Vodka, Konyak, and Champanski, and the people buy it by the cart full. What made my day today is, after my long wait in line, after watching all the bottles being scanned through, the lady behind me wishes me a Happy New Year in her best practiced English! I wear a parka that has the emblems of Fluor and Taneco and its not hard to distinguish me as an expat. This does not generally get worn around town, as I don't like to stick out, but the grocery store is ok. Anyway, so I say a pleasant "Spasiba Bolshoi" back, then she says "I wish you all the best." And with a truly great smile, like she really means it! I was awestruck, didn't know what to say except "Tebye Toscha" (you also). I wonder if it made her day as well, her chance to actually make verbal contact with a westerner and speak their language!

  

Christmas in the Cold Country

No doubt every year brings a white Christmas here. We have recovered a bit from the bone-chilling temperatures of last week, but its doubtful we'll see any melting until probably March. It snows nearly every day; sometimes its hard to tell whether its actually precipitating or just the wind moving the powder around.

Christmas is not celebrated here until January, on the basis of the Orthodox calendar, so for us expats it was a typical work day. Up at 5:30, on the bus, and ready to blast through the daily pressures. I took a quick pass through the office to offer some Merry Christmas greetings, but certainly things didn't feel like home. In the evening its to bed early to face another work day tomorrow. Our group got together last night, Christmas eve, and a couple of our ladies did a great job in thinking up a few games and putting together a gift lottery.

For my monetary contribution as part of the management staff, I was given as a token gift a bottle of wine, which I then traded for a tea bag holder one of the other ladies didn't want. We opened the wine and drank it, while I took the holder home. I then drew a gift of a bottle of Russian champagne. Not being a champagne drinker, I passed that on later to our building monitor as I passed through the entrance to my apartment, thinking she deserved a little something too.

I've been thinking of inspirational things to write about this Christmas given the opportunity to observe it away from the frenzy the American version usually offers. I think I have enough material to attempt some poetry. Given that this "poet" didn't create a rhyme for 40 years until suddenly smitten a few months ago with a need towards literary expression, please give me a bit of slack on this one (excuse me first while go and refill my wine glass).

What Makes Christmas

It isn't cold that makes Christmas,

Aussies, Kiwis and Springboks will say.

For in the southern reaches,

Christmas is a very warm holiday.

It isn't presents that makes Christmas,

That's what the old folks will say.

The best Christmas for them,

It's only for them to say.

It isn't wealth that makes Christmas,

I'm sure poor folks would agree.

A hot meal, a warm bed,

That's all I need for me.

What is it then, that makes it special?

Its more than religion, since all can partake.

Its many things you must agree,

Including hens, grapes and pound cake.

So what is then, do I dare say.

Here is what it is, please prepare:

You can tell your neighbor you love him,

With hardly a stare.

You can smile at a stranger,

In stores and on the street.

You can stop for a moment, an hour,

With many that you meet.

Now that we know, lets agree on this:

Along with presents and red Santa Claus

Give thanks for your friends, find life,

And take a short pause.

Socks

I can't believe that they have this outdoor market open every day of the year, even in winter. It's up to maybe -5F this Sunday and I put on my lined coat, face mask and gloves. A few yards out the door of my apartment I start to feel the cold and realize I should have added long underwear and another pair of socks. Instead of retreating back I decide to rough it. Its about a mile to the trolley stop. I could have taken a taxi clear to the market but that would have been too easy. I want to see how the average citizen does it. Besides its more scenic this way. I also could have gone to a regular store and shopped inside where its warm. But the bazaar has multiple vendors, where if one vendor doesn't have it, the next one surely will. Everyone goes there.

I have to wait about ten minutes for the number 7 trolley to roll in. The locals have the timing down perfect. As each trolley rolls up, the people are getting there at the precise moment; no waiting at all. My hands and feet are getting cold, but that's why I'm here - to purchase woolen socks and glove liners.

The inside of the trolley isn't much warmer, except the seats! Each seat has an electric heater underneath it. My buns warm up nicely, but my feet continue to freeze against the steel floor of the trolley. We roll past the city park, where workers are busy putting together a massive winter display of trees, lights, ice and snow sculpture for the upcoming New Years celebration. This should be quite a sight when completed, and I will be sure to return and take pictures.

I arrive at the market after a fifteen minute trolley ride and immediately set about my business. The area with the most activity are the stalls where the old women sell their knitted shawls, socks and assorted warmers. I quickly find some thick woolen socks (really bootie socks) and purchase a pair my size for 180 rubles. I then proceed to find thin gloves to wear inside my regular ski gloves. At the first place I check the gloves are all too thick. The next place has some thinner ones but still a bit tight when I try them over my red and frozen hands (remember I'm standing outside the whole time while shopping). I think that's the best I'll find, so for 100 rubles, I decide to take them. I walk to the end of the bazaar to see if the peroshki lady is there. She makes them in her kitchen and sells them for 30 rubles while still hot. I usually eat one there and take a few home with me. Along with a bowl of soup, one makes a good dinner. Unfortunately the lady is not there. She either sold out, decided the homemade insulated cart she had wasn't going to keep them warm for long, or decided to retire to her sewing room for the winter (could I blame her?) I then head back for another pair of somewhat thinner wool socks which I can wear inside my boots over my cotton socks. "Skolka eta sto-it?" is the phrase for "how much?". "Schto", or 100 rubles, is the price. I pull a 100 ruble bill from my wallet and head back to the trolley stop. No waiting this time. Past city park, to my stop, and another 15 minute walk. Bursting in through the front door of my building, the floor lady asks me if its cold. I laugh. She asks if I like the Russian winters, and I laugh and say yes.

In my room, I turn on my little electric heater and proceed to warm up my new bootie socks in front of it. I get them on my feet over my cotton socks, then slip my feet into my slippers. The boys in the Gulag would probably have killed me for these socks.

Winter Has Arrived

I just got back from my December leave and I seem to have forgotten what winter was like in this part of the world. We had a brief cold snap while I was home in Colorado where the temperatures got below zero fahrenheit, and was snowbound in a blizzard in Lincoln, Nebraska for a couple of days, but when I stepped on the plane in Denver it was a balmy mid 40's. When I stepped off the plane in Nizhnekamsk we were at -31 Celsius which calculates out to minus 24 degrees fahrenheit. Its so cold every ounce of moisture is sucked out of the air and becomes ice fog, which is then deposited on every tree and available surface as a nice sugary frost coating. The ride from the airport wasn't all that pleasant either, since the van that was sent to pick us up had a 2-inch hole in the windshield and looked like it had been in a mortar attack. The springs and shocks were so frozen the driver had to hold his speed at around 30 miles per hour in fear he would break a spring or we would receive liver damage. By the time we got to our apartments our feet were all numb.

The temperature in the apartment probably hovers around 55. Cold concrete floors with a thin cover of linoleum except for the few places I have area rugs. My feet didn't thaw out for two days, after I went to the store and bought an electric heater and found enough blankets for my bed. We cannot turn up the heat in the apartments. That's controlled by the municipality, where the hot water is obtained from the local heating plant (see my earlier blog as to how this works). Anyway, Fluor has written a letter to the authorities pleading with them to please turn up the heat.

By the weekend it has warmed up to perhaps -10. This seems actually pleasant. The frosty coating starts to fall off the trees and power lines like fluffs of cotton. Actually very beautiful to watch. I will try to get to the (outdoor) market this weekend to pick up some more thick wool socks and some glove liners.

Footnote: I spent two winters in Alaska where I enjoyed minus 35 and also 4 winters in Kazakhstan where wind chills reached minus 80. But in those places at least I had a warm apartment.

Second footnote: Somehow, I see a slight change in the spirits of the Russian people. They smile more, actually make some eye contact when walking past, provide a cheerful greeting if they know you. I think they actually LOVE this weather.

The Russian State Museum

A must if you're in Moscow. Under renovation last time I visited, this time I had to go. A simple 200 rubles takes you through some fascinating history. Did these people ever have a time of no wars or struggles? Lots of school children there, listening to boring lectures from their teachers. Are they like our school children? We all learn history, but how many of us actually APPRECIATE history?

The State Museum

Amid fossils and bones, what is it I see?
Weapons galore, ships on the sea.
Uniforms of old soldiers, portraits en masse.
Who are these people, these faces from the past?

Utensils of bronze, swords of steel.
Guns and rifles, cannons on wheels.
Peter the Great, Catherine, Napoleon too.
Alexander I, and Alexander II.

Alexander again, this one makes three.
And there is young Nicky, soon he'll be free.
For next came Lenin, Uncle Joe too
Orwell, Animal Farm, they've taken the zoo!

Lifeless and lifelike, these artifacts of old
A view of our history, or so we are told.
But what, what IS it, that I see?
Oh no, OH NO! 'Tis me. 'Tis ME!

November 25, 2009

Tomorrow

Tomorrow we'll walk through the country,
Past fields of golden harvest, to the brook laced with dew.

Tomorrow we'll walk through the city,
Past taverns and teahouses, to pubs smelling of brew.

Tomorrow we'll walk together, hand laced in hand,
And find what’s been missing, sifting through sand.

Tomorrow we'll sit at the pier and look out at the sea.
Tomorrow will be here, just wait and see.

Another day older, another wrinkle to bear.
But tomorrow will soon be here, and I won’t have a care.

Years roll on and children grow up.
Still there’s tomorrow, when we all will find luck.

The winter has come, the wind blows cold.
Where is tomorrow, I’m growing so old.

The day is through, tomorrow will come no more
But yesterday, oh yes, yesterday……

October 2009

A Day at the Market - Sunday Lunch

Borsch, peroshki, berries (supposedly good for high blood pressure), wine from the Kuban (Russia's southern region), vodka. The ladies sell dried fish, I don't care for those. In fact, the horse sausage is quite exotic - more like horse jerky.

The Wanderer

My back is aching and my mind is dearth
How I long for the comfort of that hearth
For in this world while I seek more knowledge
Lets make sure my girls get through college.

Come with me, old sages from the past
For time is short, it will not last
With each life some pain and thunder
A little fear, a little hunger.

Strangers with tales to tell and songs to sing
Sometimes comfort and sometimes sting
Outlooks are broadened and inwards I look
My soul is sharpened while I read on in my books.

Some will do, some will teach
And some things seem out of reach
Why burden yourself, some may say
Because someday night will turn to day.
- Ridinger, October 2009

Another trip to Elabuga

Its fall now and the weather is cooling quickly. another trip to the Elabuga village was in order to watch the leaves change. (Yes, that is me standing in front of Lenin)

Hockey Night in Nizhnekamsk

Nizhnekamsk has a professional hockey team. This is not minor league. It’s quite comparable to the NHL. There are teams from Moscow, Samara, Kazan, even from Kazakhstan and Belarus which aren’t even in Russia. They call the team the “oil men” or more literally “the men which work in oil technology”. “Oilmen” doesn’t sound as nerdy. Team names are more appropriate to the industry dominant in the city, and are usually sponsored by major companies. Team names like bears and lions don’t exist. Right now the oilmen are in 3rd place in the eastern conference. Last year they made the play-offs and lost to the eventual champion runners-up. Not sure how they manage to be in the same league as these cities, because the population of Nizhnekamsk is much smaller. The hockey arena holds maybe 10,000 people and it costs $10 for a ticket which placed us in the 3rd row of the arena. Where in the NHL can you get that deal. Beers are 40 rubles a half-liter ($1.25) and hot dogs 15 rubles ($0.50). You can’t take food or drink into the arena, only in the lobby – which I liked. The sport is very fast and not as physical as the NHL. Emphasis is on speed and skill, not brute strength. The “goon” factor, which attracts many NHL fans, is not present.

The atmosphere in the arena would be very familiar to an American sports fan. They have the introductions, then the national anthem (of Russia and of Tatarstan state). They have a huge scoreboard with instant replays above the ice (replays only the home team’s goals, not the visitor’s), and game monitors in the lobby. There are cheerleaders, a rowdy section, a great sound system playing rock music (We will Rock You, by Queen, was done in Russian), an organist plays the Mexican Hat Dance and other assortments of “pep” music, and fans do “The Wave”, blow horns and wave banners. The place is deafening when the home team scores. At the end they have the traditional Stanley cup line-up where the players skate towards each other single file and shake hands.

All-in-all, a very fun evening. I plan to go several more times.

New Days

Returning from my first leave, the weather has definitely cooled. No more warm days by the river. The outdoor cafes have moved indoors. The heat in my apartment is turned on by the municipal authorities. Just when is still an unknown. Apparently we need 3 consecutive days below 8 degrees celcius. Meanwhile a sweater and warm pajamas are in order.

Izhevsk

A city of perhaps 500,000 located about a 3 hour drive to the north of Nizhnekamsk, home to the Kalashnikov munitions factory and a few other military-related industries. This city would have been - and was - closed to westerners in the Soviet times. Eight of us took a van and toured the Kalashnikov museum and tried out the shooting range in the basement (first rifle I'd shot since I was a kid). The city was otherwise interesting with its soviet architecture and theaters. This was no longer in Tatarstan but in Uudmert - people of Finnish descent.

The drive to Ishevsk

First to Chelny to cross the Kama river and head north. Through birch forests, looks like Alaska driving through these. Many cars are stopped alongside the road, out to gather mushrooms. I remember a bicycle ride I took with my cousins in North Germany. They had to stop along the way to gather mushrooms. Apparently a traditional Russian thing to do.

Now out of the forests into the rolling hills and farmlands. I've been on this trip many times. In eastern Nebraska, Ohio, Indiana, many places in the U.S. Wheat fields, mile upon mile of planted rows of pine trees for windbreaks. Many of our American farmers came from here, why shouldn't they do the same things in the states that they did here?

This road is sooo bouncy, no shocks in this van, will my spleen survive this? A two lane strip of asphalt with no shoulder, right through the villages. There are traditional log houses with their white window frames of ornamental carved wood. Women are carrying water from the wells.

Finally back into the forests, now crossing into Uudmert from Tatarstan. More fir and pine trees now, fewer birch trees.

On the way back, we take the main highway. No villages, but this is still not exactly the autobahn. Two lanes, pot holes. We stop at the truck stop gastinista (hotel) for the driver to eat. It's Ramadan, he is muslim, and it's sunset. He hasn't eaten all day and must break his fast. The truck stop is clean and lively. I wouldn't want to be a trucker here though. Imagine going cross-country in this huge place with 10 time zones. It would take weeks.

Spasskaya Fair

Once more in Elabuga. Like a county fair, with folk singers, craft booths, carnival games, pony and camel rides for the kids. Our client was kind enough to supply a bus.

Isn't this the coolest picture ever? Double-click on it for a neat close-up

More Spasskaya Fair

Sawadee kap!

Thai food at Somsong's. I think four Thai's on this project. These folks go back to my days in Thailand. They like to cook, and we love to eat. All the ingredients you can get locally except the peppers, which they bring from home. We even had Tom Yam Gung.

An Evening at the Berloga

The Berloga is one of the nicer restaurants in town. It was Saturday, the next day being a Russian (seudo) holiday called "Construction Day". One of our cost engineers, Olga, suggested we get together as a group and have a small celebration. She knew where we could rent a private room on the third floor of this restaurant where we could sit and eat, with a pool table and a karaoke setup. Olga, coincidentally, had married a Russian man, lived for years near San Jose, California and has been with Fluor for five years. She speaks fluent Russian and English.

I asked Katherine to see if she could set it up. She sent out the invitations, I reminded everyone to try and be there.

About 12 of the Project Controls group showed up and we had a wonderful time. The Karaoke was most fun, with Olga singing Russian songs, the balance provided mostly by myself and Bobby, who used to sing and play guitar in the honkeytonks in Southern Mississippi. I started off with Moon River, which brought a good round of applause, later Morning Has Broken by Cat Stevens, a few others I don't recall now, then a duet with Bobby of For the Good Times by Ray Price, a duet with Olga of Midnight in Moscow (in Russian of course). Great fun that one was, I must get the lyrics so I can sing it again. My final rendition of Love Me Tender by Elvis was deemed "the best of the night."

It was a great team building event. We had a few toasts, and decided this was something we should do on a regular basis.

Nizhnekamsk On The Map

The Water Services

The water services are a bit different here. We are used to having water coming from the treatment plant underground then heating it in our water heaters for cooking, washing and bathing. I believe the cold water still comes the same way, but the hot water is heated at the central heating stations, then distributed above ground to the individual apartments. No water heaters. This creates a few problems we don't normally see in the states. First of all, the lines need to be insulated. People step and children sometimes play on them, tearing up the metal cladding and the insulation below, so it is in constant need of repair. The lines themselves corrode, so regular system shutdowns are needed for repairs. Each summer, people should expect several stretches of up to two weeks without hot water. We had one stretch at the hotel I stayed in. When we see a small plastic tub and a ladle setting in our bathtubs, we know its time for the 'ole sponge bath, where we heat our own water in the electric water pots provided.

Secondly, since the pipes are subject to corrosion from the hot water/steam mixture, the water coming from the hot water faucet is inevitably filled with rust. Running the bath water for about 15 minutes cleans the majority, but not all, of this.

At the Mendeleeva apartments, Fluor has done a great thing, putting a small water heater into our bathrooms. Yes, we are the privileged class.

Where People Live

99% of the population in the city lives in apartment buildings consisting of pre-cast modular concrete construction. There are primarily three classifications: Five stories means built during the Stalin era, now quite decrepit. Kruschev expanded their horizons and offered a seven story variety. Modern buildings are stretching to nine stories, and have added curved balconies and tinted glass. Those are for the elite. I live in one of those. Buildings can stretch for a mile with thousands of residents. Sometimes they are painted different colors or with murals (mine has sunflowers - the logo of the Tatarstan Oil Company), but for the most part they are all very much alike. No effort is made to hide plumbing, and electrical is often surface mounted, with a dearth of electrical outlets. Hallways are not lit - no need to waste electricity. The city was planned around major thoroughfares spaced widely apart, the apartments placed between them. There is usually no parking at the buildings themselves since, until recently, people did not own cars. The trolley and bus system is adequate. People walk from their apartments to the trolley or bus stop with plastic bags laden with groceries. For those who now own cars, there are parking lots sometimes adjacent or sometimes a few blocks away. Between the apartments exists a labyrinth of walkways, grassy areas (actually "weedy" areas) and rusted playgrounds for the kids. On a summer evening the pathways are filled with young couples pushing baby strollers, babushkas gossiping, and shoppers returning from the market.

A feature we don't see in the states is the floor lady, well actually only one for the building. She is responsible for keeping the entryways clean, maintains the flower garden in front of the building, arranges housekeeping or maintenance services if needed, and keeps out the rif-raf. They work in shifts and are there 24/7. At this complex they provide the added benefit of keeping an eye on the residents and reporting them when they come in too late. The client has a complete record of comings and goings on each of us. If anyone comes in after midnight, they automatically qualify for "the list". Questions have been asked as to how us ex-pats can be productive at work if we are out until midnight. So far no expulsions have occurred, but we know we are being watched.

The Workers

The workers here get paid when their management wants to pay them. Seems to be common in Russia. If they stop working, they are out of a job. So they just keep working until someone takes pity on them and pays their salaries.

Meeting at the project. Not really a meeting, more like a communist Duma assembly. Seven guys sit in front with television monitors, facing the audience sitting in theater seats. The major players make their presentations in Powerpoint on a big flatscreen, followed by tough questions and discussions. Mainly questions like "are you on schedule", "why not", "will you finish on time". The answers are always yes, no one admits failure here until just before the execution. This time the question was "who here is not paying their workers". A few embarrassed hands went up. Its been a known fact for some time. The way contracts are awarded here is to award a month's worth of work, after which the contractor calculates how much material he needs, then submits a request for advanced payment. When the month is over, he applies for payment for actual work performed, using Russian Standard prices. The advance is taken and who knows where it goes. Not to the workers, and apparently not to the suppliers. Someone's getting the money. Who? Anyway, this time the client threatened to call the media if these workers weren't paid "today". So that night the grocery store next to our apartment was packed beyond belief. The workers finally got paid.

A Resolution to the Police Drama

I can certainly compliment the Russian police on this one. My case would never have gotten this attention from the police in U.S. It may have had something to do with the fact I was a foreigner, but generally I was very impressed with the thoroughness of the work. Not a stone left unturned, the documentation down to the letter.

I went to the station one final time on Wednesday because the mother of the accused volunteered to pay me back the money I had lost. I don't know if it was out of conscience or in hopes the sentencing would go lighter on her son. By her emotional reaction and what I know of the European and Russian family unit, I believe she felt very ashamed for her son and wanted to make amends. She rounded up on the amount owed, and was reluctant to accept change, but I insisted. This was a lot of money for her, which her son probably squandered on beer and cigarettes. She was in tears and I tried to comfort her, telling her that I too was a parent and knew the pain we went through raising our children. She was a single mother and, by appearances, normal working class, which means what she probably emptied her bank account. Although the money wasn't important anymore, I had to accept for her sake and for the police records, having then written out a receipt and yet another statement saying I was payed in full and will make no further claims. I almost wished I could have handed at least half the money back, but I'm sure she was much too proud to have accepted it.

While the family unit still appears to be very strong, I have noticed in talking to some of the young people that they feel a bit frustrated with the lack of opportunity in their country. They have come a long way since the Soviet Union days, but still remain a long way from enjoying the freedoms and prosperity we have in the states. Unfortunately, some resort to unscrupulous means to try to get ahead.

Another trip to the police station

So I went on Monday to sign all the documents for the second statement I provided on Saturday. I haven't signed so many papers since we bought our last house. I think I even signed more this time.

The last statement I signed was an acknowledgment that I may be called to court to confirm my testimony. Hesitant to sign this one, I had a lengthy discussion with our security man and the investigator, during which I found I could abstain from that by sending a letter to the chief judge telling him/her that everything in the transcript was accurate and I have nothing further to add, and that I am choosing to opt out of the trial. I also had to write all this out in my own handwriting (in English, thank goodness).

Once everything was signed, I was handed the police investigator's file and asked if I wanted to review it. With the help of my translator, I saw exactly how the investigation was conducted along with hand-written accounts from witnesses. These included the shop-keeper across the street (who saw and heard nothing), two waitresses at the restaurant, the taxi driver, the security guy at the restaurant, two of the suspect's friends, and then finally the hand-written confession of the perpetrator. The confession described in detail how he went about it and also what he did afterwards (threw away the wallet and credit cards, went to a nightclub with his buddies). I was not told before-hand that a suspect was in custody (although I suspected that was the case). It also had a copy of two prior arrests, one for mugging and one for stealing a DVD player. The kid was 22 years old and my description was pretty close, although the jacket color ranged from beige (my re-collection) to blue to grey. It also indicated the suspect was likely to spend two years in prison.

Tuesday morning the police investigator called our chief of security asking if I could come back down again Wednesday. The kid's mother wants to return my money. I have agreed. There may be a lighter sentence involved and she is trying to protect her son. Prison is rough, I understand there's a good chance he would get tuberculosis. I admire her for doing that. Maybe it will help straighten the kid out, knowing that his mother would step in like that. Not sure about that, but I'm going to tell the mom how I feel about her doing this for her son. The amount of the money is in dispute, the kid claiming there was only $50 in American, when in fact it was $300. I don't care about the money, really, but I think it will help the mom's conscience whatever the amount ends up being. I know that's a lot of money for a Russian, and it will surely set her back some. As a parent, I empathize with her.

Trip to Elabuga

Elabuga is a picturesque provincial town just north of the Kama river which was home to some prominent Russian literary figures and artists, with several noteworthy Russian orthodox churches and museums.



It was Saturday and Maigul, one of our cost engineers from Kazakhstan, had organized a guided tour with a local driver and an english interpretor. I had not known about it since I had spent the morning at the police station, and I just happened to run into Ric and Neal who informed me of the trip. I asked if there were was any more room on the bus. It so happens it was the last seat in the van. In addition to Neal and Rick (from Texas) was Pandit from India, Tippawhan from Thailand, another Thai girl but out of the Houston office, Bobby from Mississippi, an engineer from Denmark along with his Chinese wife, Katherine from Singapore and another fellow I believe from the U.S. Some of the folks I met for the first time, so I'm not good with names. The point being we had seven different nationalities among the 13 of us, counting our Russian driver and tour guide.



We drove first to Naberezhnye Chelny, a port city on the Kama river about 30 minutes from Nizhnekamsk, where we picked up our tour guide. We then crossed the Kama river, which happens to be the site of a large dam and hydro-electric plant. The river had locks there to get the ships around the dam. The river seemed to be every bit as wide as the Mississippi. We drove through forests and fields not unlike the rolling hills of perhaps central Ohio. when arriving in town, we could see the old Russian architecture on the buildings and houses. The town had recently celebrated the 1,000th anniversary of its founding, first by Bulgarians from the south, then by Russians from the west. At one time the town was home to a very prosperous merchant class, but those people all left after the communist revolution of 1917. A famous poet, I believe her name was Alileava, lived there briefly while she was evacuated from Moscow during World War II as the Nazis were advancing on the city. The city has several memorials to "The Great Patriotic War", as Russians term our World War II, and a number of significant officers from Elabuga had served in the war. The story of the poet Alileava seems to befir the struggles in Russia during the communist rule, as she hung herself in the public square, despondent over the deterioration of the Soviet Union, herself and her husband victims of repression resulting from their overseas travels. Western contact in those days could prove very dis-advantageous. In 1943, two years after her death, her only son was killed in the war.



The Russian Orthodox churches were quite impressive. The bell towers and massive bells, manufactured at the bell factory in Elabuga, dominate the exterior architecture. Massive wooden and steel entrances lead to a long hallway with no seating, fronted by an alter, behind which are situated more tables adorned with icons and candles. The people stand while chanting praises and crossing themselves, while the orthodox priest is praying or lighting candles behind the alter. The women must not enter the church without a head scarf, which are provided at the entrance. The massive interiors echo the chants while the illumination is by candles and sunlight through the adorned stain glass windows. The ceilings are painted with religious murals (although the second church we looked in was under renovation and the murals have yet to be painted.)



In Elabuga there was no mosque that I could see. Unless this is just a freak coincidence - since Tatarstan is over 50% muslim - one could speculate that the muslim tartars may not have had as much influence north of the Kama River as on the south, since the river would have formed a significant natural barrier in the days of their invasions.



There was a large fortress and lookout tower on the bluff overlooking the river that is now a restaurant. Despite mild protests from our driver and guide, we all decided to have dinner there.

More Elabuga Photos

After the Elabuga Trip

I had talked before-hand with some of my co-workers about visiting the new Bavarian restaurant in Chelny and we had all planned to go that evening. Since the drive to Elabuga took us through Chelny, I figured I would have the driver drop me off there and we would meet up and go to the restaurant. The timing was impeccable, the van dropping Ric and I off at the bus stop at precisely the same time as Chris and Mike arrived from Nizhnekamsk by taxi. We jumped into another cab and took it to the restaurant. The restaurant was superb, with two levels, a brewery and seating on the lower level (where it was quiet for conversation). We had sausages, sauerkraut, Bavarian pretzels and two beers apiece. The waiters and waitresses were dressed in traditional Bavarian outfits. We would not have known we were in the middle of Russia. Later on we went to the central plaza, decked with hundreds of chairs and tables for outdoor seating, and enjoyed a Lowenbrau on tap. Off to the side was a huge nightclub with disco. The sound and light show was very impressive. We returned to Nizhnekamsk in a Volga taxi about 1:00 am. It was a very enjoyable evening.

Another Visit to the Police Station

There has been an investigation going on regarding the assault incident on July 4 and I've been called back to the police station for further questioning. I arrived at the police building around 9:00 am on Saturday with the Fluor security director (who is fluent in Russian) and one of our staff interpreters. The building has no signs from what I could see. We went into the front office of the police station. There were locked cages on either side in the lobby with benches, one of which was occupied by a young fellow laying down and apparently sleeping off the ill effects of the previous night. Our security officer explained who we were and the police officer directed us to the next building which must have housed the investigative units. We walked to the fourth floor and found the room. The investigator was a lady in her early 40's, blond with hot pink highlights in her hair. I took her for an admistrative assistant at first, but, as the questioning began, she impressed me as being thoroughly trained, competent, pleasant in demeaner, and very forthright (one time offering up a very mild expletive when there seemed to turn up a slight contradiction in my testimony). Quite simply, I was asked to re-count in exquisite detail the entire chain of events of that night, which were then compared to the transcript of the testimony I had provided on the night of the assault. The investigator was also focussed on the precise amount of the loss, as that would affect the nature of the charges that would be brought against the suspect. Near the end, I was shown a photo of the suspect but I could not positively identify him since I had never really laid eyes on his face. The investigator asked me to describe what I saw of him, which was from the back) and it did match the suspect, particulary the fact that he had a darker skin, hair and eye complexion -features know in this part of the world as "caucasion" (not to be confused with the term used for one's race), meaning origins from the caucasas region of southern Russia, a region of mixed middle eastern and european origin. These people tend to be lower on the economic scale, often found in criminal enterprise, and sometimes the targets of police action. Witness Russia's actions against Chechnya, which is part of that region. It is a source of some internal problems in Russia.


At the end of the session, I was asked to return yet a third time to face the suspect, at which time the investigator is asking us both questions. I felt very uncomfortable with this arrangement and made my feelings known. I did not want the suspect to have a clear picture of my face. Although he probably can still recognize me in a crowd, I did not want to make it easier for him. The investigaor explained I was not compelled by law to do this, and I accordingly declined.


I need to go back to the station a final time on Monday, accompanied by David, my co-worker and interpreter of that night, to read the final statement, have my passport, Visa and immigration card copied, and sign all of the documents. The file is about an inch thick and I felt the investigation was very thorough. I did learn that the suspect claimed there was only $50 in the wallet whereas I have declared there was much more, the total contents of American and Russian currency, together with the wallet, coming to 13,200 rubles, or about $430. I believe the police may have my wallet and I may get it on Monday. If that's the case, score a victory for the Russian police.


I asked our security director in the car afterwards whether my case had been treated with more diligence since I was an expat. He wasn't sure, he said physical assault was always taken seriously, but I have to think this case against an American may have demanded some additional attention. What struck me the most is my perception that, in America, this case would barely have been investigated unless I wanted to first "press charges", and even then I wonder how much our police would have acted. Here I was quite content to accept my loss and forget about it, but the police did the investigation regardless of any real move on my part.

The Job Site

The Russians think in terms of massive scale. When completed, this refinery will not only process crude oil into gasoline, diesel fuel, and kerosene, but will also produce all sorts of petrochemical products. WIth our help, the client has come to realize their limitations on money and are only going to build the first stage essentials during this initial phase. The other stages will follow once the initial stage is running and producing some income. This stage is estimated at some $4bil dollars.

The site is in the shape of a backwards "L" looking from south to north, with each leg about 2 miles long. So to walk from the north end where our offices are to the extreme southwestern end is about 4 miles. This site is part of a much larger industrial complex with other refineries of similar size. The entire complex is located about 10 miles outside the city limits on a rise above the city. The city is located along the river valley. From the city, this industrial area spans the western horizon.

Our offices consist of a 3-story building of stacked modular construction. They are quite adequate. From time-to-time the power goes out and today the water is shut off. The cafeteria, which is in another building, is also shut down, so we are ordering lunch brought in. Until the portable toilets are brought in, we are watching our fluid intakes.

The Arba

Had a company function at the Arba restaurant. One of the nicer restaurants in town, it has the appearance of a ski lodge with exposed timbers, antiques and rustic wood furniture. The food was wonderful and the beer was German. There was live entertainment by a Gypsy violinist, a female singer (doing only songs in English), a Russian rock-and-roll band, and finally - of all things- German folk songs.

Television

Someone is bound to ask what its like to watch television here. I get it by satellite. Just as in the states, its filled with home shopping networks, news and religious shows. What stands out here is the diversity of languages and channels. After Russian, the most prominent languages are French, English and Arabic. There is also a Chinese station (broadcasting in English). Al Jazeera News Channel is particularly interesting. These guys take a big bashing in the U.S. every time Arab-U.S. tensions rise for being pro-Arab. I was surprised to see they broadcast in English (from London) and I don't find their news at all biased. Let us question our own news as well if we judge the foreign channels. Do we have propaganda on our U.S news channels? Bet your life we do!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Food Here (We can survive)

Eating the food here is a god-send for my diet. First of all, the restaurants are very conservative with the portions, they don't heap it on. And you order ala-carte. If you want soup, you order it, same with salad. My favorite main courses are schashlik (skewered beef or chicken) and palmeni (soup with dumplings).

I don't like spending a lot of time in restaurants, so I go to the store or market and get cucumbers, tomatoes, sausage (huge variety here - I look for the lean ones), and bread. When I get back to my room I lay it out on my end table and a bottle of water and take small slices. Sometimes with a bit of cheese. I can eat for about 3 dollars a day.

Breakfasts are served at the hotel right now. It can vary from a slice of wheat bread, cold sausage or fish fillets, cereal (not the pre-sweetened kind) or occassionally I'll grab a couple of fried eggs (no bacon). I'm not much of a breakfast person, so that meal is very light.

For lunch its a bowl of soup, a small (no kidding here) tomato and cucumber salad, and a cup of juice. After the first week of tasting the Russian beers, its now juice and water for the most part.

I don't have a scale, but I can see my waist shrinking. I'm down to my last belt notch. Maybe I'll need a new belt in a few weeks. A small price to pay.I've been to our doctor here and checked on the blood pressure. Its right where it needs to be. I take the stairs to my 5th floor room and walk to the market instead of taking a cab, trying to work up the endurance a bit.

A Bavarian Brewhouse in the Middle of Russia

Its in Chelney, the next city from Nizhnekamsk, from what I've heard a bit larger with more western amenities. The ad says if there are 10 of us, they will provide transport. I've suggested a Project Controls outing. I'm pretty sure I can get enough people together.

Reading the menu with my limited skills, they have all the right ingredients; Bavarian pretzels, apple strudel...............

Here's the e-mail I received:

Please be informed that recently there has been an opening of a new Beer Restaurant ("Maximilian's") in Chelny. It's very good, with genuine Bavarian beer & exquisite german cuisine, etc. (more datailed info is in the attached files:)

If you wish to visit this place you can do it through their manager Irina - 48-76-56 (she is local). They will provide with a transport (there and back) if we have 10 (at least) or more people to go.

Motivation and Privacy

IN MY APARTMENT!! I was notified at 10:00 that I was moving into my apartment that day. At 4:00 a driver took me to the hotel, I packed my bags and he took me over to the apartments. It was a hot day. I had 2 super-sized suitcases, a rolley, a briefcase and two plastic bags of food. I was sweating profusely the whole time. I met the floor lady Svetlana and she checked me in. Her friend (another Svetlana) was also there and was hounding me constantly to get me to hire her to clean the apartment. I was certainly interested but not right away so she gave me her phone number. I said I would call her when I'm ready. She helped me with my bags (big husky Russian woman she is). The apartment was like a new lease on life. After 3 weeks in one room, this place feels like a palace. Organized bass-ackwards, but who cares. Its on the second floor with a huge steel door entrance. Must weigh a ton. Go in the entrance, you have the sink and shower room on the right side, with a small washing machine. Then you have a small closet with the toilet and a water heater mounted above it. They don't bother hiding the plumbing here, pipes all exposed. Straight ahead still on the right the kitchen, small gas stove (need matches to light it), a refrigerator and a table with 4 chairs. From the front entrance you go left and find first the bedroom then down the hall is the living room, with a small balcony. (Bass-ackwards, right?). The TV is a flat screen, I have DVD player with surround sound. Felt good to put on some music and listen on decent speakers. I have a cable for computer connection. In a few days I'll bring my computer home and start the process of getting on the internet.

My Readings

Job has been very busy, but I've managed to find a bit of time to read. Mainly historical stuff, but while in Berkeley I managed to finally get my hands on a used copy of Grapes of Wrath by Steinbeck. Started it 3 days ago and almost finished, can't put it down! Steinbeck is incrdible. I remember reading Of Mice and Men in high school, but it never left much of an impact. He's one you have to read once life has knocked you around a bit. Wanted to get some more perspective on migrations (seems to be a big interest of mine), and this one was all about the U.S. migrations west during the Great Depression. Was interested in how the melting pot of central California came to be what it is today. Man did those people have it rough. But they never lost their dignity or their work ethic. Their outlook on life was incredible. Here's what really comes across - "there's bad in good people and there's good in bad people". Our lives shape us in many ways; at the end of the day we are just people, imperfect in many ways, trying to figure things out. We never will, but thats what its all about - trying to figure things out.

A Few Horrible Days

July 4, 2009 Happy Independence Day

Not observed in Russia of course. There was rumor of some of us expats getting together for a barbecue down at the river. When I got there only two co-workers down there. They had been there a while and were glad to see me. I bought them each a beer and we just started shooting the breeze. No barbecue, the day was overcast, rain off and on, so I guess that kept folks away. A young Russian fellow seated by himself next to us wanted to strike up a conversation. I started asking him about his family and he had a few interesting things to say, so I invited him to sit with us. Chris and Mark ended up leaving after about an hour, so this fellow and I kept talking. He didn't know any English, but with my broken Russian and a few hand signals we were able to communicate. He told me his grandparents came from Germany (he was blond-haired, blue-eyed) and that NO, HE WAS NOT A TARTAR. I asked this jokingly (since I knew by his features he wasn't) just to get a response, and the response was exactly what I had thought. The Russian people stay very close to their ethnic lines, and prejudices are very prevalent. We continued on and he pumped me for information about America, partilarly automobiles. What did I drive, how far was it between cities, did folks travel a lot, how much was gasoline. I bought him a few beers and the lady in the store said my Russian was very good, asked where i was from, I asked her had she ever been out of the country. Course not, had never even left Nizhnekamsk. What a preposterous idea.

Left the river area around 8:00 I guess, Chris and Mark had said they were going to the Bastion Restaurant, so I decided to take a cab over there. They weren't there and it was raining, got back into a cab and asked him to take me to the hotel. Half way there I changed my mind and asked him to take me to the Anbar Restaurant. I was hungry and didn't feel like going to the hotel just yet.

WHAT A MISTAKE THAT WAS!!!!!!!!!!!

Got to the Anbar and again no one there I knew. Walked up to the Kino restaurant 2 blocks away, where I found Andrew, John and Simon. I sat down and ordered some pelmeny. They were drinking vodka and Schweppes. Guess I had a few too many. Left around 12:00 and started to walk back to the hotel. The security guy at the restaurant (all the nicer places have these) tracked me down and insisted I take a cab.So I walked back to the front door and he put me into the front seat of a cab. Un-beknownst to me (probably because I had a few drinks) a fellow got in the back seat and we drove off. When the cab dropped me at the hotel, I paid the fare and got out. I was walking towards the hotel gate and the next thing I knew I was on the ground and some guy was on top of me trying to pull my wallet out of my pocket. I wasn't totally coherent and he caught me by surprise. I held him for a bit but eventually he took the wallet and fled.

The rest of the night was spent with the police, check the crime scene, answer questions, go to the restaurant and look at surveillance videos, back to the hotel to pick up my passport, to the police station to fill out the report. This was really funny - they needed to know my monthly salary. I told them $400 per month and they believed it. I was supposed to go to work the next day but was tired, sore and dirty. I went to borrow David's phone so I could call home and get my credit cards cancelled. On Monday I got to work and the inquisitions started again. First, the safety meeting. The construction manager gave a talk about what to do and not to do when getting into cabs. Yea, I felt like a real dumb-ass. Then I needed to borrow money, get another phone and find an address of where my wife could send replacement credit cards. The first 2 items were taken care of relatively quickly, the last item never did. Don't know why the HR department couldn't supply me an address. They finally said just to find someone who's on leave to bring them over. Fine, coulda figured that one out all by myself.

July 10

Get a visit from our head security guy (where was he while I was at the police station), he needs a written statement as well. Sure, no problem, same thing I told the police. Later in the week my supervisor comes to my office, shuts the door, and tells me the good news and the bad news. Good news is the client's investigation is closed. Bad news is now there's a spotlight on me. Any more trouble from me and I'll get a one-way ticket home. Now I know how a woman feels when she's raped. Some people seem to think its her fault. Well, yes, I was stupid, but I don't normally go looking for trouble. I've been overseas 15 years and this is the first time anything like this has ever happened. A part of me wants to go out and get mugged again so they DO send me home. Got too much pride for that, though.

No blogs for the wicked

The Fluor network won't let me open blogs anymore either. I was hoping to get into my apartment soon so I could get hooked up on the internet, in the meantime we're working 7 days a week so I don't have time to go find a wireless card, let alone spend time in my room at night with the internet. I get home at 8:00, quick dinner, a bit of reading, sleep by 9:30 or so, then up at 5:00. Exciting, huh? Right now the network's down and I have no lights in the office, so I'll save this to draft until I can send it off.

We just got our hot water back in the hotel after 3 days, dark red-brown. Up till then it was sponge baths with heated water from my electric water pot.

General Report

Work is picking up quickly. I knew this job was screwed up before I came; mainly due to the lack of resources and organization, as well as the different talent levels of all of the project controls folks. We have folks from U.S., Britain, Kazakhstan, Romania, Phillipines, Thailand, and of course, Texas (which sometimes can be the worst). So lots of personalities and egos to deal with. And a very hard-headed and in-experienced Russian client.

Today I had to go and get another chemical screening (for drugs), blood test (for HIV/STD) and a chest x-ray (for TB). This is for the work permit. Someone is going to Kazan tomorrow (3 hour drive) to submit all of the paperwork, and it should take 6-8 weeks after that.

Other than that everything's fairly normal. We are working overtime so I don't leave work until 7:30. I bought sausage, cheese, bread, cucumbers, tomatoes, salad so I can eat in my room some nights and not have to go out all the time. Breakfast is served in the hotel at 5:30 am. The cleaning staff leaves something in the room each day as somewhat of a treat I guess. Always a bottle of water, sometimes a carton of juice or a soda, last night a large bar of Russian chocolate. I want to save it as I'm trying to lose weight. The soup we have for lunch is really good, sometimes borsch (red), today cabbage soup and along with that I had a salad and a peroshcki. I would love to find a little restaurant that serves borscht and peroschki I can rely on each night. The expats tend to favor the expensive restaurants with a western menu (about 3 of those in town) but I love the Russian food. That will probably come later.

Oh, this is interesting. Saturday down by the river where they have this park, its a 50 ruble admission ($1.60 or so) but they have nice places to sit, several dance floors and, guess what - a karaoke place. I was with 2 other expats (one of them a Brit I'd worked with on a few previous jobs and the other a Russian living in Atlanta). I was getting a bit bored, so I managed to strike up a conversation with a couple of ladies at the next table, one of them was an English teacher at the local institute (although her English wasn't all that great) and one a kindergarten teacher. Anyway I mentioned the karaoke place and their eyes lit up. So we went over to the Karaoke place. They had a selection of English language music, so I did a duet with the English teacher of "Love me tender" by Elvis Presley - that one's a hit in just about any country. I was totally drowned out by the Russians trying to sing along, it was really ugly, them trying to sing in English. So I decided to do an encore with "Sweet Caroline" by Neil Diamond - figured they couldn't sing along with that one. I was right, that one totally brought the house down. I think I have a Nizhnekamsk fan club now. I told Andrew about the Karaoke place and now I'm sure some of the expats will want to head over there. They all want to sing country - don't know if the Russians really have an appreciation for that. Should be interesting if we go again this weekend.