The DeGeorges

I met the DeGeorges because of a T-Shirt. I was sitting near the only available power outlets in terminal 9 of JFK charging my laptop and surreptitiously snacking on the rye crisps and salami I had brought from Moscow when somebody asked me "How many can you juggle?" For a moment I had no idea how he knew I was a juggler, but then I remembered I was wearing my juggling t-shirt, so I turned around and replied "five."

We got to talking. It turns out that the DeGeorges were heading to Pittsburgh, just like me, and that they had a daughter my age working there. We talked more. The DeGeorges were coming back from a trip in Italy. They hadn't traveled in a long while. I was coming back from my trip to Moscow. Travel was a bit less foreign to me. They found out I loved the mountains, and that I knew next to nobody in Pitsburgh, and offered to show me their mountains if I ever came down to where they lived. As we patiently waited through the long plane delays, our mutual suffering brought us closer. I felt for a little while that the DeGeorges were my family away from my mother in this airport that certainly was not home.

When we arrived to Pittsburgh I met the DeGeorges' daughter Courey, and the DeGeorges made sure I found a cab. We said our goodbyes, and I thought to myself, "There goes a wonderful family I will probably never see again."

But, I was wrong. I had thought about the DeGeorges a little during my first week at school, wondering what the Fourth of July would be like with them, and wishing I had something to do that weekend. Then, late on Wednesday night (the fourth of July was on Friday), Courey wrote on my Facebook wall and asked if I wanted to join the DeGeorges for the Fourth of July. I was honestly taken aback. Here were some people that I hardly even knew, and they were inviting me to stay with them for an entire weekend. How could they know that I was just a normal girl and not a thief or a loafer? The DeGeorges were either incredibly nice or slightly mad. Fortunately, I found out during the weekend that they were very much the former.

My weekend with the DeGeorges was wonderful. I found a common language with Courey in my love for cafes, and had a lot of fun discussing crocs and movies with her. Ironically, Courey had convinced me to try to not drink caffeine for 50 days, and I accepted. I'm on 19 now. I was especially impressed by how Courey seems to have a very concrete reason for why she likes things. She knows exactly why she likes Crocs, for example, "Because when I'm old and my grandkids ask me 'did you wear those crazy shoes' I'll proudly say 'yes! I was part of the phenomenon!' "

I felt so comfortable in their house, working on my website during the day, eating wonderful dinners and talking with them at night. The DeGeorges are easily some of the nicest people I've met in my entire life.

My favorite part of the weekend was going hiking on Hemlock trail, a secluded, rainforest-like path through the woods of West Virginia. The air there was so dense that I felt I was in a rainforest.

My second-favorite part of the weekend was probably going to Mass on Sunday. I am not religious, but the DeGeorges were pretty serious Catholics. I was surprised to see just how much of their lives involved religion in some form. It wasn't just praying before dinner; God seemed to come up in so many of the conversations we had together. I've always been open to religion, and really enjoyed talking about God with my friend Caleb. So, I really enjoyed listening to these conversations. I did feel a little bit uncomfortable before Mass on Sunday, mostly because I didn't know what to do, and because I knew was not allowed to partake in the entire Mass (thus I was afraid I'd be singled out and stigmatized).

But despite this discomfort, I felt incredibly moved by the Mass. I can't really explain why. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the quiet tone with which the priest spoke, or the serenity of the people around me. During the mass I realized that I didn't understand what was central to the lives of so many people in this world: religion. Nations are created and wars fought because of religion, and I had no understanding of it, religion was missing from my life.

I've decided to change that now. I have started reading the Bible recently, and hope to read the whole thing so that I can better understand God. I am so fortunate to have bumped into the DeGeorges on that day in JFK. Isn't it amazing what a single t-shirt can lead to?

Chocolate Milk

When I was a little girl I remember going to my daddy’s office in building 113 after school and getting chocolate milk. I would always get two cartons, and one thin, brown straw. The milk was Wilcox, two percent with a cow on the front, and games or fun facts on the side. We would always get the chocolate milk just as we were leaving the office, because the kitchen was right next to the elevators. As we headed down the elevators, I would frantically sip through my thin brown straw (sometimes I would get two straws, to drink the milk faster) to consume as much of the chocolate elixir as I could, as quickly as those two brown straws would allow me.

Chocolate milk was my blankie, it was my bunny rabbit, the thumb I sucked to make things better. When I drank chocolate milk all of my worries melted away. My thoughts over my homework, the boy I had a crush on but was too shy to even look at, not wanting to go to karate, which items I should buy on Runescape, or what things I should get for my Sims dissapeared as the chocolate froth made its way down my esophagus.

Times have changed, but chocolate milk has not. The days when I went to my dad’s office in building 113 are no more now that my dad is gone. He had hoped we’d all be better off without him, but I miss getting chocolate milk in building 113, among many other things. I think about different things now. Computer games like Runescape and the Sims don’t interest me as much anymore now that I can earn real money and buy real things. I think I just played those games because I wanted the sense of importance that comes when you can earn your own bread. I no longer imagine fair-tale romances with the crush that I haven’t had in a very long while. Instead, I languish amongst the stale memories of a perfect relationship painfully terminated. I’ve taken a break from karate in order to pursue skiing, but I will come back. In addition to thinking about homework, I worry about where I am heading to after I graduate with my Master’s , and whether I should apply for Google, Microsoft, or both. I think a lot more about whether I am being a good person or not—is it sufficient to make one person happy, or must you make 100 people satisfied? Is there a happiness quota I must fill in order to be complete? There are so many more things I think about now: cooking, money, laundry, research, chores, my side projects.

But, chocolate milk still tasted the same. Before, I would get my chocolate milk free from the fridge in building 113. Now, I buy a gallon of milk from Giant Eagle and mix it with chocolate syrup. My roommate and I go through like 2 gallons of milk a week this way. Chocolate milk is still so comforting. The entire ritual, from pouring the milk into my cup, to lapping it up in small spoonfuls (so it lasts longer), is so soothing. My life is not perfect. But in those moments between the time I mix the milk so vigorously to the moment I sip the last of my chocolate potion from my spoon, I feel relaxed and happy.

Got milk?

Moscow Recipes: Russian Blini

Blini, cheese, meat, sour cream...yum!

Blini are basically the Russian version of crepes, and they are delicious! Although I learned to make blini outside of Moscow, the blini I made in Moscow were good, and I want to share the recipe.

Ingredients:
For every 1 egg...

• 1 cup of flour.
• 1 Tablespoon of sugar.
• 1/4 teaspoon of salt
• 1 cup of milk
• 1 stick of butter (you won't need the whole thing).
  

A little bit of vegetable oil
Some water based on consistency of mix.

You will need:

• A ladle.
• One or several small to medium-sized pans.
• A large mixing bowl
• Something to mix with, or an automatic beater.
  

Directions:

1. Scramble the eggs in a large bowl.
2. Put in sugar, salt, milk, mix.
   
3. Slowly add the flour to the mixture (1 cup at a time), mixing as you go. The mixture should not have any chunks in it every time you add more flower. Make sure you gradually add the flower, and not all at once, because then your batter will get lumpy. It helps to have an automatic beater.
4. Add some vegetable oil to your mixture.
5. Your mixture should now be moderately thick, but should also easily pour out of a ladle. Adjust the consistency of your mixture by using water.
6. Heat several small to medium-sized pans (or crepe pans, if you have them) on medium heat, and put a little oil on them.
7. Once the pans are hot, use your ladle to get some batter and pour the batter onto the pan.
8. Tilt the pan, rolling the batter along the pan until the pan is covered with a thin layer of batter. It may take you several tries to get the thickness correct.
   
9. Place the pan back on the heat, and fill other pans (if you have them) with the batter.
10. Check the blini to see if they are ready to flip. They are ready when they are slightly brown on one side. When the blini are ready, flip them.
    
11. Once both sides are lightly browned, put the blini on a large plate. You will want to put a thin layer of butter on every other blin that goes onto this plate.
12. Remember to put oil on the pans once the blini start to stick to the pan. If you notice your blini sticking to the pan, this may also be because the blini are not done yet...give them some time!

Of course, you should always test your blini once they're cooked for flavor, to make sure they are cooked right!

You can eat blini with jam, nutella, cooked ground beef (with onions), caviar, or anything else that sounds good!

Thank you to my mom for the recipe.

Teeming With Life

My first weekend in Moscow was deceptively quiet. I arrived in the middle of a long weekend to a calm, quiet city. Everyone had gone to their dachya for the long weekend, or were otherwise enjoying their free time in their apartments. The streets of Moscow were deserted. As we travelled with Alexei (a family friend) along the wide, empty roads I felt that we were the only tourists in Moscow, zooming around at an alarming rate.

As I stepped outside the metro station on Monday, I realized how inaccurate my initial impression of Moscow was. Moscow was not the quiet, relaxing city that I thought it was.

Moscow doesn’t have the world’s worst traffic jams (according to Time magazine, this accolade belongs to Sao Paolo), but the endless stream of cars is overwhelming at times. From the old and busted Volgas to the shiny new BMWs that many of Russia’s noviye ruskiyi have, everyone stands virtually still on Moscow’s roads, trying to push their way through to the next block, the next road that might offer relief from the traffic jam. The trucks are the worst, though. Russian trucks spew out a dark, disgusting exhaust that makes you want to cough your lungs out should you be unlucky enough to inhale its fumes. It is often faster to take the metro and walk than to drive in Moscow.

Everybody in Moscow walks fast. You can’t stop in the metro to admire the beautiful halls without getting swept away by the crowd. If you walk slowly, you will soon be enveloped in people pushing past you so it’s best just to hurry like everybody else is. It feels as if everybody in Moscow is always late for something—everyone of these 10 million + residents had something they were doing.

It’s hard to relax in such a bustling city. I felt that in order to fit in with these busy 10 million that I also needed to hurry up and get on relaxing before my vacation ended. But then, hurrying to relax isn’t very relaxing, is it?

Piroghi in St. Petersburg

Piroghi from Stolle

One of my most memorable experiences in St. Petersburg was eating piroghi in a restaurant chain called Shtolle. I remember the first time I had piroghi from Shtolle. We had just arrived to St. Petersburg, and were all hungry, so we decided to go have dinner.

I was in the middle of my cold, and my throat hurt. I seem to remember that it was raining, but my memory may be deceiving me. You see, it is raining right now, so I might just be projecting the current atmosphere into the past. My mind sometimes tricks me this way.

The shtolle we entered into had a cellar-like atmosphere. I immediately liked the dark light, the wooden tables and leather couches in the restaurant. After ordering some soup, piroghi and pelmeni, we sat down in one of these comfortable chairs (of course we moved a couple of times because my sister Dasha couldn’t find a comfortable place to sit) to wait for our food. The soup and piroghi came out at once. I’m not sure if this was just because I had a sore throat, but I found the soup and piroghi to be incredible soothing. The soup massaged my throat, and the soft, tender flavors of the piroghi (with cabbage) lathered my throat with smooth, delicious flavors. This was the first time in Russia where I was inspired to close my eyes in order to fully enjoy the complementary flavors of the salty mushroom soup and the mild, sweet flavor of the piroghi. This meal was a celebration for my mouth, my throat, and my mind.

The next day, my sisters, Kolia, and I made a similar excursion to another St. Petersburg Shtolle, but this time we took our piroghi to go, as we planned to eat them during our night-long excursion of St. Petersburg’s white nights. But, the piroghi weren’t as good the second time around. We ended up eating the piroghi at home after heating them up, but they weren’t the same without the soup, the dark atmosphere of the restaurant. Maybe it’s just that we were tired, but I found it much harder to appreciate the delicate flavor of these piroghi at 6 am. Piroghi at Shtolle is one of the things I look forward to the next time I visit St. Petersburg.

White Nights

View of St. Petersburg at 4 am.

From June 11 to July 2, St. Petersburg never gets dark. These nights where the sun always seems to be shining just below the horizon are called the White Nights in St. Petersburg. Many people come from all around the world to wander the city in these seemingly endless days. This year my sisters and I decided to explore the city--it's canals, its cathedrals, its bridges during this magical time. My sister's say it's impossible to enter or leave St. Petersburg at this time because the trains and flights are all full, because these white nights are a sight that everyone wants to see.

The white nights in St. Petersburg are truly magical. But I’m a programmer, not a poet, so I couldn't explain or illustrate the majesty of St. Petersburg's white nights. But, I think Pushkin, even when translated into English, does a nice job of depicting the white nights. Here's a short excerpt from his poem, "The Bronze Horseman":

I love thy harmonies austere,
And Neva's sovran waters breaking
Along her banks of granite sheer;
Thy traceried iron gates; thy sparkling,
Yet moouless, meditative gloom
And thy transparent twilight darkling;
And when I write within my room
Or lampless, read--then, sunk in slumber,
The empty thoroughfares, past number,
Are piled, stand clear upon the night;
The Admiralty spire is bright;
Nor may the darkness mount, to smother
The golden cloudland of the light,
For soon one dawn succeeds another
With barely half-an-hour of night.

Teaching Kids to Juggle

I love children. They are full of dreams, desires and the potential to do so many things. I got to teach some of my sister Dasha’s students how to juggle during my trip to Moscow, and really enjoyed it. Finally, I got to make a difference (however small) in the lives of some people in Moscow. I like teaching kids because I feel like I can really have an important impact on their lives. I don’t know if any of these kids will go on to become great jugglers, but I do know that I became inspired to juggle by another juggler who taught me. I remember how much that juggler inspired me, and hope that I’ll be able to inspire others with my juggling as well.

Tea

Dasha, Galia and Kolia sitting down for tea in St. Petersburg

Besides sleeping, I think that the activity I spent the most time doing in Russia was drinking tea. Tea is the non-alchoholic social bonding alternative to vodka, and is the only thing you can really drink (unless you want to drink boiled water) if you don’t want to be poisoned by Moscow’s less-than-clean water.

I drank tea every morning along with breakfast (sometimes I even had two cups), then usually had tea with my lunch. Sometimes we would stop in the afternoon for another cup of tea, and then I always had tea (or honey water) after dinner. That totals to at least 3 cups of tea a day.

I used to think that drinking tea was a waste of time. But now I realize that it’s a great way to get to know people, and to discuss and understand events in life. Tea is a great excuse to eat candy, or to make blini. Tea is how we come to understand why the traffic is so bad, what the weather will be like, and what we will be doing tomorrow. It is a time when you aren’t doing anything really, just sitting, talking, thinking. What a great time. I’ve found that I haven’t had any tea time in Pittsburgh. In Pittsburgh I am always doing, I haven’t had time to just sit down and think. I miss that about my time in Moscow.