Photos of Russia--Taken and Edited by me

Christ Our Saviour Cathedral, Fine Arts Museum

27.10: This morning, we met Guyla and Moscow 1 at the metro station at 11. The sun was shining and I was hopeful that it would warm up enough for me to remove my (new) large Russian winter coat and show off my favorite Captain America T-Shirt, but the warmth was short-lived as an icy wind soon started. The cold here immediately sinks into your bones and numbs anything exposed to the elements; it hasn’t snowed yet, but the wind carries news of winter’s arrival. Fortunately, most of the day’s activities were spent indoors: our first stop was the Christ Our Saviour Cathedral in the heart of Moscow. The original cathedral was destroyed in the 1950s during Stalin’s reign and replaced by an outdoor public swimming pool, in which Guyla remembers swimming. Upon the fall of the Soviet Union in the 1990s, the government rebuilt the cathedral with help through donations from the public. The cathedral was rebuilt to match the original in architecture and design, including the paintings and golden framework inside. It’s definitely the largest cathedral we’ve yet entered, and it’s obviously the newest as the paintings are fresh, crisp, and bright. The cathedral is the holiest place of worship/the main “temple” of the Russian Orthodox Church in Russia—though regular services are not held, believers make “pilgrimages” from all over the country to worship within its walls. Inside and out, it is absolutely breathtaking, with golden accents and framework, paintings covering the walls and ceilings, icons and even the tsar’s throne. What a wonder it would have been to attend a service here in its ancient glory. Underneath the cathedral, down a winding stone staircase, is another monastery of much smaller proportions. This monastery is used for regular services, including baptisms, funerals, and weddings. Usually, there is also a museum that wraps around this monastery, but it was under renovation—just our luck, but the main cathedral was really all I needed to see. After exiting the underground monastery, we took pictures in front of the cathedral and of the beautiful buildings that surrounded the square. The architecture here is stunning. After a brief walk, we came across the Pushkin Museum of Fine Arts; Guyla explained that lots of places are named after Pushkin even though they have nothing to do with Pushkin—this museum is no exception. It is, nevertheless, one of the most renowned museums in Russia—comparable to the Archaeological Museum in Instanbul, the British Museum in London, the Hermitage in St. Petersburg, or a baby version of the Louvre in Paris, etc. Inside, we discovered exhibits dedicated to ancient (original) Russian Orthodox artwork, famous artists like Rembrandt (apparently, there was supposed to be Van Gogh and Monet, but we never found them), Greek and Roman sculptures, pottery, and artwork (think Hercules-style, Michelangelo (including a giant cast of his “David”), and (my favorite) ancient Egyptian artifacts, like coins, jewelry, pots, writing tablets, utensils, etc. There were even a few sarcophagi with real mummies inside—some of which even had their bandaging exposed; the toes of one could be made out through the thin fabric. Talk about creepy/awesome. One sarcophagus was dated from the 2st millennium B.C.; there was a painting dated from 1400 B.C. and writing tablets from the 24th century B.C. I was enthralled—I find history so intriguing and mystifying and I love to discover how people lived way back when. It’s overwhelming to think about life four thousand years ago and how things have evolved since then. Sometimes I wonder about the lives of those mummies—who were they, really, behind the gold and jewels? They must have had favorite foods, a best friend, a strenuous or healthy relationship with their parents, heartbreak, a unique personality…. In the next life, I can’t wait to ask them. There was also a modern art exhibit that included an exhibit on modern architecture, which was cool…I suppose. After about two hours, we completed our tour of the museum and gathered together as a group. We took the metro to Old Arbat street and ate lunch at Wendy’s—I know what you’re thinking, I’m wasting my experience in Russia by eating American food, but let me just tell you that Russian Wendy’s is a bajillion times better than in America—and I actually really like American Wendy’s. The Frosties don’t taste quite as “frosty-ish” because Russian diary is somehow different, though still tasty, but the fries and the chicken sandwiches are simply grand. The spicy chicken sandwich has an actual slab of meat instead of a processed patty, and tomatoes, pickles, onions, lettuce, and mayo—and another kind of sauce I couldn’t quite identify but it tastes like heaven. I don’t feel bad for eating American food in Russia because it will never taste like this back home. After eating, we stopped by the souvenir market once again to complete our souvenir shopping. It was freezing and growing dark by this time, but we still had a successful trip and I was able to chat with a sweet old Russian man with a pipe and a collection of coins that I didn’t necessary want but I felt bad not purchasing anything after our nice conversation, so I purchased a set of Soviet-era coins that are actually rather interesting. On the metro home, I had a bizarre experience. Usually, the metros are full but not packed to bursting, and I happened to be in the smack dab center of the aisle squished on every side; it was so tight that I only swayed when the metro lurched forward. It was fine until everyone decided to get off on the same stop, and I literally had no choice but to get carried out of the cab by the sea of people. I’ve never been carried by a crowd because it was so tightly pressed together, and it was quite terrifying, actually. The most terrifying part about it was that I was afraid the crowd wouldn’t disperse and I wouldn’t get back on the train before the doors closed—fortunately, I was able to dash back on at the last second. I attribute that superpower mad chance to my Captain America shirt. Rogers has my back (literally). All in all, it was a fully satisfying and enjoyable day, despite the cold and the back cramps from walking around the museum for two hours. I absolutely love exploring this grand, gorgeous city—and we’ve only scratched the surface of what it has to offer.

23.10: Mid-Semester Visits

Hey! There's not much to report from here in good ol' Russia. Except that Mid-Semester Visits are happening, where the ILP directors come to my school and interview my teachers, me, and examine our teaching progress in class. Needless to say, I was a nervous wreck and second guessing myself as a Head Teacher. However, at the end of the day my boss asked me if I would consider being a Head Teacher again, and that he would recommend me to the head director if I did; he also urged me to apply to be a Representative for the programme for when/if I move to Provo. I am so grateful and relieved to hear this. I pray every day that I will be an effective and successful Head Teacher, and now I know I'm at least on the right path. I am ever so grateful for this experience and this unbelievable opportunity to live in Russia and work with and meet such wonderful people. I do not at all regret my decision to put off work and school to have this experience and I'm incredibly grateful to be lucky enough to live my dreams of traveling and working with children. Thank you to all of you for supporting and encouraging me in this endeavor. I couldn't have and can't do it without you. :) With love, Jillian

Russian Hockey Game

15.10 For church today, the International Branch was broadcasting General Conference. It would have been a worth-while experience to go, but we knew we could just watch General Conference online on our own time. Plus, Shelley is a huge hockey fan and her star player, Ovechkin, was playing that night in Moscow. Ovechkin usually plays for Capital in Washington D.C., Shelley’s favorite team as she’s from Virginia, but Capital is on lockdown due to administrative issues so Ovechkin transferred to his home team, Dynamo, in Moscow, for the season. The only other days Dynamo has games are on weekdays when we teach, so we decided to be sinners and go the Sunday evening game. Vlad accompanied us. After waiting in traffic on the bus for an hour and then being ushered past dozens of uniformed policemen (Russian policemen are the most intense, intimidating people I’ve ever encountered), and passing the 1982 Olympic Torch, we finally made it to the hockey arena. After buy lunch, we settled in our seats, which we on the top middle with a perfect view of the rink. The only other hockey game I’ve ever seen was a Paralympic game in the 2002 Winter Games in Salt Lake City. Hockey, like in Canada, is a huge thing, and Dynamo is one of the leading Russian teams, so it was a rather exciting game. The crowd was enthralled by the game and ever time Dynamo scored, the stands went wild with cheers, high fives, and spontaneous face battles between couples. There were special seats for the high-paying attendees, and every time Dynamo scored they would stand up and shake each other’s hands—they were too cool for high fives. I was warned that fights usually break out at hockey games, but nothing of the sort happened at this game. Dynamo won 4-1. Afterward, we obliged Shelley’s dreams by waiting in line to meet the players. We saw a few random players (of course, I haven’t the foggiest as to who they were exactly) but after waiting for about a half hour, we learned that Ovechkin had left through a different door. Shelley was heartbroken but at least we tried! As I purchased a team scarf at the futbol game we attended a few weeks ago, I bought a Dynamo scarf to continue the tradition. Russia has made me so sporty! Although it didn’t feel much like a Sunday, it was a great experience and a must for living in Moscow. I can check that off my list now! I'll try to be better about keeping you updated. Mid-semester visits by my boss are next week--I can't believe it's already been halfway! Time has gone by so fast.

Shopping and Cooking Russian Food!

14.10 Today we met Guyla and some of the Moscow 1 girls at the Strogino metro station for a day of shopping and food and girl time. Guyla showed us multiple inexpensive clothing stores in the area; one store had most things on sale for 200 rubles (about $6) and I purchased a few adorable pieces, including a satin pantsuit/jumper/romper and a turquoise peacoat. At another market, I found a pashmina faux Louis Vuitton scarf with which I am utterly in love. I also purchased rain boots and fashionable fur-lined snow boots for the increasingly cold weather. It was a successful shopping day! I had the opportunity to chat with Connie Zanabria, from Moscow 1; I absolutely adore her. When our shopping trip was complete, Guyla and Captains separated from Moscow 1. Guyla took my group back to her apartment, where she taught us how to make pelmeni (Russian ravioli), soup, and homemade pasta. By the end of the semester, she will have taught us to make rolls filled with fruit and pastries as well. I’m so excited to go home and impress everyone with my mad cooking skills. I want to make a meal for my friends and family where we have pelmeni, rolls, and compote (boiled berries that turn into juice) for dinner and pastries and hot cocoa with condensed milk for desert. I really appreciate Guyla and all she does for us. There’s no way I could do this without her; she’s incredible. A little surly at times, but she means well and works her butt off for us. It was a lot of fun spending time with her and getting to know her better. After dinner, we looked through pictures of her sons’ weddings and discussed future plans. I also made the mindless mistake of seeing a picture of her and her husband, Dimitri, by a large golden 50 and assuming it was of their 50th wedding anniversary. Fortunately, Guyla thought my mistake was hilarious and she had to share it with Dima when he returned home from visiting his mother. She told me, “Jillian, I am 53! That was my birthday.” I was so embarrassed, but at least she wasn’t offended. Of course it was impossible that she had been married for 50 years. Oh well, it had been a long day; a long but great day.

Pushkin, Silent Films, and Lice

6.10 (-12.10) We hung out with Vlad today. After meeting him on the metro, he took us to a famous bridge in Moscow which crosses the Moscow River. It’s all indoors with shops and restaurants, where we saw several wedding parties taking photos. In truth, it was nothing that interesting. Next, we walked along the Moscow River and tried not to freeze—it was wet, grey, and cold; nevertheless, as we were in the heart of Moscow, we were surrounded by beautiful architecture, including two of the Seven Sisters, and interesting people. I say it again—Moscow is an incredibly beautiful city. I love it! Soon, we reached Old Arbat street, which is one of the most expensive and oldest streets in Moscow. It boasts traditional architecture, cobblestone streets (there’s no vehicle access, only pedestrians), Pushkin’s home in the 1800s, souvenir shops, three Starbucks, and a Wendy’s. It’s a beautiful street and reminded me a lot of old Quebec City in Canada. For lunch, we had to eat at Wendy’s—because it’s the only Wendy’s we’ve found in Moscow and I was craving a chocolate Frosty. Surprisingly, the food tasted much fresher and tastier than in the States—the chicken patty in my Spicy Chicken Sandwich wasn’t a processed flat patty like usual, but an actual boneless chicken breast. While we were eating, a young man approached us and asked, in English, if he could sit down. We soon discovered that he was American and, of all odds, working with ILP. The rest of his group, part of the Saint Petersburg ILP group, joined us. They were visiting Moscow on their long weekend holiday—what a coincidence! Of all times, we happened to eat at Wendy’s on Arbat Street at the same time. It’s definitely a small world. They were all very nice and they offered to show us around St. Pete’s when we go there next month. After eating, my group went to the cashiers and asked to speak with the manager. I told him that we were Americans and that the food here tasted better than in America—of course, he was elated at this information and requested that we write our feelings in the Wendy’s guestbook, to which we gladly accepted. All of the workers were so flattered and thankful. Our next options were New Arbat Street (more shopping) or to go see a silent film in a local theatre. As we were freezing, our feet were wet, and the rain fell relentlessly, we opted for the silent film. Tickets were only 50 rubles, or $1.56. The theatre shows blockbusters as well as local films and classics; our theatre was a small room filled with bean bags and cushioned chairs. The film, titled, “The Boat” was about a family’s outing in their boat. The father builds the sailboat in the basement of their house only to realize that it’s too big to fit out the door, so he breaks down some of the wall and then ties his boat to the back of his car. When he pulls out, the sail takes out the roof and the entire house collapses. Acknowledging that there’s not much he can do at the moment, he loads his two young sons and wife into the car and they pull the boat to the docks. From then on, everything that could possibly go wrong does, like the boat dumps his car into the water, the boat won’t float at first, the sails ram into the bottom of a bridge, they get lost out at sea, the father tries to hang a painting in the cabin only to puncture the wall and the boat starts to sink so he drills a hole in the bottom of the boat with the intention of plugging it with a funnel so the water from the wall will pour into the funnel, but of course water sprays from the floor as well…etc. The boat’s name, which is painting on the side, is “Dontino.” When it begins to sink, the father sends S.O.S. to a patrol boat. The patrol man asks, “What’s wrong?” The father says, “We’re sinking!” The patrol man says, “Who is this?” The

father thinks for a moment, and then types, “Dontino.” As the name sounds like, “Don’t know,” the patrol man grunts and says, “Neither do I” and hangs up. All of the characters were so daft and accident-prone; I thought it was absolutely hilarious. Our next options were to either go home or to a YSA activity at the central church building. We decided on the latter, which turned out to be a great choice as we had a lot of fun getting to know the LDS singles in the area, playing games with them, and eating delicious potato casserole. It was a great day, until we got home that night and I happened to overhear one of my girl’s conversation with a friend on Skype. She claimed her head had been itchy all week and sometimes she pulled black things out of her hair; as her symptoms soundly frighteningly familiar, I walked into her room and began checking her hair. Just as I had feared, I discovered little black bugs and shiny nits: she had lice. After a well-deserved freak out by her, I sat her down and then grabbed a bottle of vinegar from the cupboard. I doused her hair in the water-down vinegar and covered her head in a plastic bag, hoping to suffocate the little buggers. I had hoped that my experience with lice in China would be my last, but obviously somebody had another plan. As I was exhausted and the vinegar had to soak for three hours, I went to bed. Whitney woke me up at 5AM to pick nits out of her hair, which I did for about an hour. Obviously, we didn’t go to Church that day. Once she and I woke up at about 1PM, I went through her hair again and then Ally took over. I checked the other girls and they checked me but we couldn’t find anything. This was the beginning of a very long week: Shelley and I caught colds, which forced Ally to teach by herself for a couple days (the nurses are very strict about who can be around children) and we had to cancel main school teaching; then our internet quit, causing me to be late on turning in reports and having a broken up discussion with my boss and Whitney’s online class grade to suffer; then our washing machine quit, making it impossible for us to wash our possibly lice-infected sheets and clothes; then our sink started leaking all over everything; then our cell reception nearly quit; our light bulbs blew; several of our power outlets quit working; not to mention none of us were washing our hear as a preventative against lice; and the doctor, the nurse, the teachers, and Guyla all chided us for not dressing warm enough outside (we didn’t always wear scarves and don’t have waterproof shoes)…. It’s been lots of fun, let me tell you. The funny thing is, we like each other and enjoy spending time together and living together—we’re not causing problems due to our attitudes and dominant personalities, we’re just experiencing problems with everything else. Honestly, I’d prefer lice and broken appliances to grudges and broken relationships. In fact, due to our lack of internet connection, Captains was able to spend quality time together: we played games such as Never Have I Ever; Kill, Bang, Marry; Truth; Nine Cards; and word games with Scrabble pieces. Throughout all this mess, we’ve strengthened our relationships as roommates and friends. When we happen to get caught up in personal duties like writing in our journals or reading, we find we miss our “bonding time” and we get together to eat each other’s snacks, play games, and tell secrets. I am ever so grateful to be a part of this group and to have met these wonderful girls. However, I wish I wasn’t sick. Of course, being sick sucks, but I feel like I’ve gotten sick so much and missed so many days of teaching that I’m becoming a nuisance. I don’t like leaving my teachers on their own when I should be there to coach and encourage them, and I hate making them do things I should do myself but am not allowed to. Plus, I miss the students. I miss seeing them, holding their hands, and listening to them say silly things. I feel like I’ve reached a point I wasn’t fortunate enough to reach until the second or third month of my semester in China: I’ve learned to appreciate and enjoy teaching and working with the children; I look forward to seeing them and missing a day isn’t a relief—it’s unfortunate. In truth, I miss Sofi the most. I’m not sure why I create a deeper bond with the unruly students than the angel students, but it’s a recurring thing. My unruly student, Jack, made teaching difficult in China but he also made it interesting, and when we were able to come to an understanding we became the closest of buds. He was my favorite. Same goes with Sofi, who’s spoiled and a diva and can cry on command faster than a skilled actress, but she’s sweet and adorable and that kind of feisty/sassy I would love to be. Also, for some reason, I’ve always felt why I have a connection with these feisty/sassy children (feisty, but not reckless, mean, or disrespectful) is because my children will be just like them. But, of course, I will just have to wait and see.

My cute kids!

1.10: Some cute things the kids have said/done recently: We had a new student arrive, whose name is Timofy, or Tima. He’s adorable with wavy blond hair and blue eyes and is crazy but well-behaved for the most part. Savva, our five-year-old high-energy wild child with the broadest English vocabulary out of all the students, upon seeing his friend sit down opposite from him, stood up and ran over to sit by Tima. As he ran, he exclaimed, “I want to sit by my little friend!” It reminded me of the cook in The Muppets, the new movie with Amy Adams, who says, “Say hello to my little friend!” I couldn’t help but to burst out laughing. One of our students, Nikito, is a little spoiled brat who makes every teaching day difficult (he hits us and his Russian teachers when he doesn’t get his way) and I usually have to sit right beside him to keep him in his chair and from tearing apart the room. One day, he was being particularly bad so I took away all three of his “good behavior stars” and pointed out to him, showing him the markings on the teacher’s white board, that he had no stars while everyone else had three. He quieted down and became somber. “Please, star, teacher,” he whined. Using mostly body language, I explained to him that he needed to listen to the teacher, keep his hands to himself, to not speak Russian, and to be good in general and he’d get his star back. Miraculously, he was an angel student for several minutes after that. Finally, I caught his attention and let him watch as I drew a star under his name. Immediately, his face lit up and he said, “Sank you, teacher.” When I walked out of the room to go help another teacher, he waved goodbye to me. For the following few days, he would only sit still when I sat beside him, and then he was an angel student. One day, he grabbed my arm and spread kisses on it from my elbow to my hand. It was cute, but I pulled away so he would pay attention to class. His face fell, and he reached out toward me. “One, please,” he whimpered. Suckered into it by his big brown eyes and the unexpected cuteness in his words, I offered him my hand and he planted one last kiss on it, then smiled like I gave him the world. (Not really sure how I won him over, as I am also the one who reprimands him most often). I don’t know how or why, but my heart is a sucker for the wild kids. Speaking of which, later that day at dinner, Sofi noticed me and waved excitedly, her sweet face brightening. When she’s not throwing a tantrum, she’s hopelessly adorable. In one class, Whitney was teaching the kids how to make pop up papers, with a little pop-up vase and tulips. Egor took to the project very well and seemed rather excited to finish it. Egor is four and has short blond hair, gigantic blue eyes, and full lips—he also has the deepest voice I’ve ever heard come out of a child, which is amplified by his Russian accent. While he is perfectly adorable in physical traits, he is also precious in all other ways—he says silly things spontaneously, he’s well-behaved, he participates in the lessons, and even helps the teacher get supplies and clean up. He’s probably all our favorite, to be quite honest. When he finished his pop up paper, he asked for a crayon and proceeded to write his name, Егор (Egor), and then he wrote, “Mama.” Whitney and I looked at each other and simultaneously melted. Egor had made the art project for his mother! He turned to me and asked, “Mama Rooski. Mama English?” He was wondering how to spell “mama” in English; I tried to explain to him that they’re the same, but when he didn’t understand I wrote “mama” underneath his writing. I pointed to his and said, “Rooski,” and mine and said, “English.” Finally, he understood and a giant smile spread across his face; he exclaimed, “Thank you!” You can’t get any more perfect than that right there. In regards to the students and teaching in general, it’s going quite well. I heard my teachers say that they missed the students over the weekend; Ally said she was looking forward to seeing them again and Shelley, who has never had experience with little kids before, admitted to realizing that kids really aren’t that scary and that she actually likes them. This is all fantastic to hear—a teacher’s teaching experience and attitude toward teaching can make or break the entire semester, regardless of how awesome the vacations or excursions are. The students are progressing well: they’re learning how to respond to questions like, “Who wants the glue?” or “What color is this” and today Egor even asked for help without the teaching having to model the language first. I heard Sofi singing one of our opening songs in class and she knew all the words. Sasha the girl can sound out written words; she may not know what’s she saying, but she can pronounce them. It’s so exciting to watch them progress and to be able to communicate with them. I love that about teaching English.

Holiday to Vladimir-Suzdal

28.9 Today was the first day of our long weekend holiday. We met Moscow 1 and Guyla at the metro and she took us to the train station where we purchased tickets for our Europe trip next month (I can’t believe I just said that: our Europe trip next month!) and then we walked to the bus stop. Much to our surprise and pleasure, our bus to Vladimir was a charter bus with comfy seats and a too-ah-let. I sat next to Ally, with Shelley and Whitney in the next row up. Our ride to Vladimir took about three hours, with a quick rest stop in the middle. I slept for a little while but awoke with the recognition that this was my first chance to see the Russian countryside. It looks very similar to the countryside of the Midwestern States in America. It was like driving though Ohio or Indiana: rolling hills, patches of trees, farmland, and broad, open skies. The only real difference were the billboards and the small houses that dotted the roadside: the houses were painted bright colours like mustard yellow, aquamarine, Christmas green, and deep sky blue; the eves were carved with intricate designs and the window shutters were reminiscent of gothic architecture. Some of them were surrounded by quaint flower and vegetable gardens and wooden fences; though most of the houses showed obvious signs of weathering, I quickly fell in love with all of them. Once we arrived in Vladimir, about 200 kilometers from Moscow, we grabbed our daypacks and headed toward the Golden Gate, which I believe was erected in the eleventh century. It was one of the main entrances into the old city of Vladimir, which was surrounded by a wall. The old city and the base of the Golden Gate are actually about 30 kilometers underneath the current city of Vladimir; time has hidden them under a cover of dirt and stone. We decided not to take a tour of the inside of the gate, as there was a fee and we were pressed for time, and instead headed toward our next destination: a running nunnery. The nunnery boasts a monastery with the most sacred Russian Orthodox icon in Vladimir: an ancient painting of the Virgin Mary. The monastery itself is dark, cold, and rather gloomy. It appears that the paintings on the stone walls haven’t been touched up for centuries as they were all faded and chipped. As is customary and respectful, we covered our heads with scarves and borrowed shawls from the monastery to wrap around our hips to cover our jeans. I felt kind of ridiculous but I wanted to be respectful to those worshipping and the nuns. The nuns’ attire was simple: a black, plain dress and matching scarf. No offense to the Russian Orthodox Church, but I feel there’s nothing very personal, comforting, or “safe” about their monasteries. Some of them are kind of creepy, to be honest. Of course, many are spellbinding and awe-inspiring, but they’re…impersonal. Even though LDS churches have carpet on the walls and usually have ugly upholstery, I feel safe the moment I walk into one. Our paintings of Christ make Him seem more like a man with feelings, compassion, and personality than an untouchable God, a mysterious idol. Granted, Russian Orthodox monasteries are much, much, cooler from the outside—I might be slightly more excited to go to church if it had a huge golden dome and gothic architecture. Just saying. I bought a loaf of bread from a nun; it was very holy. Next, we walked to a shopping mall for lunch. On the way there, we passed through a quaint little park with a bridge over a pond. Eternally connected to the railings of the wrought iron bridge were heart-shaped locks. Each lock had initials carved or painted on the side: the initial of two lovers, eternally locking their love together. It’s a Russian tradition/fad for a couple to buy a lock, paint their initials on the side, lock it to a bridge, and throw away the key. Adorable, right? I so want to do that for engagement pictures when the day comes. At the mall, I bought Sbarro and Baskin Robbins. I’m so American, it’s sick. Actually, I think that’s the first time I’ve ever had Baskin Robbins. Is it sad that I eat more American fast food in foreign countries than I do when I’m in America? I should commit myself to only eating local food. Once we stuffed ourselves like the Americans we are, we walked to the Assumption Cathedral, the main cathedral in Vladimir. It was breathtaking with its stark white walls and golden dome; beautiful flowers surrounded the base, reminding me of LDS temple grounds. As it was easily the tallest and most magnificent building in that location, it commanded the attention of anyone nearby. Since it was running as a museum until 5PM, Guyla told us we’d come back when it was running as a church without an entrance fee. To pass the time, we went to the history museum next door: each room in the museum is dedicated to a different time period in Vladimir’s history, from the beginning to now. There was also room dedicated to ancient writings, an old-fashioned school house, the typical living quarters of a peasant and of a noble, and a room dedicated entirely to old-fashioned toys. It was a lot of fun. Right beside the museum is St. Demetrius’ Cathedral. The exterior is decorated with innumerable carvings of animals, characters, saints, and mythical creatures: each carving is unique and there has been much speculation over the centuries as to what the carvings mean, as no authentic written record has been found. As the interior has been destroyed due to vandalism and destructive forces during past wars and it is currently bare and plain, we decided not to tour the inside. Behind the cathedral is an overlook of the valley. There were several brides and their wedding parties taking pictures and laughing (I’m quite certain they were all drunk) but we still found room enough to appreciate and enjoy the view before us: the valley spread before us like an ocean of rolling hills and thick patches of trees, with the golden spires of cathedrals glinting in the sunlight and colourful houses contrasting with nature. It was windy but sunny and altogether rather pleasant. Finally, we were able to enter the Assumption Cathedral. Again, we covered our heads and our jeans with scarves. Although the interior of this cathedral was similar to all the others, with no windows, paintings covering the stone walls, and a ceiling that touched heaven’s floor, I daresay this cathedral was more beautiful and breathtaking than any other I’ve seen. The main wall was decorated with elaborate golden relics and architecture and an enormous chandelier hung from the ceiling; its grandeur is difficult to explain in words. Also, the experience was unique as the halls rang with the resonating chants of a priest and three female worshipers. The priest wore a silken robe of deep blue, purple, and gold; his voice was deep and guttural and commanding, yet gentle and reverent. These chants added so much flavour and culture to the experience. Along the walls of the cathedral were stone coffins, into which descriptions had been carved. Some of the deceased had been born as early as the twelfth century—I’ve never been immersed in such rich, distant history; it’s marvelous. Next, we made the trek through town and through a vast meadow to the Intercession Cathedral, which is protected by UNESCO and has been declared as a worldwide historical building. The paved pathway that leads to the cathedral winds through a beautiful meadow of long grasses and blue and white wild flowers; the setting sun bathed the meadow in a warm orange light that reflected off the golden dome of the cathedral and the still pond below it. At the head of this pathway, we passed an elderly woman and her assortment of hand-knitted and dyed shawls. She showed us how she combs the wool with large wooden brushes with metal bristles (like the pioneers would do) and how she knits them all herself. They were all strikingly beautiful and I chose a deep red one for my mother, as I know how much she loves handmade things and I know she will appreciate it. The shawl smells like sheep, which proves that it is made of real wool. The walk to the Intercession Cathedral was beautiful and calming; I loved getting out of the city and into nature. The cathedral itself was small, dim, and cold, with faded paintings and unlit candles. It was easy to get a feel of its age as the paintings showed no sign of recent refurbishment. Once stars illuminated the broad Russian sky, we loaded into a van and headed off to Suzdal, about fort-five minutes away. Guyla showed Moscow 1 where they would stay that night: in the dormitory at a Suzdalian monastery. I admit I was quite jealous of them, for who can say they slept in the dormitory of a Russian monastery? My group, Guyla, and the only male teacher, Jake, would be staying in a hostel. After Moscow 1 dropped off their things, we walked to a quaint café with a traditional Russian menu. I ordered blini with a sweet and sour Suzdalian butter sauce, because it sounded intriguing. It tasted like butter, honey, and mustard—not my favourite. It didn’t fill me up, either, so I ordered fries and ice cream. The ice cream was so unusual—it was grainy and fluffy at the same time, like condensed cotton candy or astronaut ice cream; it sounds weird but it was delicious. Our walk to our hostel was rather interesting—our only light was dim house lights every now and then as we traversed down a deeply rutted dirt path past old, weathered houses. In truth, we were all slightly intimidated and I admit to saying a few silent prayers. Finally, we found our hostel: a two story building with welcoming lights inside. The receptionist informed us that we would all be in a co-ed room with six beds; Guyla requested a change so that the females would be separated from the men. Later, Jake told us that he bunked with two Australians, and I resented Guyla’s request. I mean, just kidding! Ellipsis. The room was clean and tidy and we had a bathroom just for the room. I checked my email in the common room for a few minutes, and then collapsed onto my bed. 29.9 When the morning shed some light on the area, we discovered that the hostel was located in one of the cutest neighborhoods I’ve ever seen. The houses were decently spaced from each other, separated by large flower and/or vegetable gardens; the houses were constructed in the traditional Russian style like the ones I described earlier, and large trees lined the dirt road we had traversed the night before. Chickens ran free in one of the yards, and birds chirped from somewhere in the abundance of greenery. The road ran alongside a calm river, which separated us from a small local monastery. I instantly fell in love with everything around me, and I swear I could move to Suzdal and die happy. We met up with Moscow 1 at the same café; this time I ate blini with jam and a “hot sandwich,” which was a slice of white French bread, a slab of ham, a slice of tomato, and a blanket of mozzarella cheese. Guyla had purchased Nesquik cocoa and our sweet waitress made hot cocoa for all of us—she used hot water, cocoa, and condensed milk. I’ve never tried that combination before but it was heavenly. After breakfast, we went to the Suzdal Kremlin, or the Suzdal fortress, which was built in like the eleventh century. Its stark white walls and cobalt blue domed roofs were proof that the Kremlin has been refurbished and maintained well. Outside of the Kremlin, we discovered giant painted eggs, all of which were hand painted with different themes. The eggs were about six-seven feet tall and five feet in width. They were scattered around Suzdal though there was a sort of “garden of eggs” behind the Kremlin. We found a street market where I purchased a beautiful wooden gold-painted matryoshka , or Russian nesting doll, and a few old coins: one from 1906, one from 1908, and one from 1899. Two of them have holes in the center and I intend to make necklaces out of them. The weather was perfect for what we were about to see: as we strolled down a dirt path, the sun burst through the clouds and illuminated the entire valley. It shone against the white walls of the Kremlin and the walls of a distant monastery, glinted off the blue domes with gold stars, and brightened the vast meadows of tall grasses that swayed in the breeze. Upon the path below us stood a lone trumpeter, whose melody echoed through the valley like background music to a silent film. Besides the distant voices of tourists and the street markets, there were no other sounds and I felt utterly peaceful yet overwhelmed with immense gratitude and wonder that I had the blessing of standing there that day and experiencing such an awe-inspiring scene. Truly, there are no adequate words to describe how utterly beautiful and serene that view, that moment, was. Simply thinking about it sends chills up my spine. Unfortunately, not even the many pictures I took give the view justice. Once the sun retreated again behind the clouds and a light rain began, we continued our tour of what was becoming my favourite town on earth. We passed an eleventh-century wooden cathedral that was constructed without nails (and still stands) and paused at a street market. I absolutely love street markets and browsing through all the fascinating wares; Russian trinkets are beautiful and unique. There were wooden hand-carved combs and brushes, countless matryoshki of various colors and styles, hand-carved birch jewelry boxes, scarves, music boxes in the shape of St. Basil’s Cathedral in Red Square, spoons, key chains, bracelets, and other such trinkets. Once we were able to browse and make a few purchases, we moved onto the main square in Suzdal. It was made of grey cobble stones and bordered with street markets, shops, and another cathedral. What really piqued our interest was a woman dressed in brightly colored clothes who was painting one of six giant eggs, none of which were painted, that were scattered throughout the square. Guyla approached her, and then turned to us, saying, “Does anyone want to paint an egg?” When we realized she was being serious, Ally, April and I excitedly nodded our heads. Veronica, the woman in the bright clothes, smiled warmly and handed us plastic aprons and motioned to us to take our pick of the numerous paint cans in the back of her van. April, who is more of a professional artist than Ally and I, opted to paint her own egg while Ally and I would tag-team one. April chose a floral theme and Ally I plotted out how to represent America on our egg. We decided to paint the United States from coast to coast, with the ocean connecting New York and California and everything else in between. By its completion, we had added a little bit of New York City, the Statue of Liberty, the East/Adirondacks, Florida’s palms, Chicago, the Midwest grasslands and cornfields, the Grand Canyon, deserts of the West, the Rocky Mountains and wild flowers, Seattle’s Space Needle, Hollywood, LA, the Red Woods, and the Golden Gate Bridge to Russia. On the bottom of the egg we created a stars and stripes collage with “USA” blended in. As a finishing touch, we added our initials. Apparently, these eggs were first created for last Easter in Moscow and were later moved to Suzdal; it’s Russia’s way of participating in a world-wide community festival, like how Utah has painted bison, London has painted pigs, and…that’s all I can think of right now. But it’s part of that “festival.” As we painted, passersby would stop and speak to us in Russian, and we had to awkwardly explain to them that we don’t speak Russian, but that the egg represented America. One woman asked to take her picture with us while others simply took pictures of us. A gaggle of uni students approached us and, upon discovering we spoke English, began to converse with us in near perfect English; one guy asked if he could paint something and be “a part of America” and we allowed him to paint a flower by the Rocky Mountains. It’s a rather sad looking daisy, but its sentimental value makes up for that—he was ecstatic to be able to participate. The whole experience was so unbelievable—I still can’t believe how lucky we were to have that opportunity! It was such a fun and unique experience. Ally and I even rejected the opportunity to tour more monasteries with the rest of the group just so we could finish our egg. It took about four hours to complete. I had paint all over my hands and arms and even a little on my sleeves, but it was so worth it. At about 5PM, the rest of our group returned and we loaded onto another van/bus like the night before, which took us back to Vladimir. From there, we caught another charter bus and returned to Moscow. I was thoroughly exhausted but happy. When we reached Moscow, all of the buses to our school had stopped for the night so Guyla helped us hail a taxi. I’m always wary of taxis, as I don’t like getting into cars with strangers—especially ones who don’t speak my language—but our driver turned out to be very nice and rather hilarious, actually. He spoke rough English and we spoke enough broken Russian to kind of communicate, and we were able to get to know each other a little bit. He was an older gentleman named Sergei and he didn’t like English in school, but now he wished he would have taken it seriously; we explained that we wished we spoke better Russian. One time, he told us, “You look delicious tonight!” Shelley, Whitney, Ally, and I paused, not sure we’d heard him correctly. Less confidently, he repeated himself, and we couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s a compliment!” he assured us, and we animatedly told him, “Spasibo, spasibo!” Oh, how I love translation errors—at least that’s what I hope it was! When he dropped us off at our home, he told me, “You are number one client! Thank you!” What a nice guy. I do really, really, like Russians. All in all, this was a wonderful holiday!