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.