One to the people. One to the times. And one for the future.

I’ve got this request from a fellow student and a dear friend of mine, whether I’m going to write about friendship and my relationship with some people that I got to know in Russia. And I thought that, yeah sure! Why not tell a few stories.

What exactly did she ask? Hold on, gotta check it quickly… aha… yeah! She wanted to write about “us”. I was also surprised about this way of putting it. Indeed, she wanted to do it herself and I gently wished her good luck, telling her to deliver “качество” (Russian for quality). Apparently, I must have misunderstood her, for she corrected herself, requesting me to do it. “So, like, about our friendly relationship, the Erasmus kids or Kazan?”, I wondered. Then she suggested me to do a combo of all three things, believing I would come up with something suitable for her request (somebody has to believe in me at least), and that it would be amazing if I could add some nicknames to polish the story a little. So be it! Here’s one to friendship.

Going through the articles that I published on Russia so far I distinguished a relatively persistent negative trait that connects my impressions on different topics. Of course, it would be unfair to treat everything as if it had been awful or unpleasant. Though there were times where I had wished to be far away, longing for a common sense of rationality or a simple vegetarian restaurant, the opposite was also sometimes the case. It was the constant energy and support of a handful of people that kept me going through this experience. I feel like I owe them a lot. For it was their complete determination to abstain from any surrender of their personality that made them so valuable an asset to the group dynamic of our class and to my mental well-being. All of us faced the same problems – some were, of course, more prepared for them then others – giving that their language skills were more advanced, be it that they could cope with the general food quality easier than me -, my friends remained true to their principles and personal ideologies. Now that I’m considering who’s the most deserving to have a part in my story, I’m experiencing difficulties deciding. All of my friends from there had their own personal characteristic traits that made them stand apart from the crowd. On top of that, I wish not to anger anyone by not mentioning them. I will, however, restrict myself to the most close friends of mine.

First of all, I would like to present KyöstiOfficial to you. It’s basically the only one who actually truly had his nickname during the project, stemming from his Instaprofile. KyöstiOfficial has the special ability that he does precisely and only exactly what he wants to do. Never would he forcefully make himself change his mind. Nor would be pretend to like something that he was, in fact, against. As he appeared to be a strong-minded personality who would never betray his own intentions or lie to anyone, we always sought to introduce him to our casual hangouts. What’s more is that he was constantly high on snooze, pushing small baggies of tobacco in between his upper lip and his gum (which added something to his mysterious and unique nature). He most secretly attend the Russian classes: He would be sitting in the back rows, not steering a muscle during discussions rounds in the vain hope of not being asked to add to our thin round. He was certainly not invisible, and indeed he was greatly appreciated by all the teachers, despite his intermediate Russian. It was possible that for the exact reason that they all loved him (and so do all of his friends) that they always wanted him to speak. Life can be really troublesome sometimes… Жизнь не сахар!
With him I rode all the way to the Russian steppe in search of some peaceful place, that probably reminded us of our homes, where the mind isn’t disturbed by the constant chatter or the constant harmful car emissions. The path there had us come up with creativity to figure out how best to react to changes in planning. In the end it seemed like a never-ending recalculations, with mathematical formulas in disarray. Blablacar switched into hitchhiking, bus, train, hitchhiking, almost taxi and more hitchhiking. His patience was truly unbeatable during this trip. We may not have bought the Sterlitamak magnets, we managed to take a pic with dear Vladimir Iilich in Salavat.

This is not Lenin

Except from our irregular trips somewhere or the camping in woods, we didn’t leave Kazan together as one complete group very often. On one of those occasions we went to take a bath in march. The vapour was escaping the steamy tent in large white clouds as we protruded the place to take refreshing refuge in the clear water of the Blue Lake, the Глубакое озеро. Having felt the strange aqua-thermal sensation, we longed for the smiling group of students who all studied Russian and their engulfing warmth. Many of us had gone through much during that time – the adaptation to the absurdity that was on Russian level was comforting and challenging, for most were happy to return home after their stay (at least for a still unknown time) – so that the support and guaranteed respect for each other was always something we could count on. Let loose in a somewhat bizarre world, we created bonds between each other that would overcome nationalities, or rather, thrive thanks to the differences in our upbringing and culture. Some lived up to the expectations of national stereotypes (e.g. a predilection for drinks in Finish people, the spirited, Italian hand movements while talking,…) while others shook the foundations of the classical way of displaying the life of their specific home country. It was especially the Germans (or those living there) who did their best at shattering any German stereotype: punctuality and efficiency. We would eventually reach a certain point, where even the most obstinate teacher would stop questioning our late arrivals in class.

Clearly one extraordinarily remarkable character is the musician and friend of fine arts and he’s no other than Mr. Schubert. First name: Ludwig. You wouldn’t believe what value a brilliant name such as his possesses; it can literally grant you access to place that would have been out of your reach. In many occasions it fully astonished new acquaintances. They would be merry. As a fine addition Ludwig sometimes added that he’s playing the piano, which instantly made him become something of a musical icon. Even the officials usually plaintive world was shattered for a millisecond, so that they gave him the key to the piano room where he could play all by himself for hours. I wish for him that he eventually gets him piano at home in Berlin. It would mean an infinite evenings of jolly evenings!

He was one of my first acquaintances when I moved to Berlin and has ever since welcomed my into his flat. There we would discuss our time in Berlin and the near future – all that with a glass of wine at hand. The idea to visit Russia and to experience all of its absurdities would eventually strike us as a promising plan. Little did we know at that time that we would be dropped in an intensive two weeks of dealing with bureaucracy and preparing for the interview with an official from a Russian university, which, despite the coffee and black tea in our bloodstreams, went fairly acceptable (I might have called the city St.Petersburg by its old name Leningrad).
As devoted readers may have already read, we did move to the Russian city of Kazan right on the Volga Хуйолга river for reason of academic studies. We would share a shared flat with a brainless English guy – dear old Mikey-boy kept us wishing that he might take a looong and frosty stroll through the endless forests of Northern Siberia – and discover all of Russia’s countless absurdities and contrasts. Thanks to his photographic interest I could rest my freezing hands in the warm entrails of my jacket without bothering too much about taking photos. If I spotted something, it was easier for him to capture the moment, rather than risking frostbite myself. Whenever we returned to our shared room, we would warm ourselves with some illegal alcohol that was always comfortably stacked away in the dark corners of our wardrobes and prepare a simply dish, such as French onion soup. A nice onion soup requires long hours of slow cooking and some more of that illegal substance called wine; it’s smell filled the hallways, equally distributing the odour of white wine throughout the building.
Much more can be said about our tricky situation in Kazan and the way we mutually assisted each other in dealing with bureaucracy, strict authorities, stubborn teachers and our inner temptation to let everything be, but I’d rather end this part by referring to an older article (i.e. Breathing in the air of Glasnost and other stories from within the Ural mountain range) and my greatest gratitude towards him for following through with our silly plan to its end.

One plan that didn’t fully fail, despite ever changing means of transportation that drastically change throughout our preparation time at home and during our stay in Russia, including as many possibilities as six: buying an authentic LADA with which we could have traversed all of Russia in a speed similar to the development of public opinion in Soviet Russia, renting a car, taking a train, hitchhiking, taking marshrutka or even asking for military support (considering Ludwig’s uncle’s proximity to Russian military, this appeared somewhat within the limits of the possible). Even our initial idea to move to Yekaterinburg instead of Kazan was quickly thrown overboard. Little of what we planned actually did come into effect.
We are in a crass contrast to the Italian students. All of them appeared to know what their future will look like. That is, apart from on an emotional basis, where they surprised us and, mostly likely, themselves with their sudden changes in partners. The absurdities didn’t seem to bother them as much since they hadn’t really put too much consideration into this matter.
Both Russian mindset and its language seem to be about equally complicated to understand and mastering both at the same time requires a lot of attention and work. There’s different ways of how best to deal with this problem. Combining them worked best for me, as I got to e.g. listen to songs (mostly Viktor Coi) and then analyse the lyrics so in order to memorise new words by hearing the words repeatedly in your head while rambling through Kazan. Other ways could include literature or playing a theater role in a Russian piece. There were those students who approached the language learning process from a practical direction. However, apparently a language can be treated solely as a means of communication, therefore, dealing with the cultural or political aspect can be disregarded as useless. Some of our fellow foreign students had, prior to Russia, learnt a very decent level of Russian that was almost flawless when it came to grammatical aspects, however, they had troubles naming a single Russian band upon meeting us. They were immune to all of the nonsense that was forced on us, because they hardly questioned the system in any critical way which gave them an incredible advantage. It was especially the Italian students, who were surprised to know that the system Putin has (re-)introduced some very silly laws (though some locals were also not informed about it as well).

Maybe it was the obvious oblivion for most features of Russian musical culture and questionable political delusions that made a handful of people disciplined to a degree that they could communicate almost entirely in the Russian language outside of (sometimes) frustrating courses while, simultaneously, prepare for IELTS test and translate all of Homer’s Odyssey from English into Italian. Time to introduce to the blog a new Italian girl: Beatrice, the girl that goes by a different name, but who inspired me to write this very entry that you are reading at this moment.
Beatrice is extremely devoted to the cause and took up the challenge of living in Russia and learning the language with ease – or at least so it appeared. Blessed almost exclusively with positive character traits she could have served as an inspiration to us when it comes to punctuality, hard-working, language acquisition and reliability concerning homework. And, indeed, she was one of the few foreign friends that I’ve acquired during my stay in Kazan who would insist on speaking Russian. Though my brains came steaming out of my ears after the initial first weeks of lessons (a great adaptation to the language occurred with great force – the cold of the Russian winter helped cool our overheated heads), discussions during our walk through dense snowfall back to the student’s dorm tickled out a little bit of energy.
What shocked me therefore, for it is in crass contrast with my perspective, that she was practically entirely unaware of modern Russian culture, music and even politics. Why burden oneself with learning a language as complicated as Russian if of is all but dimly aware of what to do with it? Possibly out of contemplation that, at the end of one’s studies, there WILL be job opportunities (e.g. as translator/interpreter)? Although I am grateful of her efforts to make me be understood by Russian natives, I am not sure if I managed to raise her interest in Russian culture.

Russia, the land of contrasts, where everything should be expected, especially as it to megalomaniac ideas or ideals that grazed off of both sides of the extremes. This probably stems from the harsh climate that provides the coldest of winters and the hottest summers alike – Russia, the great sauna. And in this conditions people had come up with gigantic living quarters that stretch as far as the eye can see, though, одновременно, containing as many constitutional elements as any right-winged populist speech – that is little to nothing. In between enormous hubs of technological progress that are scattered all over the stupendous surface of Russia lay 1000s of miles of backwardly nothingness.
The diversity of the Russian soul manifests itself in its inhabitants and in those who reside in it, even temporarily. On one hand we have the hard-working Italians, whose energy didn’t diminish all throughout the semester, while on the other hand we have Uka, the Inebriate Mongolian Viking.

Uka – epitome of laziness and sociability, mostly in combination with procrastination and alcohol abuse. Though always defending the grandeur of the Mongolian empire or whatever is left of it, his patriotism does not present a hindrance to interculturality, especially concerning exchange of musical knowledge. Therefore, Uka manifests itself mainly in two ways: a fostered sense of belonging to the Mongolian nation, enabling him to carry on lengthy discussions about this very country, laying out major historical aspects and political manoeuvres of the leading families to anyone (particularly to Chinese people), and the willingness to absorb every kind of musical recommendation, placing them in a cognitive spectrum – some genres feature qualities over other genres, with certain mixes amplifying in an ultimate greatness, namely Level 5. Level 5 mostly contain traces of folkloric songs, combined with elements of modern rock/metal. Some may say that this is Post Modern music. Here are some examples:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vztRqe_CHC0

Old friends sharing their experiences with governmental experiments concerning Acid in the tap water

Half-sarcastic, though witty transition!
Despite the repressive nature of our student’s dorm and its arbitrary nature, we got into touch with some Russian fellows from out of this dimension. Credits go to Kyösti.Official for this one, as he introduced The Dudes to us. The dudes befriended each other already at a very young age and probably swore at that time that they should destabilise Kazan as much as possible by incessantly challenging Russian laws and codes of behaviour. This expression of civil disobedience, though not necessarily always wanted or anticipated by themselves, displayed itself in a profound liking of foreigners, whom they invited to home parties; those would often escalate into trespassing onto a construction side.

Are they considered to be a threat to the state just because they climb abandoned places?
Maybe. It’s Russia. But this, far from being the worst things that we could have done, was barely a drop in an ocean of stereotypes and dangers (not just to the state, though). Not only had Pasha, one of The Dudes, tuned his car to such a degree that the acceleration was bound to self-obliterate the vehicle (while cables were hanging out from the front part), he also had a lot a gadgets in his flat that could pose a threat. It’s one thing to have some radioactive isotopes stored on the balcony where everyone smokes, it’s another to have extremely reactive Potassium stored it as well – in due course he’d demonstrate this element, and throw it down his balcony into the snow beneath; a formidable explosion followed its impact. They were some of the most exceptional people though. A radio communication set in the living room, a few guitars plus amplifiers that would made the neighbours go on a late-night rampage to the restore order, a good load of beer and a loaded playlist of car tuning always ready on youtube added up to an outstanding party. Those were the moments when my stuttered and strangled Russian rendered me particularly speechless – a feeling that is mostly negligible while hitchhiking.

I was glad to be with them, here at the end of all things

It’s difficult to asses how many more names, places and faces should be named, and, doing so, how many more names should be disfigured and regurgitated in a grotesque way. Despite the fact that all have individual traits 180° opposite to the ones even of like-minded people, some specific characteristics could only be tickled out, as the group dynamic came into play.
Ludwig and I have way to the combined Finish effort (Kyösti.Official and The TitAntti) at consuming beer before Русское кино in order to make the films a tad funnier. It was one of those precious masculine moments: 30 minutes of tranquility and sunshine, just about enough to soften the emotional downfall that followed the previous lessons. Beer shaped this lovely friendship.

Coincidence got me thinking back to Luxembourg, thanks to the two classmates of mine who both originate more or less in the same region as my humble self. I’m delighted to realise that, whenever I return home, there will be friends waiting whom I have met in the far East and therefore share a unique fondness of heart.
ComeIn, the cheap Anti-Café on the student’s dorm’s campus, often instigated me to spend my sunday evening in a discussing way, protecting well-grounded arguments for a good cause, beneficent to all. It was the single-most international meeting point in Kazan. Any ethnicity or nation was represented, and a vivid exchange never failed to establish between those who attended. The conclusion of this somehow found expression in us playing frisbee during the happy evenings of Ramadan, while listening to Russian Hard Bass and screaming “Parkour!” like absolute madmen (and women).
This last picture will accurate exemplify our relations, taken beside the Глубакое озеро in the fading months of winter, just after a refreshing swim. One will never know what’s gonna await one at the end of it all. Much that was will be forgotten, fading away, becoming rumour and eventually legend. And our moments were legendary, in our particular idiom. And that’s life for you. Some moments are so precious, that they are worth waiting and remembering.

“А “жизнь” – только слово, есть лишь любовь и есть смерть…
Эй! А кто будет петь, если все будут спать?
Смерть стоит того, чтобы жить,
А любовь стоит того, чтобы ждать…“
                 – Viktor Coi, Легенда

Breathing in the air of Glasnost and other stories from within the Ural mountain range

The time after exams was marked with a concluding travel in the northern regions of Russia. Our wanderlust had long been waiting for the escape from university and academic responsibilities, as neither me nor Ludwig had had any break in studying for the last 8 or 9 months (not including shorter holidays like Christmas or the madness around 9th may). Despite the failure of our initial plans of renting a car and comfortably cruising through Ural mountains with the eager desire to visit outstanding Russian cities like Asbest or Nizhny Tagil, we embarked on a journey that would have us wonder at the other, brighter sides of Russia that I myself had only experienced to a minimal amount. If you are by now wondering why you have never heard head of these cities, don’t trouble your mind for it was the purest coincidence that let us to Nizhny Tagil – it was but a meme that I found on the Internet before coming to Russia.

Russia is that big of a country, that when it’s 10am in Moscow, everything is still 1994 in Nizhny Tagil.

Right after the disgraceful ending of our academic semester in Kazan, we met up with the other exchange students for a beer, then took the night train to Ekaterinburg where we had the great privilege of staying at a Russian friend’s place for our time there. Ekaterinburg… the city where we initially wanted to do our exchange; the city that surprised us as soon as we arrived; the city that had held us in awe as long as were there; a city full of pleasant surprises. In fact, the place often felt somewhat related to a Western city, as it offered a rather free choice to the inhabitant when it comes to overcoming usual social restrictions that were always sensible in Kazan.
It, furthermore, is considered the Ural capitol of Rock music. After long strolls through EKB we stumbled upon a park surrounding a pedestrian lane around a embedded rivulet. From there a small tunnel underneath a main road in the centre led to a greater basin of that same rivulet. The tunnel was insofar remarkable and astonishing as it was the so-called “Виктор Цой Туннель” (Viktor Tsoi Tunnel): all of the walls were covered in paintings and graffitis of the deceased, but still illustrious singer/song-writer that carries the nickname “the Last Soviet Hero”. In the middle of it always stands an Asian-looking singer (Asian, but not Indian… it was rather the East-Asian looking type), replaying greatest Tsoi hits, while exploiting his own appearance to earn large amounts of money.

Besides many other memorable places one building in particular struck us as unbelievable: right there, in the middle of a Russian city, stood a perfect example of an Armenian church in red bricks. A Barevzez to the priest paved the way for a guided tour through the church and over the premises. After a few explanations our surprise and disbelief vanished as effectively as Vampires when they see sunshine for the first time; the amount of Armenians living on Russian ground is significantly higher than the population of the originating country itself. After providing us with knowledge he recommended us to visit an Armenian restaurant in town – after the painful acclimatisation that was the almost tasteless and meat-heavy Russian kitchen,  every bite of indubitably authentic Armenian cuisine made my taste buds shiver from excitement.

Before you continue, you should look up some pictures of Nizhny Tagil (Нижний Тагил) and let the view have a first impression on you. This is what we did. And everyone with whom we talk to about our idea of seeing this lovely Soviet industrial horror was in turn looking at us with a face of a Teletubby. And, indeed, arriving in the city and seeing it with our own eyes confirmed all of our wildest imaginations. That is: Thick clouds of smokes escaping the many factories intestines, all indicating a different intensity of danger to the health; Soviet buildings all over the place; stray dogs roaming the roads; and drunk men squatting in the parks.
All in all a promising start!
Not even ten minutes after our arrival, a few drunkards saw us two strangers walking around with photo material and immediately insisted on posing for a portrait of them, that we immediately printed out for them (one exemplary I used as a postcard and it should already circulate somewhere in Europe).

Sitting in a Vienna-styled café and Pirogi restaurant, we checked the Internet for places to stay and eventually decided to book an Airbnb for little money close to the central city. However, there appeared to have been a misunderstanding between the unfortunate owner of the apartment and a money-grubbing office behind, that were not even aware, that the place was for rent online (one phone call had already cleared our path, whereas the following one undermined the slightest possibility of the existence of that same place). As the payment had already been completed, we insisted on moving into the flat for the time our stay, and eventually ended up sitting in the office with the employees waiting for their unpleasant boss to show up. About four hours, a couple of teas and the additional payment of another 1000roubles caused the temporary evacuation of the mistreated owner and her two children. Right after sundown he headed out again to further explore the city, despite the unlucky star it seamed to stand under. While moving around aimlessly, Ludwig and I stopped in a wonderful backyard to take in all of the architectural details and the invigorating harmony of buildings and nature. A car stopped. The driver and his wife noticed me and Ludwig taking pictures. A few words were exchanged. More inhabitants appeared out of thin air and joined us. And before long we found ourselves in a car on its way to a bar that is being provided with local beer – beer brewed by a Mexican guy who studied the magic of brewery in Berlin! A beer that was truly excellent in taste and design of the bottles. I can only heartily recommend any friend of the hop brew to pilgrimage to Nizhny Tagil and support the local brewing art!

A great beer! Really! Trust me! Mexicans can create amazing beer – legally!

Random people desperately trying to understand what we were doing in their city

The initial idea of our trip to Nizhny Tagil was, however, a completely different one: we wanted pictures, pictures of industry! Of the raw, polluting power of the purest of all Russian factories. In fact, we wanted to capture the whole scale of monstrosities that is the patriotic Russian tank industry (Tagil is fond over its tanks. The local souvenir industry is making a large split between showing the beauty of Tagil and, on the other hand, showing the full potential of its factory output).
Little did we know that on the next day the city was engulfed with genuine patriotic sentiments over a marine battle that was won by Imperial Russia over a 100 years ago. As the only logical result, by midday all the men in the city had already consumed a dangerous amount of alcoholic beverages and strayed around the city, waving flags of the Флот (fleet). This, of course, meant some beautiful motives for Ludwig. After turning down a few invitations to vodka we made our ascend to Лисья Гора [Lisya Gora] from where me made some incredible shots of the dimly lighted, terrifyingly polluting factories that would make every climate activist go on a rampage.

The strange beauty of pollution at night time

After shivering for easily 3 hours in the cold wind that had been continuously harassing our position, we decided to pack our stuff and leave, though without being perfectly satisfied. As the night started descending upon us, the flame ceased a little, and the steam escaping the factory on a regular basis served as the main motive. The minute our stuff was packed away, the flame rose up to an height, yet unknown to us while another white cloud was spit out of the deepest intestines of the urban nightmare. The mixture created the effect of what looked like an enormous explosion over the factories.
Unfortunately, we didn’t manage to capture it. It was stunning. Simply breathtaking. The hours of exhausting waiting for the perfect moment would have been absolutely worth it, but our patience had left us five minutes too early.

On the following days, we said goodbye to EKB by drinking beers and hearing about locals expressing their concerns towards either immigration to Europe or homosexuals in general… big country, same absurd fear everywhere. They, however, provided us with an unexpected gift that had us rejoicing for many hours and carried us through the city on eagle’s wings. The reputation of the city, i.e. rock capitol of the Ural, loudly resounded through the evening streets. With the coda harmoniously ebbing away, we split from our friends in EKB and prepared for the trip back the next day.
At the train station, an unexpected sight caught our sight. A souvenir that is a fine addition to my collection of small presents from Russia.

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For more pictures, access Ludwig Schubert Photo’s Instagram Profile: https://500px.com/ludwig94
or: https://500px.com/ludwig94

Wodkakonsum garantiert durch EU-Gelder: Eine Erasmus Story

Versucht es selbst mal! Bei der Erwähnung eines Begriffs, schreibt man sich den ersten Gedanken auf, der einem dazu einfällt. Nun überlegt ganz fix was euch durch den Kopf schießt, wenn man „Russland“ sagt. Ich habe den Test selbstverständlich mit zufälligen Leuten durchgeführt und dabei ist folgendes herausgekommen: Wodka, Putin, Bären und schöne Frauen.

Ludwig mit Vladimir Vladimirovich in der Föderalen Kazaner Universität

Ich habe angefangen das Land mit anderen Augen zu betrachten und mit von den Klischees zu entfernen. Aus diesem Grund, habe ich mich dazu entschieden, freiwillig nach Russland zu reisen um mich näher mich den Absurditäten vertraut zu machen. Im Rahmen des akademischen Austausches mit Erasmus (wir erhalten eine kleine Finanzspritze, daher der Titel), hat es mich zum Studium nach Kazan gezogen. Kazan ist ein Hotspot des friedlichen Zusammenlebens verschiedener ethnischer Gruppen. Allerdings bin ich nicht alleine angereist, sondern zusammen mit dem teuren Ludwig aus Berlin, um uns in ein Abenteuer zu stürzen in diesem kalten und zum großen Teil unwirtlichen Land. Keiner konnte sich eine Fortführung des Studiums ohne den anderen vorstellen, da wir uns bereits seit dem ersten Tag an der Uni kennen und seither eine ewig währende Freundschaft geschlossen haben, und… ja, ja! Wir kommen wohl wahrscheinlich nicht durch den „Homo Scan“, ohne dass alle Sirenen Alarm schlagen (leider gibt es die in echt und die stehen in jeder Metrostation).

Hier noch ein Bild von Ludwig:

Mein Blog wird mehr oder weniger aufgebaut sein wie zuvor. Neue, herausragende und ungewöhnliche Erfahrungen werden im gleichen eigensinnigen Stil notiert werden. Sobald wir uns in einer Situation befinden, die unsere Stereotypen von Russland entweder bestätigen oder in Frage stellen, wird ein Artikel darüber erscheinen. Aus jenem Grund werden wahrscheinlich Einträge zu den oben genannten Themen erscheinen – das heißt: Wodka, Putin, Bären und ähnliches.

Andererseits können auch kleinere Veränderungen vorgenommen werden. Im Kontrast zur traditionellen politischen Sphäre Russlands bin ich offen für verschiedene Meinungen und würde mich sehr darüber freuen, wenn jemand Kommentare oder Vorschläge für neue Einträge reinstellen würde. Welche Aspekte des typischen Lebens in Russland würde euch interessieren? Vielleicht die Küche? Oder vielmehr ein kleiner Reisebericht über eine Zusammenkunft mit einem Bären? Oder ist es ein direkter Vergleich zwischen russischer und tatarischer Gastfreundschaftlichkeit der euch faszinieren könnte?
Es gibt sogar noch mehr! Ludwig ist ein ausgezeichneter Fotograf. Darum haben wir uns gedacht, dass man unsere Talente vereinen könnte und meinen Blog mit seinen Bildern schmücken und andersrum seinen Bilden eine weitere Bedeutungsebene hinzufügen könnte. Leider können wir eine 100% Fortsetzung der Bildqualität nicht garantieren, da wir beide möglicherweise irgendwann unterschiedliche Wege einschlagen werden und ich daher auf meine eigenen Aufnahmen bauen muss.
Ein letztes Detail noch: Der Blog wird von nun an immer auch auf Deutsch veröffentlicht werden. Für die, die das Deutsche dem Englischen vorziehen und auch jene, die Deutsch lernen wollen und an einem direkten Vergleich zwischen den beiden Sprachen interessiert sind, könnte sich diese Entwicklung als interessant anbieten (leider können wir eine perfekte und fehlerlose Sprache nicht immer versprechen).

Fühlt euch frei, den Blog zu teilen, zu kommentieren, zu lesen, und, vor allem anderen, zu genießen!

(P.S.: Für weitere Bilder von Ludwig’s Seite, schaut euch doch seinen Insta an:
https://500px.com/ludwig94 )

Potatoes, Tanks and KFC: Wonders of Modern Socialism

I was in Belarus.
It is not Russia and they also don’t speak Russian. In fact, they all understand it and it’s one of the two official languages.
The politics are not Russian. They are mostly just a relict from Soviet times that missed some important events in the world.
The food certainly isn’t anything like Russian one. Beside the Borschch that is served cold and with sour cucumbers… or the many potatoes… Blinis perhaps? The potato pancakes, the Draniki, are very untypical for Russia indeed.
The people aren’t Russian. Even though the culture is very similar, to a degree that locals can’t name 5 things that vary from their Eastern neighbour. There are some differences, which are similar to those from Ukraine, such as the national folk dresses – I’ve been told that the colours are different from the ones in Ukraine and/or Lithuania!
The history certainly must be something unlike the one from Russia. And, truly, the medieval times were marked by a direct cooperation with Lithuania and Poland. Until the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth struggled with its existence and Belarus was absorbed by Russians. When their former Northern ally demanded its freedom from Russia, Belarusians joined the movement of independence, but then failed at strengthening their own culture to a similar extent as the Baltic States.

Vytis, the knight on the cup, is also one of the two Lithuanian flag// The stork is the national bird of most Baltic States, including Belarus

Then it was absorbed into Soviet Union from which it’s barely escaped. Now the country is stuck in a silly limbo between capitalist influences from outside and an “authoritarian democracy” that takes care of a population of alcoholics (Belarus figures as number 1 on the statistics). Yet, the overconsumption of alcoholic beverages is hardly noticeable in Minsk where the streets are clean and no graffiti taints the walls. The only truly artsy place I’ve had the pleasure of seeing was the Oktyabrskaya street, where the entirety of the free-thinking and intellectual society lives. Many enormous paintings can be observed, while ordering some sort of drink in one of the many cafés in the area – Moby Dick Café being the one with the best music and service – or strolling down the road, all under the solemn gaze of Comrade Lenin.

 

 

The most interesting about the city Minsk, however, is this very limbo I mentioned earlier: The first thing I noticed upon my arrival in the city were the long and clean boulevards that all point to the historical and political centre of the city, whose sides were covered by McDonalds and KFC “restaurants”. A friend rightly observed that the basis on which the regime in all of its absurdities is constructed is deep-fried, unhealthy food from the USA.

 

 

What absurdities though?
Let’s take the newly-founded “Tank Day” (День Танкиста) for example. Once a year for the last 5 years or so, thanks to the most prominent crew of World of Tanks – not kidding, I’m not making this up – the celebration day was introduced and is traditionally held in the Victory Park. One could say that it is a perfect example of blunt military propaganda. Apart from the numerous craft beer stands and corn sellers, some sort of military circus was presented (with animals, i.e. extremely well-trained dogs). Then, if one continues further into the park one will eventually reach an island on the river that was renamed  “Partisan Island” for the special occasion. The backwardness of the industry, the politics and, to some extent, the society reaches its peak. The military presence and the possible threat which might result from it is ubiquitously felt all over the city, at all times. This not only manifests itself in the great number of young men (and few women) in uniforms everywhere, but also in the unbalanced men-to-women-ratio in Minsk.
On that island everything is about Partisans and resistance, as the name already suggests. Traditional partisan and Red Army songs are sung with great enthusiasm – toast to Товарищ Сталин! As one proceeds further along the river bed, one can listen to Partisan theatre pieces and the like. Lastly, it is apparently common practice to have your child photographed with Kalashnikov and helmet in front of soldiers dressed in WWII army fashion. Or just have them play around with real weapons; who knows when it come in handy to know how to assemble and dissemble a gun?
And as the happy family is leaving the beautifully decorated and staged park, why not buy the child a ballon filled with helium… in the shape of a tank? He’s behaved well. And with this little piece of souvenir he’ll certainly remember the experience in a positive light.
I frankly enjoyed this day way too much. The whole event was simply too preposterously ridiculous and the people’s reactions by no means critical, so that I couldn’t hold back a little giggle from time to time. Nothing similar would be possible in most Western countries and especially not in Berlin – after crossing a shitload many pro-vegan, meat-condemning chalk writings on the ground, I stand assured that the warmongering side of Germany has abated.

 

 

 

Some more information on my trip there – for those who actually care: After two weeks of summer school in Kaunas, Lithuania and a week of traveling in the other Baltic States, I had spent two additional weeks in Minsk in order to study the Russian language even harder. The most intensive, laborious and honestly most beneficial part was the hitchhiking trip back to European Union, as I was forced to speak only Russian for little over 6 hours with different people while discussing many different topics (one being the prices of Cocaine in Moscow, as the driver was working and celebrating there).
Some other posts on this trip might follow.

Lastly, many thanks to the usual candidates (i.e. the Royal Society for Putting Things on Top of Other Things), but foremost to our lovely teachers in Minsk, the greatly caring people that I’ve met from Belarus who welcomed my warmly and offered me a different perspective on politics and people’s mentality, the Red Army…? Is it still the Red One? At least, they didn’t wear no Soviet Emblems anymore Belarusian Army for not shooting me on grounds of espionage or whatever other reason they might have come up with and, of course, the (mostly) German group with which I arrived. Furthermore, the many drivers who offered me a ride all the way back to Berlin. Special thanks to Nino for hosting me and introducing me to Poznan. It’s a great city. Really. Trust me.

(Fun drinking game to play in Belarus: Every time you see someone in military uniform you need to drink a shot. Success guaranteed! If you play this on “Tank Day”, your liver is gonna explode in an ultimate cloud of alcohol and blood you need a strong constitution.)