Blog from St. Petersburg, Russia March, 2008

APRIL 9, 2008

TAKE IT FROM ONE WHO NOW KNOWS.

            We visiting professors are all different. We came to Salzburg and our respective teaching posts from different parts of the U.S. to teach different courses to different groups of students. I, for example, am not even teaching to law students, but I am teaching the law nonetheless. Some of us teach in large cities, others in small villages. Some have great access to English speaking people; others must make their way with sign language and smiles.

Perhaps more important, we all will come to our posts for different reasons. Some are retired and have time to travel. Others want to search out their ancestors. Others want to rejuvenate their intellect or are tired of doing the same work at home. Others want to try their hands teaching. And still others, like me, want a new adventure.

Whatever our reasons for teaching, and wherever we are posted, I expect we all have the same culture shock and at least some of the same difficulties. The following are some tips which either have helped me, or which I discovered after-the-fact here, and which I plan to incorporate into future assignments. Not all will apply to others’ situations—some teachers are braver than I am, and some will be less comfortable with the culture shock. Use what you want, and forget the rest.

1.                                Do not try to be a hero. If you can’t stand your accommodations, very politely tell your contact that you must change your place of stay and go to a hotel (if one is available). You will be happier which will make your students happier. You can’t have a rich experience if you play the martyr.

2.                                Come to your country knowing at least a few words of its language. You don’t have to take a Berlitz class. This recommendation is not for your students, but for your own sense of self. You will still feel like a foreigner, but will not feel like an alien. Hello, thank you, please, where is . . . . , how much. . . ., what is . . . . I want. . . .  These phrases are not difficult to write down on a small sheet of paper. If you begin with those, even if your tenses or genders are wrong, you will eventually be understood. And you will feel better.

3.                                Know in advance what avenues you will have to communicate with the folks back home. Svetlana emailed me that the Inn would have internet access. It does not. Skype, therefore, is useless to me. One would expect a city the size of St. Petersburg to have internet cafes every few blocks. Not. Without the small access to the internet which I have at school before classes, I would be totally isolated. So, know your options. Get a phone card the first day if you want to call home. This goes back to #1 above, and to #4 below.

4.                                Do what makes you comfortable. If you want someone to take you around all the time, and if that is not offered to you, ask. If you want to explore on your own, and you are offered guides, politely decline. You can’t teach will if you want to jump out of your skin.

5.                                Bring some granola. And coffee. Don’t laugh. Being able to fix myself something to eat/drink that first day, before I got my bearings, gave me courage. Thank you Sara.

6.                                If you need English in your life, and your post has little of it, bring a laptop and a bunch of movies. Especially during my first nights, those films made me less homesick. There was only so much dubbed 1980’s movies I could watch on the tv in my room.

7.                                Do not try to do too much each day, even if your post is only for 2 weeks. For me, the idea is to come as close as possible to being a resident, as opposed to a visitor. To get that feeling, I tried to go about my business as I would do at home. Get up. Have your coffee. Take a walk. Go to the grocery store. TAKE A NAP. If you are in a city that lends itself to touring, as my city does, do not hop on the first tour of the day and end with the last. Go to a café. Listen to people’s conversations, even if you don’t understand them. Pick a street and call it your own, and then stroll down it each day. By the end of your stay, you will not want to leave your new home.

8.                                If you have a problem, go to your contacts. That is their job, and they will be happy to help. The same if you just have a silly question (like will someone walk you to class the first day or do you get there on your own).

9.                                Don’t get angry at how stupid you are. Just laugh. When I locked my keys in my room, and did not have enough language skills to fully explain myself, laughing at myself got me through. Big time. Everyone understands that.

10.                            Try to meet with local attorneys. Do a google search and email some attorneys before you leave the U.S. and arrange to meet with one or more. The ostensible purpose, of course, is to discuss the law or law practice in the different countries. But the real purpose is to make a human connection. You never know what you will learn or what friends you will make. For example, before we met, I knew that Elena Bariknovskaya had a human rights background, and I knew that she worked in an international firm, which meant that she would know English. I did not know, however, that she would be such an interesting woman, that her husband would be such a great human rights attorney, that we would spend much of our time discussing the U.S. educational system, or that Elena planned to come to the U.S. and would be in a place where I could come and see her during her visit. A blind contact; hopefully a new friend.

11.                            Invite your contact to dinner. In addition to thanking him/her for all the help, you will have made another connection. We spend so much of our visit talking about the U.S., our lives. . . . It is helpful to focus on someone else for awhile, and to learn about someone else’s life.

12.                            Take your cues from your students. They will silently let you know if you are reaching them or if they are watching their fingernails grow during class.

13.                            Bring small gifts for the dean, etc. and the students. Remember, though, to tell the students that they are gifts meant not to be returned but to be taken home. The gifts need not be grandiose or take up much space in your suitcase. Note how quickly the gel pens and Packer pencils went. I, however, went overboard. Next time I will exercise more self control.

14.                            Do not strictly adhere to your lesson plans. For example, I tossed my discussion of the Constitution, separation of powers, etc. when it became clear that I was losing control of my students. For me, the important thing is the connection. I will return to the constitution if there is time. If not, I would rather have the students be engaged in their groups than sleeping in or walking out of class. Or talking on their cell phones, which has really irritated me.

15.                            Tell the students how special your time with them is to you. A little heart goes along way in any language.

16.                            If possible, set aside a few minutes at the end of class for questions from the students. Expect none the first day. My students were not used to a teacher telling them about her life, and they certainly had no experience sharing their own stories in class. Each day will bring more participation. Expect dozens of questions by the end of the first week.

17.                            Be prepared to change everything you planned re teaching. The Dean threw out a large part of my syllabus on my first day of class, even though she had had my lesson plans for weeks. Go with the changes and revamp. If you are asked to teach an extra class to a different audience, be happy for the opportunity, and don’t worry that you do not know what you are doing. You do. I consider my night class a success, even though it was a late addition and its “students” were extremely cynical adult teachers.

18.                            Ask the students to meet with you outside of class. That is how I met the wonderful LiLit, and the soon-to-be-a-businessman Ivan. Take whoever wants to go to a café. One accomplice is enough to make your day.

19.                            Know what type of medical coverage you have, and if necessary take out travel insurance. Bring drugs.

20.                            Expect to feel a little like an alien when you return home. If jet lag was bad on the way out, it is doubly bad on the way home. I am now used to speaking in Russian. I will have nowhere to do that at home. I guess English will have to do.

21.                            BRING CIPRO.

22.                            Forget everything I just wrote (except #21). We are living the unpredictable. Follow the sway of the breeze. And don’t forget to breathe it all in.

MARCH 28, 2008

DAS VIDANYA FROM RUSSIA

A/K/A

YA NYE XOCHU YEDET DOMOI (use your internet translator if you really want to know)

            This is not my last installment, but my last upload from Russia. It is Friday, before my last class, and my last chance to use Svetlana’s computer before flying home. I will write about my last teaching day either on the plane or at home, and will upload it from there. That is probably a good idea, because I anticipate heaving sobs as I write about my goodbyes to my students, and I don’t think the school’s staff room will want to witness that scene. Talk about crazy Americans.

            While I have my wits about me, I want to thank my firm, the mighty Fox, O’Neill & Shannon, the greatest law firm around, for its generosity in allowing me to have  this adventure. In particular, Bill Fox, for never once asking me how I was going to make up my lost hours and money. Bruce O’Neill, for whom I write most of my arguments (I dare you to find a better litigator or gentleman), for writing a two paragraph recommendation that I keep in my drawer. Bill Soderstrom, for totally getting it—he will be in China for two weeks this summer for the Olympics. Fran Hughes, for letting me dart into his office without warning and rant in excitement or fear—poor guy never knew which one would he would hear. Tom Shannon (whodid not know how terrified I was that my furniture would be gone and my personal effects packed on my return), who forwarded me a client’s compliments on a brief I had knocked out and praised me far more than I deserve. Lori Czarnecki, with whom I have worked since I first set foot in the office 28 years ago, with whom I have had only one fight in all those years (my fault, of course), and who formatted all my lesson plans and power points. Judy Janetski, who implemented this blog, who arranged for the logo’d t shirts/hats, and who patiently absorbed my craziness. We are motley crew, my firm, but we are good lawyers. And good people.

            I am also grateful for the emails I have received from members of “the group” with whom I attended the Salzburg conference. They have been very supportive. I think we formed a unique bond in Salzburg, and I attribute that to the quality of all the participants. My new friend Scott Richardson’s emails, for example, have made me howl; I hope I can return the favor—that is, if he actually gets to his post this fall.

            And-don’t laugh-if this 52 year old had not been able to email her brother, in the midst of her sickness, to ask her I-will-not-tell-her-age, still-full-time-fundraising mother to make chicken soup for her return, my family would have had to fly out here for my funeral.

            One last thing. I did try to take pictures of the women with those spiked boots and tight pants. From behind. My first victim found me out and gave me a look that could freeze hell. I put away my camera, but fast.

            Wish me luck today. I’ll report soon.       

MARCH 27, 2008

TELL A STORY, ARGUE THE FACTS.

             I am 50% today, and was very glad to make it to class. First the groups got their acts together. Before they did their arguments, I took some class pictures. Most did not bring their t-shirts, but a few put theirs on for the pix. I can’t upload pictures onto the blog, but I will put them on the web when I get home.

            The arguments were as good as any first year law students’ efforts. Because I had talked about the importance of telling a story, one group did that. The next group responded by beginning “We will tell you the facts, not a fairytale”, and then cited to specific paragraphs of the fact sheet. Ivan, who was not even in class until his group-mate left the class to get him, gave an off the cuff argument that lasted over 15 minutes. At each step the students would laugh at something he said, and I would have to wait until the interpreter translated for me until I learned what was so funny. Ivan, who was trying the stop his employee from working for a competitor, kept saying, over and over again, that his company worked for the common good and the disloyal former employee was working only for himself and his profits.

            I wasn’t going to give any more prizes for arguments, but I couldn’t resist. One woman got Alaska playing cards because she had the guts to go first (after almost 5 minutes of hemming/hawing by all the groups). One student got Packer magnets for attempting to achieve a settlement by having the employee’s former employer buy out the new company and have the employee obtain an ownership interest. Ivan got a yo-yo as the appropriate prize for the longest argument ever heard by a university class. The groups with the story and the groups with the facts each received toy bears from Alaska (can you tell traveled there after learning I would be teaching?), for having the best unintentional combined argument. I told the students that a great argument has both components—uses the facts to lay out a story that makes a jury want to rule in your favor. The students got that point quickly and applauded loudly for the two groups.

            Class then ended, so we will have to do the ethics code tomorrow, before those students who have attended half the classes receive their participation certificates.

            After class, two translators brought CDs for my son, which was very thoughtful and unexpectedly moved me. I had mentioned that I was looking for local music my Noah might like, and mentioned that he liked Red Hot Chili Peppers. I thanked them and offered to pay for the CDs but they would not hear of it. Two others asked to take my picture with each of them, which was great fun and which almost set off my tear faucet. I knew that I felt a connection to my students, but I did not know that some felt a connection to me. Nice.

It’s these little things, not the big ones, that make memories. Hopefully, all of the program’s teachers will an experience that is similar to mine, but unique to them and their students.

After class, I spent some time signing all the participation certificates to be handed out to the students tomorrow. By the time I returned to the Inn, I was tired and a little weak (not flexed) at the knees. I bought some weird salads at the first floor cafeteria—the clerk did not like my choice, pointed to a different salad, and gave me the thumbs up. Take it from those who know, I guess. By the time I got to MaryLee’s I was more tired than hungry. She enjoyed her salad, but couldn’t quite figure out what it was. Mine is still in the fridge.

            To celebrate my return to the living, I did what anyone in my position would do. I took a nap, then went to the department store and shopped. I had a great time pigeon–talking with the clerks. One even gave me a grammar lesson. “Moi cin” (my son), not “maya cin” (my son if the son is a girl). One thing I noticed here. Whenever you buy something, the clerks check it out before they ring it up. Porcelain is tapped, napkins are taken out of the bags and examined. Quality control. Hope it works.

            You don’t have to know a lot of Russian to understand the locals. I bought something for my son (not telling). Later, I went back to the same clerk (see previous paragraph’s language lesson) to buy the same thing for a friend. I told the clerk (using her language lesson) “One for my son. The other for” and I could not remember the word for friend (no Freudian insinuations please). The clerk asked “Muzh?”—husband? I said nyet. The clerk asked if my husband was dead (I did get the word “dead”—here you can use all the Freud you want). I said nyet, made the best sign I knew for divorce, and pointed to my ring finger with no ring. She understood immediately, and vigorously made what I can only describe as the Russian equivalent of giving the finger, and gave me a kiss on the cheek. See? Communication.

            By the time I got back to the Inn, the little cafeteria was open only for alcohol, so I visited with MaryLee in her parlor and got some crackers. MaryLee had a wonderful day. She met with LiLit (another woman, Dasha, was supposed to act as a guide, but did not show, as seems to be the case with students; another student, Daria, who had attended the Salzburg conference, has not shown up at class since arranging to give us a tour of the Hermitage or the Crime and Punishment buildings), and went on the metro to the Peter and Paul Fortress. That is a little town-like series of buildings across the river, which Peter built to defend the city. Apparently many of the cityscapes of St. Petersburg are taken from one of its buildings. Because of the snow, the cobblestones were snow-packed in a way that made the ground uneven, wreaking havoc on MaryLee’s feet.

            I just finished watching the first half of the original “All the Kings Men”. What a knockout. I did not see the recent remake with Sean Penn, but I don’t know why anyone would think the original could be improved. Another example of ease over creativity. I am saving the movie’s second half for tomorrow night.

            Oh. I forgot. I saw Russia’s version of The People’s Court on tv today. I couldn’t understand a word. But I did notice that the judge was a male and was pretty stern. No Judge Judy here. It was cool to watch. Or else I still had the fever.

 MARCH 25-26, 2008

THE CHAMBER THAT WASN’T

            One thing I do not miss from the U.S. is the twister-like morning schedule. Get up. Take shower. Fix Noah’s lunch. Take out Spunky. Get into the car and go. All before 6:45 a.m., to drop Noah off at school and make it to work by the goal time of 7:20. By the time I am making the coffee at work, I’m exhausted.

            With my classes being held in the afternoon, the schedule is wonderfully different. I still get up early, now that I have “adapted”, and I still spend a few hours prepping for class. But I do not feel the hustle—the rush—as at home. I think we teachers work as hard in our posts as we do at our U.S. jobs. Harder, actually, given the extra time and mental energy it takes us to do almost anything abroad. But at least my efforts more spaced out here. Of course, I do not have to rush home after work to make dinner for Noah, do laundry, walk the dog, etc. Soon, but not yet.

            Today, however, I have turned the corner to the travel period when my body begins to break down. My ears hurt. My legs hurt. My head hurts. MaryLee and I walked the 15 minutes to the yarn store and I had to return to the Inn to lay down. Today is a long one, with class and then an evening meeting with the Chamber of Lawyers. I had a hard hour sleep, and then prepared. I do not look forward to the long walk to Nevsky 53 this evening. Nevsky is always windy, and the temperatures are dropping today. As a reward for my efforts, I plan to stop and buy some chocolates to bring back to MaryLee.

            MaryLee came to life in the small yarn shop. She found alpaca, always a big deal. She bought 6 skeins of beautiful crimson yarn, three solid and three variegated. She also bought some four purple, yellow variegated skeins. Books and yarn; that’s her thing, my MaryLee. So the day was a success, whatever class brings.

            I have returned from class. I told the students that if they promised to work very hard, I had a surprise. They promised. I made them promise twice. Then I gave them t shirts or hats, and told them that they were gifts, but that I wanted them to wear them to school tomorrow for a group picture. There was much fussing and exchanging. One woman would not take a t shirt or a hat. I gave her some makeup that Marcia left me. Then it was time to work.

            I spent about 45 minutes explaining the concepts from yesterday. The translator then read the exercise and I took plenty of questions. The students spent the rest of class in groups figuring out their arguments. At 4:30, when class was to end, the groups were yelling amongst themselves, a success  by any standard.

            During class it started to snow big time. Milwaukee is not the only city with snow storms. I had been feeling progressively worse all day, and I knew I just did not feel well enough to meet the Chamber. That would have taken close to an hour to get to via bus. My interpreter called and cancelled for me, and I gave out the presents (beautiful boxes my mom found) anyway, as two women had been gracious enough to volunteer to be my translators.

            I walked to the Inn through the snow, met MaryLee, who had bought us vodka glasses, and had some vodka. By now everything hurt. My legs, my head, my teeth, my hair. I went to my room to moan.

. . . .

            It is now the middle of the night. There are several inches of new snow on the ground. I am eating half a piece of a torte that has some creamy stuff within its layers (those who know me know that this is not a usual event). Hours ago I was not capable of lifting my head from the pillow, much less swallowing.

            My body aches, especially my head pain, got progressively worse after I returned from class. By about 10 p.m., I was negotiating with God to either kill me now or make me better in a hurry. I had a wastebasket aside my bed, just in case, and was trying to figure out what to do with the remnants if I actually threw up without my head spinning off. I could not make it downstairs, and the windows open at the very top of the high ceilings. Fortunately I did not have to figure that problem out.

            If I needed any confirmation that MaryLee is my best friend in the whole world, I got it this evening. At about 10:30, I made it to her door—I still cannot call her by phone, even though we are neighbors; I get a Russian man who is becoming exasperated by my calls (a man called MaryLee on her line today, and tried to have her converse with him in German)—I wanted her to have my key, so that if I died, I would be found sooner rather than later. No kidding. I felt that bad. I could not imagine getting to the airport, much less a plane home, in my condition.

            Blessed be to MaryLee, who plied me with water, acetaminophen, and some gross Alka Selter flu concoction that was just too awful to drink. She checked on me at midnight, when she should have been asleep. We arranged that if I needed immediate help, I would pound on the wall between our rooms. And she had no companion basically this entire day. I feel bad about that, but on the other hand, I am glad I can walk, not crawl, to the bathroom now. MaryLee has been my friend for over 20 years, and I could not imagine life without her.

            This is how sick I was. I drank no coffee, watched no tv, put no movie in the computer, and listened to nothing on ITunes since I returned from class. Silence is a really loud sound. I think I have turned the corner from really sick to plain old sick. If so, I will take things slowly and do nothing but teach class tomorrow. I may even bow out of student Dasha’s tour of Peter and Paul Fortress on Thursday. MaryLee will go even if I don’t.

            Getting sick is one possibility that I think concerns all of us in the program. It is a real concern, but so far I have not been involved in any health crisis. When Svetlana heard that I was ill, she assured me that she would arrange for me to see a doctor if necessary, which I assume all of our hosts would do if need be. So pack a ton of medicine, know your insurance coverage, and pray. I can’t explain what it was like, in the middle of the night, to try and remember exactly where I had seen the Amerikanski Clinic on the walk to The Idiot. On Kasanskaya? On Moika? Could I make it there if I needed to?

. . . .

            I am better today (Wednesday), but am in no condition to teach. MaryLee, who was a teacher in her hayday, is going to go to my class, take a picture of the students in their FOS shirts and hats, give them time to further prepare their arguments, and tell them what it is like to be a university teacher in the U.S. She will also postpone until tomorrow my student field trip to the bookstore café after class. I owe her big time.

            I waver between eating rice from the downstairs café (where we have had to order by guess, as there is no English menu and I can’t figure out the Russian menu, even with my restaurant guide) taking acetaminophen and sleeping. I’m sure tomorrow will be a better day.

. . . .

            Last night was bad sickness again, but toady (Thursday) I feel better (again, and I hope permanently this time. MaryLee did take over my class, but there wer no grouping and no preparing for argument. Instead, the class peppered her with questions for the entire class, and beyond. MaryLee said the students were “delightful”, and I am very glad her day was not a total loss. On the other hand, she might be getting sick of conversations with or grunts from me, and I know conversation is one of the things she was missing on this trip. She sure got that now.

            The students asked her about her writing, her favorite American and Russian authors, U.S. university education, a typical U.S. working day, and her family. She spoke of her son Max the dredlocked d.j., which stirred up the students, and her daugher Norah, whose downs syndrome has not stopped her from working or being in love with Paul McCartney (Norah was very happy that Paul is finally divorced). They asked who makes the decisions in the family, and if that person is responsible for the decisions he/she makes. All in all, a good two hours for her.

            Today MaryLee is going to go on the student tour. I am going to sleep and try to make it to class. Missing one day is ok. Missing more is not. Wish me luck.

. . . .

            I am returning to human form. I WILL teach today (Thursday).

MARCH 24, 2008

THE COMMISSION VISITS.

            I heard about the big snow in Milwaukee over the weekend. 10-15 inches. How totally frustrating. I expected to come home to tulips and daffodils.

            St. Petersburg does not have a foot of snow, but it is colder here today and the wind is periodically vicious. It is Monday, so the Nevsky was filled with workers as I took my morning walk. Even in this weather, the women wear spike-heeled boots. It’s a wonder they can maneuver, but they do quite well and pass me by at lightning speed.

            The young women here are like peacocks. They wear the tightest possible jeans, lots of makeup, and those high-heeled boots. The men, on the other hand, are nondescript. They dress in dark colors and trudge down the streets like bears (not those in the circus, either).

            As I write this there is a dubbed British History-Channel-type tv show on Stalin and Trotsky. Fitting. Last night I watched a dubbed Baywatch, complete with a video of Pamela Anderson running, posing and doing yoga (yes, yoga) in a red swimsuit and grotesquely red lips. I also watched a dubbed South Park. Kenny dies in Russian too.

            At school, the staff were very serious and active today because of the Commission’s presence. Svetlana went over my little speech with me, and told me where I would stand. I was to teach class as normal until the speeches began, which was to be at about 2:45. In the meantime, a large soundless screen stood right in back of where I stood, and the students could see Dean Gromova speaking in a very tight close up. A picture of my class was in a small box at the top right of the screen. The students could not really concentrate on what I was saying, and so I suggested that they all wave on the count of 3, to get it out of their system. I counted. 1. 2. 3. I waved. No one else did. I guess they were scared or thought it would be disrespectful. But they did laugh at me waving like a puppet.

            This was one of the most difficult classes today because it was all lecture and covered a lot of ground—trade secrets, misappropriation of confidential information, conversion, interference with contract, unjust enrichment, breach of loyalty. The students mostly tried, but it was really difficult for them to concentrate. One woman slept through the whole class.

            Class began an hour early, at 2 p.m., and was to end at 4. By 4, we still hadn’t spoken to the commission. So I took questions, and asked questions of the students. I even asked them what they thought of me. One said I was like a relative to them, which I liked very much. I responded, though, that informality in teaching style does not mean that I am not a serious teacher, and that I expect them to do their best for me and for themselves each day. That got applause. I have no idea why.

            At almost 4:30, the commission was ready for us. I stood in my allotted place. I could see myself in the little box on the screen. I looked like the Pillsbury Dough Boy dressed in black with a Pippi Longstocking ear-level flip. I did my thing, got cut off before I finished, and was asked whether I had taught in Russia before. I said that I had not, but that I would like to return. Then I sat down and three students gave little speeches which I did not understand. Finally, at close to 5, the session ended and I shooed the students out class.

            Svetlana was frazzled, but thought that the speeches had gone well. I told her that I meant everything I had said, and that if there was any way for me to come back and teach again, I would like to do so. We parted, as she prepared for her evening classes.

            MaryLee came to school today to use the internet, and was very happy to read her husband’s email to her and to email him again. All is well for her at home, which eased her mind but I think made her homesick. I, on the other hand, am worried about the summary judgment motion that still hasn’t been filed on my case at work.

            Tonight MaryLee and I walked about a half hour down Kasanskaya Street and the Moika (adjacent to the Moika River) to The Idiot restaurant (yes, Scott, we actually made it there). On the way, we found an internet café, but continued on unscathed. MaryLee in particular loved the restaurant. We could not find any English books, so she left the one she had brought with her to exchange. The restaurant would fit any writer of last century. Best of all, throughout the evening three separate small groups arrived—one German, one French, and one English. Louis Armstrong in the background. MaryLee had the medicinal drink, because she had a sore throat; it came in a beautiful glass and she would come back just for that cure. They give you little glasses of vodka, which I happily drank. We each had pancakes—mine cottage cheese and jam, MaryLee’s red caviar—mine was the best meal so far, hot and sweet. Then we had a salad, to get some vegetables into our system. I was too full by the time I almost licked my pancake plate, and should not have ordered the salad. On the walk back to the Inn, we were in the middle of the gloaming. Light and dark, lights and shadows. Lovely.

            Now we are drinking vodka in MaryLee’s parlor. I have taken to drinking it out of the bottle. Even though alcohol kills germs, I am taking no chances and making MaryLee drink hers from a cup.

            As I am rationing my dvds, today I listened to This American Life on ITunes (these mac computers are really very nice). The episode was on quiz shows, and the first segment was about a man who won lots of money on the Irish version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. The segment was not so much about the show as about the contestant, who had great “social anxiety” (as the podcast title says). Basically, the poor guy was really messed up and had trouble getting out of his house, let alone going on television. The segment told of this man’s courage in applying for and going on the show, and the impact of his experience on his psychological health. He went from being an occasional janitor to a man with some financial security. He is now in therapy and is beginning to venture out into the world. Even so, he still does not have a television, and the reporter had to go to the local radio station to view his conquest.

            I could not believe the happenstance which allowed this contestant to begin to poke out of his chrysalis. I personalize everything, and I of course personalized this. I am known as shy, the queen of the worriers. When I was young, I did not like going to court (age has changed that–I enjoyed my last few instruction conferences). I was behind the scenes, writing the arguments which would win our cases. The idea that I would affirmatively set out to go to a foreign land, teach foreign students, and live without benefit of English seemed the opposite of my personality. Maybe, though, I really am an adventurer. Maybe I just had to find the right adventure.

            This program is a strange thing. You plop yourself into a foreign culture after obligating yourself to teach U.S. law to students who know neither the U.S. nor, for the most part, English. You are not paid, but you spend hours preparing for class. You are decades older than your students, but you stay in a college-level room. You could visit your host country as a tourist, with nothing to lose, but you don’t. You come as a volunteer worker—not to practice law but to teach, which many of use have never done. You know you will experience some degree of imbalance, confusion, and loneliness. But you come anyway. And when you go home you start preparing for your next post.

            This all sounds foolish, but I don’t think we’re crazy. I think we’re looking for something from our posts and students. We’re each looking for different things, and we may not even know what we’re looking for. The “looking” is what drew us to this program.

On the other hand, maybe I’m wrong and we’re all nuts.

MARCH 23, 2008

EVEN TEACHERS DON’T WANT TO DO THEIR HOMEWORK.

            Today is Sunday. I really must spend the day preparing for my speech tomorrow, and for the newly assigned ethics unit which I will teach later in the week. But I don’t feel like preparing—it is Sunday, after all. So I will tell you about yesterday’s adventures.

            First, there are new people at the Inn. They are in the room directly above mine. Lots of children running across the floor, yelling, squealing, maybe jumping on the bed. The ceilings are double-height in the rooms, so it is not bothersome at all. I welcome the funny noises.

            Second, my sister had been staying in my room, and I in hers, because the smaller room allotted her was depressing and hurt her asthma. I have been in this room a few days now, and I like it a lot. It is actually two rooms and a bathroom. One is a bedroom with two twin beds, each with loofah mattresses, and a wardrobe. The other is a long rectangular room with a couch and two matching chairs all set across the same wall. There are big picture windows in each room, made bigger because of the high ceilings. The windows open at the top of the wall, where the ceiling begins, so to open or shut a window involves climbing on the three or four-foot high window sill and then pulling on a long cord to either open or close the window. Between this and the third floor location of my classroom, my calves are getting a real workout. There are big white doors, with six opaque glass inserts, in each room, so the whole setup feels like a very mini apartment. I find the rooms bright and cheerful in the daytime. The wallpaper, curtains and carpet remind me of the Soviet style, especially in the rectangular ”sitting room”.  Someone coming from the U.S. might look on these rooms with horror, because they are rather spartan (there is, however, a refrigerator), but I like them because they feel Russian and confirm that I am in the right place.

            MaryLee has turned her smaller “studio” into a very comfortable room. She moved the chairs around so that there is a small sitting area, and has draped the many shawls she bought around her digs. Her new books are displayed, as are those funny dolls she bought the night of the circus. I feel like I am entering an art museum when we gather. Always the hostess, MaryLee’s room is the place to congregate.

            Now to the matters at hand. Yesterday our guide Masha took us on a tour to Catherine’s Palace in Tsarkoe Selo, a suburb about 45 minutes away from the city center by car. I nearly fell asleep on the way there, so I could not tell you what Masha said on the drive to the Palace. It had snowed Friday night, so the Palace grounds looked clean and fresh. The Palace itself is huge. I was selfishly very glad all of the rooms were not open to the public. Also, even though it is winter and the low tourist season, there were groups and groups of tours, most with thirty or more people. Because there were just the four of us, we were able to circumvent most of the groups. I can’t imagine touring this place in summer. Too hot. Too crowded. Not my style.

            I have never seen such ornate rooms, even at Yusopov’s Palace (where they tried and tried to kill Rasputin) or the Hermitage (although I did not see much of the Hermitage because I had to prepare for class). Gold everywhere. Ceilings even higher than at the Inn. Gigantic furnaces, covered with beautiful delft blue squares with Scandinavian scenes. We learned about the bombing during the war, and the “reconstruction”, with pictures of the “before” to compare with the “after” we were viewing. We were able to see about 39 rooms, some small, some grand. Included in these was the famous Amber Room, which was smaller than I expected and actually one of my least favorites. MaryLee, not I, is the historian of our group, so I cannot tell you the history in detail. I do know, however, that during the war some of the amber was locked up, some was taken, and the entire room was redone (although the top fourth of the walls remained original)—with better materials than the original, because the archivists had access to better materials than that available during the original construction.

            We stopped in the café for a bite, and then Masha gave us a cold and windy tour of the Palace grounds. This must be beautiful in summer, with the gardens and greenery in full flourish. It was plenty beautiful this winter day, with the fresh snow and bare-limbed trees surrounding frozen round lakes or ponds.

            We then drove another forty minutes to a porcelain factory on the edge of St. Petersburg. This drive I was awake, and I enjoyed Masha’s commentary. When she had finished her obligatory spiel, she began talking of the great writers—Pushkin, Gogol, Dostoevsky, Turgenev, and she and MaryLee, who is a writer, had  wonderful conversation about the writers’ books, styles and themes. She is one smart cookie, that MaryLee.

            I expected the porcelain factory to be a typical U.S. outlet store. No. No. No. The public areas of the factory consist of a porcelain gallery, which was closed, and a beautiful store. I do mean beautiful. Going in, we were all tired and thought we would be there for half an hour. Almost an hour and a half later, we strode out the shop, two of the three of us with purchases in hand. MaryLee had found Easter egg plates, perfect for her belated celebration upon her return home. I would have liked a set of something, but the shipping would have been equal to the set for my pattern choice. So I found six Russian themed cups/saucers. Marcia, who is the shipping maven, bought an entire set of the most beautiful porcelain—teapot, creamer, sugar bowl, and six cups/saucers/plates—in a rose/burgundy pattern which reminded  us of our grandmother. Just beautiful.

            We had asked to see a yarn shop, as that is one of MaryLee’s specialties. On the way back to the Inn, right in the back of the Gostiny Dvor department store, Masha pointed out a button/yarn store. I would not have discovered it on my own, even though it was so close to the Inn. Having seen us at the porcelain shop, Masha was frightened that we would spend too much time at the store. She was very relieved when we told her that we just wanted to know the store’s location, and that we could find it on our own. MaryLee will explore the yarns while I am in class this week.

            At that, we ended up in a major traffic jam and Masha suggested we walk to the Inn, so as not to be stuck in the van for an hour, We paid Masha and the driver, thanked them profusely, and set off according to Masha’s directions to the Inn. We, of course, got lost, heavy boxes of place settings and all. MaryLee saved us by finding our landmark—the semicircular pillars of the Kazan Cathedral. We hobbled to the Inn, tired and cold, Marcia went to her hotel, and we said goodbye until dinner.

            At 7 p.m., MaryLee and I met Marcia and Svetlana at a real restaurant between the Inn and Marcia’s hotel. Tablecloths and wine glasses. We had a wonderful dinner, of veal (Marcia and me), soup and fish (MaryLee) and fish (Svetlana the vegetarian). And very cold vodka in beautiful aperitif glasses. Marcia and Svetlana ordered some just to be kind, I think, but MaryLee and I drank ours almost before our glasses were set down before us. Typical of our Russian experience, service was so slow that I was no longer hungry by the time my food came. That did not stop me, of course, and I cleaned my plate. We toasted Herzen and Svetlana. We toasted Marcia and her safe journey back home. I would have toasted anything.

            Svetlana is a very interesting woman. I don’t know whether she accepted our invitation out of courtesy or real desire, but I was glad to have her there. She told us about the conference she was going to attend in Moscow in a few days, her charitable work, and her hopes for her future. Svetlana is only a part-timer at Herzen. She works full time at the Military Academy teaching economics. She is really interested in social management macro-economics, and is determined for her country to advance through communications and contacts with other countries. She wants the middle class to develop into a strong component of the populace to take advantage of the rising capitalist development. She asked us about university ethical codes, as her department had just submitted a draft to the university. Her question was whether it is better for a code to lay down rules or normative guidelines. MaryLee discussed U.S. university codes, and Marcia described psychiatric codes. I said that some components of a code should be absolute rules, if for no other reason than to comply with the law (anti-discrimination provisions), and other portions should be normative, to address situations which usually involve grey areas. I then asked Svetlana whether she had any travel plans. She didn’t, but she animatedly told us of her dreams to visit Greece, particularly Crete. It was fun to watch her face as she gigglingly described what in Greece she would like to see.

            After a lovely, if lengthy, dinner, MaryLee and I bid Marcia a good trip home, and Svetlana walked her to her hotel. It was snowing as we walked back to Nevsky Prospect, and I felt like we were in a Pasternak novel. Of course, we found another bookstore for MaryLee, and she made her purchase of the day. We gathered in her parlor for some cookies before retiring. We were both tired, and knew we would be able to sleep through most of the night.

MARCH 21, 2008

THE TEACHER WHO MISTOOK A BEAR FOR A PERSON.

            Two tidbits for you today. First, my hair, which does not reach below my chin, has developed a permanent flip. Not at its bottom, but right at the middle of my ears. My attempts to tame it have been unsuccessful. I call my doo the Russian moll look.

            Second, I highly recommend Russian hot chocolate. A small glass is enough. This is not ordinary hot chocolate with a shot of vodka. It consists of the richest, smoothest, thickest hot chocolate, which would be more than sufficient alone. To that there is added the most delectable vodka imaginable. The effect is like swallowing velvety gold mixed with Swarovsky crystals.

            Today, Friday, the competitor groups gave their presentations. I began class by briefly going over what we had learned yesterday, and then let the groups finalize their argument preparations. One (or in one case two) of each group then made a 5 or 10 minute argument. Those groups which had lost an employee were to argue why the employees could not work for their new employers and why the restrictive covenant should be enforced. Those groups which had gained an employee were to make the opposite argument.

            I was surprised by how sophisticated, and also how simplistic, the presentations were. It was obvious that each group had read (or had read to it) the three-page fact sheet, and had attempted to apply the previous days’ learning to the  sheet. Some made their argument in English, others in Russian. Some students were absent; mostly those students had jobs which conflicted with class (I was told that this was not unusual).

Most presentations were forceful and given with appropriate fervor. I told my class after all arguments were finished that it should be proud of itself for the hard work it put into the exercise, especially since this was the first time the students had worked in groups or made presentations.

So as not to intimidate the speakers, I moved from the front of the classroom to a side chair during the arguments. One nice young man brought me a table, which was not necessary but for which I graciously gave thanks. Unfortunately, my chair was adjacent to the radiator. By the end of the second argument I was overheating, and by the end of the last argument I discovered how hot hell must be.

When the arguments had ended, I told the students that the employee had won in our case at work. I also told them that I had put in a kink to see if they would catch it. They didn’t. The exercise’s covenant consisted of three parts—a noncompete, a nonsolicitation provision and a confidentiality provision. The first two had time limitations. The third had none. According to Wisconsin law, the lack of time limitation in the third provision should have invalidated all of the restrictions (we did not yet study the Uniform Trade Secret Act or its impact on the nondisclosure provision). This brought us back to a discussion of those states that “blue pencil” invalid provisions and those that do not.

I did not crown a winner. Instead, I gave an Alaska hat to the one group’s speaker, whose president and vice president (who would normally speak) were not in class. The class seemed to agree with my assessment of this poor guy’s bad luck, and applauded his bravery. As “prizes” for all, I set out gel pens from MaryLee and Packer pencils that I had bought in the dollar store. After class, the students grabbed them with gusto. There were two left, and I tried to give them to Ivan. He refused, and I understood that he would feel it undignified to take more than his share.

Marcia came with me to class, and was kind enough to give some small tubes of makeup to the translators. She spoke to the class about her city, Chicago, and her work as a psychiatrist. The class did not seem to understand psychiatry or therapy—maybe they associated it with the historic (I hope only historic) confinement of political prisoners in mental institutions. The students were really interested in Marcia’s dog, and how she takes him to “do his business” living in the center of the city.

After class, Svetlana wanted me to meet with her and the interpreters, so Marcia went back to her hotel (which she loves, by the way—big breakfasts, CNN and everything), and we went back into the staff room. The “commission” is coming to the department Monday. The “commission” is a regulatory arm of the state, akin to our accreditation committees. My class is to begin an hour earlier and be in a different room. In the middle of class, Svetlana will have me give a 15 minute speech via teleconference to the committee and the school administration—the rector (president), vice-rector (vice-president), etc. Svetlana will translate, which is making her nervous. Svetlana outlined a sort of a script for me to write and say—she did not, however, ask me to say anything that she or I do not feel is true. For example, she would like me to say that the students are in conformance with the international educational requirements. I said that I could say that my students were on a par with those in the U.S. (which I believe). She did not agree and told me not to say that. So more homework for me on Sunday. And I must be sure to wear my least wrinkled suit on Monday.

Svetlana had arranged for tickets to the circus (she would accept only payment for our three, and would not let me pay for hers), and at 6 p.m. we began the 30 minute walk to the circus building. When we arrived, we saw lots of children with blinking devil headbands; dogs and a monkey dressed in fancy costumes, ready to pose for a picture for the right price; scores of cotton candy; and adults rushing to and fro. Opposite the coat check (you check your coat for everything here) was the large room where Marcia and I had had a private tour on our last visit to the city (the tours are no longer available). I remembered the room, which is now sort of a museum gallery, from its beautiful multi-colored glass doors. Some things I remembered were gone, and some new things were present. It was great fun to be in that room again.

I thought of Bill Fox, the patriarch of my firm, who has the circus in his blood and is rejuvenating Wisconsin’s Great Circus Parade for what I hope are many new years of activity. Some of my fondest memories are of me and my parents watching the circus parade with my son, who was not then more than 4 or 5., and who insisted on wearing a baseball cap backwards, despite the pounding son. My mother would shimmy him to a curbside seat and ply him with food, while my dad would admire the horses and wagons, recalling their history. He was especially fond of the very tall wedding cake wagon, the top of which was always adorned by a beautiful woman.

The circus was funny and fine. There were women who looked like Russian stewardesses, with short blue dresses. There were gymnasts. There was a guy who did tricks on a bicycle.

And there were animals. Dogs dressed in finery, except for the big sheepdog which retained its dignity. Cats and white rats. The cats, I assume, smartly refused to wear silly clothes. The 10 goats, however, must have been too stupid to object. The goats wore hats and glasses and other vestments. They climbed, as goats do. They were not, however, perfectly trained. One or the other would hop off its post and wander the stage when the trainers were working with other ones.

Then came the bears, running on two legs, running and climbing and rolling around. The thing is, they looked like people in bear suits. They did not look like real bears. Maybe it was the running; I don’t know. Marcia and I wondered why the circus put people in bear suits, since the immediately prior act had been comedic, with clowns and balloons. After 15 minutes, we noticed that the “bears” were given treats after each trick. Only then did we acknowledge our foolishness. Once I realized that these were real bears, I felt sad. It was hard enough to see dogs doing circus tricks. Watching the bears riding skateboards was just too much to take, even if their trainers loved them.

I only lasted through the circus’ first half. I was so tired my toes were curling under. Svetlana understood, and was very gracious. I had worried that she would be bored at the circus, but she insisted on staying to see the upcoming hedgehog (yes hedgehog) and kangaroo acts. So the three of us trudged off—Marcia in search of dinner, me in search of a bed, and MaryLee in search of whatever.

The winter wind woke us all up, and we stopped in a small craft-type store that looked interesting from the outside. Insider were all kinds of artsy or weird-artsy pieces—jewelry, adult fabric dolls in strange poses, animal figures. MaryLee did not disappoint, and bought several lamb-dolls. We chided her for going a day without buying books. On the way back to the Inn, we stopped at a café on Nevsky Prospect, which looked like it had real food. It did, and also had the liquored up hot chocolate to which I referred above. Marcia had hot chocolate with Cognac, and MaryLee had a similar glass of heaven. We ate something as well, which we liked very much; I can’t remember what food we had, however, because I was so fixated on that drink.

After the cafe, Marcia went to her hotel, I hope to watch CNN. MaryLee and I went back to the Inn. One of us hoped her dreams would produce the latest episode of “In Treatment”. You can guess who one that was.

MARCH 20, 2008

MY ARGUMENT WILL BE BETTER THAN YOUR ARGUMENT

            Last night’s television news headlines were, in this order—the finalization of the divorce between Paul McCartney and his former wife; and the Bear Sterns bailout. Entertainment triumphs news all over the world.

            This morning, however, the television news is about Washington D.C. protests against the war. There were videos of the protests, the police and arrests, Pres. Bush saying something (I need not know what it was), and Hillary Clinton saying something (I need not know what that was either).

            When I arrived in St. Petersburg, the minutes seemed like hours, the hours like days. Since yesterday, the days seem like hours and the hours like minutes. Things clicked yesterday. I can’t explain why. All I know is that I am now in love with my school, my Garrison Keiler students, this great city, and its generous, if stern, people. Except for missing my family, dog and colleagues at work, I am content. Tired from working hard, but content. OK, let’s I would like some internet access (not for the news, which I should want, but for the television).

            I am comfortable enough now with the language to have small conversations. For example, I spend a few hours each morning prepping for class. During that time, two women come in to empty the trash and look through the cupboards (to make sure I don’t steal the utensils I have been given?). We now know each other. I ask how their work is going, and they do the same to me. The first few days I was working in my pjs, and they laughed at that. Yesterday I had on my work clothes, and they applauded and admired my outfit.

            This morning I awoke very early and so finished my class preparations by 10 a.m. I then set off to find the grocery store that Marcia and MaryLee had found while I was teaching. After a few hits and misses, and just before I was about to give up, I looked up and there was the sign in Russian—“cupermarkit”. Crazy I may be, but I had the best time wandering through the store’s few aisles, looking at the selections, and deciding what to buy. The store is the size of the small neighborhood grocers which existed when I was growing up. I bought pita bread, cheese, apricot jam, mustard, Coke Light (their version of Diet Coke) and orange juice—all for 450 rubles, or a little less than $20. On my way back to the Inn, I noted the irony of carrying my goods in a Trader Joe’s bag.

            Today I am meeting a Russian lawyer in her office at noon, teaching my students at 3 p.m., teaching the adults at 6 p.m., and meeting a student and his friend at the Inn around 8 p.m. Will report back later.

            Before I left the U.S., I blindly emailed St. Petersburg attorneys. One who responded was Elena Bariknovskaya, who works and the international law firm Salans. Marcia and I were exceedingly lucky to meet with her this afternoon. Elena works in litigation. Because Russians are averse to litigation conflict, she has very few trials. So she fills her time with other firm work, including real estate.

            For many years, Elena was a human rights lawyer. Her husband is a criminal lawyer, and is now defending the major opposition party leader who was jailed shortly after the recent elections. I asked if she was frightened for her husband and her son, and she quickly replied that she was. Her take on the current Russian political situation was precise and unwavering. Nothing will change from the recent elections, and the opposition parties have to stop bickering amongst themselves and continue their work. Several of Elena’s and her husband’s friends are dissident artists, many of whom would be arrested from time to time. One artist was jailed for more than two years. When his trial came, Elena prepared the witnesses, so that the officials knew that they knew what their “rights” were, what to say, and what not to say. Elena does not do much of this kind of work now, because she said she is tired and her health is not good. As a matter of fact, she is planning to take some time off and travel in the U.S., first to New York City, where she has a friend, and then to some major parks, although she cannot decide which (Bryce Canyon, Grand Canyon, Yellowstone, Arcadia). I told her of our father’s love of these areas and that I would get his thoughts on the subject when I return to the U.S.

            We also discussed American cities and the difficulties of their educational systems. It was difficult for Elena to grasp that public schools in urban areas would not be top rate, and that families would move to the suburbs for their schools or send their children to private schools. Elena discussed her son, who is 22 and completing a computer degree in a school which Elena does not really like. Like many U.S. young adults, her son has now decided to go to law school, which means extra years of schooling. As the family is centered in St. Petersburg, he will go to a law school in the city.

            Before departing, I gave Elena a Van Gogh box and a firm-logoed polo shirt as tokens of my appreciation. She obligingly let us take some pictures, and showed us the incredibly beautiful views from her offices, which are on the 8^th floor of a bank building on the Moika River (10 minutes from the Inn if you don’t get lost; 25 minutes if, as we did, you take the wrong turn).

            On the way back to the Inn, Marcia and I stopped at the Chocolate Museum, which is really a shop of chocolate molded figures. We bought a few (I can’t give away which ones), and returned to the Inn, where I did my final class preparations.

            Class today was as good as could be. After reviewing from yesterday, the translators read the students their exercise. It involved employees with restrictive covenants leaving their employers for new employers, preparing to compete, soliciting employees and business, and using information that may or may not be confidential. Then the class divided into groups. The groups were to prepare 5 minute arguments either in favor of or opposed to the covenants’ enforcement, depending on whether the group had gained or lost an employee. At first the students were very confused, but the interpreters helped greatly and after awhile they were shouting out questions, planning together and crafting their arguments. One group went so far as to announce that its argument would be the finest of all the groups, which got the other groups angry and competitive. Just as it should be.

            My evening class was not so animated. It was, in short, almost comatose. But no wonder. These adult teachers had just taken a one-hour exam. After my class, they had to do a take-home exam which is due tomorrow morning. They dutifully, if scornfully, listened to me talk about the U.S. university level educational system. They had very few questions only halfheartedly listened to the answers. I finally told them to go home and do their exam, and they left quickly and without goodbyes.

            I had announced during the afternoon class that Marcia, MaryLee and I would be happy to meet with students this evening. At 8 p.m., we were met by Ivan, of my class, and Michail, his good friend and fellow student. Ivan speaks no English, and Michail was his translator. Both were in their early 20s, fresh faced and dressed formally, in jackets and, for Ivan, a tie. They took us on a walk through the center of town and to a self-serve restaurant where we had dinner. I bought dinner, but it was quite the fight to do so with these young men. During dinner, they told us their stories. Both are far from their families. Ivan is a geographer who decided to get a management degree. Michail is a chemistry student. Michail plans to invent formulas and Ivan plans to “protect” Michail’s intellectual property rights. Ivan also wants to be a businessman and sell furs. For such young men, they have very definite plans. I have no doubt they will succeed.

            I thought it was very brave of Ivan and Michail to come to meet us, and I told them so. They both shyly smiled, thanked us and shook our hands before walking us to Nevsky Prospect. The night was crisp and cold, and we hurried back to the Inn.

            Between the depressing rooms and her asthma, this evening Marcia switched to a real hotel, close to the Inn, for the last three nights of her stay. She even gets a big breakfast buffet each day. MaryLee and I will live vicariously through her. It makes no sense for Marcia to be uncomfortable in her home away from home., and I’m sorry I did not suggest it sooner. Svetlana, our guardian angel, found the hotel for us.

MARCH 19, 2008

I GET IT, AND THEY MAY BE GETTING ME.

            Today, I had planned to go to the flea market and then the supermarket before class. However, I couldn’t get out of bed until an hour before I had to be out the door. Aches, pains, malaise. More granola. That is the life of a teacher.

            Class went very well today, even though I spent almost the whole time lecturing. No one fell asleep, only one student left in the middle, and some even asked questions (not all on topic). I had brought five t shirts to give to each company president, since they had had to speak before the class the previous day. I gave the t shirts out, and after  class the students tried to give them back to me. Some thought they were to wear the t shirts as a kind of uniform when they were acting as presidents in class. I apparently had not made clear that these were gifts for their hard work. Once I did that, “cpaceba” (thank you) came from all five students, one after the other.

            After discussing common law employee obligations/freedoms and explaining restrictive covenants, I posed the question—if you were a business owner, how would you feel if one of your employees put customer information on a CD, quit, and brought the CD to your competitor? Dmitry (the filmmaker/singer) said something (very long), and others in the class appeared to refute him. All in Russian. The interpreter interrupted to (apparently) scold some or all of the participants, who kept arguing with each other. After 5 minutes, I asked the interpreter what was going on. She said that Dmitry believed the state should be involved, and that if the quality of products was affected, someone should go to jail. If not, people should be able to do what they want, contract or no contract.

            I was glad to see this discourse, even if I was not involved. I was also glad that my contact Svetlana was in the room to witness it.

            Dmitry then wanted to know why employers make their employees pay taxes. I then tried to describe the state/federal tax system as best I could as a nontax lawyer. I am to get back to Dmitry tomorrow with relevant tax rates.

            Olga, a very tall blond woman who dresses all in black at all times, out of nowhere asked me why I had come to Russia. I realized that the class knew nothing about me, even though it had seen pictures of my son and dog. So I told the class about my Russian heritage, Russian studies, and Russian language classes.

            I then told my class what I had neglected to tell it before—that I had planned for about a year to come to St. Petersburg, and then to Herzen; that I was honored to be their teacher; that my intention was to learn as much from them as they had learned to me; that the class, as the new generation, was the hope for the future; and that as we all get to know each other we will realize that the world is really a small place.

            Class ended on a very happy note.

            I had offered to meet with students after class today. A handful came up after class, but only one, LiLit, could spend time with me, Marcia and MaryLee. Another, Vanya, wanted to come with a friend (who speaks some English) to meet us tomorrow evening, so we made arrangements to all meet in the lobby of the Inn at 8 p.m. (tomorrow I meet a lawyer at her office, then teach the regular class, then teach the adults at night—it will be a long day). We will go somewhere for dinner and talk.

            LiLit, who speaks flawless English, came with me back to the Inn, where we met Marcia and MaryLee in MaryLee’s room. She then took us to a bliny restaurant, where we had our first decent meal of the trip. It was delicious!

            LiLit is a very interesting young woman, who is in her early 20s. She was born in Armenia. When she was 8, she left with her mother, to avoid the insurrections and the very hard life in Armenia. They first tried to go to Germany, but after awhile they were deported, and ended up in Russia. In Russia, you have to obtain temporary or permanent registration to work in a city. New city, new registration. LiLit’s mother had to “pay” to obtain registrations for herself and Lilit. Eventually, she had to “pay” for citizenship for them both. A few years ago, LiLit’s mother moved to Portugal, again seeking better living conditions. LiLit has been on her own for a long time, especially for being such a young adult. Maybe that is why she is so outgoing, confident and vivacious.

            LiLit spent a year at Emory University in Georgia as part of an exchange program. She is graduating from Herzen this year, and has applied to a master’s program in Hungary. She will know if she is accepted within a few weeks. She needs a full scholarship or she will be unable to attend that or any other school. She eventually wants to work in the Middle East or Africa. The four of us very much enjoyed our conversations, which covered a wide range of topics, but mostly centered on U.S. and Russian politics.

            It is now after 9 p.m., and I am sitting in MaryLee’s room with MaryLee and Marcia. They had much excitement today. They walked to the Church on the Spilled Blood, only to find it closed on Wednesday (we only have 6-8 travel guides among us, each of which would have told us this information). So they went to the adjacent flea market, where the vendors remembered MaryLee as an old friend. On the way back, they of course returned to the bookstore. You can guess whether anything was left for MaryLee to buy. Then they began their return to the Inn. On Nevsky Prospect, both were swarmed by four young men who tried to sell MaryLee a book and poked at her. MaryLee eventually realized that she was being pick-pocketed. According to Marcia, MaryLee screamed “NO”. According to MaryLee, Marcia was more shocked at the volume of MaryLee’s bellow than at the thieves themselves. The women returned to the Inn unscathed, triumphant, and glad that the zipper on MaryLee’s purse has always been a demon to open.