This big piece of metal and stone is, «разумеется» [naturally; of course], a «Памятник В. И. Ленину от трудящихся Челябинска» [monument to V. I. Lenin from the workers of Chelyabinsk], standing in the very heart of the city of «Челябинск» [Chelyabinsk]. This city with more than a million inhabitants is located in «Южный Урал» [the South Urals] about a three hour drive on a disastrously dangerous highway from «Екатеринбург» [Yekaterinburg].

Actually I didn’t really spend the past «выходные» [days off; ‘weekend’] «в деревне» [‘in a village’ – that’s locative case of the noun «деревня», meaning village; the country (as opposed to the city)], but «в посёлке» [‘in a settlement’ – that’s also locative case, this time from the noun «посёлок»: village; community; settlement] about a thirty minutes drive away from the big city «Челябинск». The «посёлок» [this noun is constructed from the imperfect/perfect verb couple «поселять/поселить» meaning to settle] I spent my weekend in is called «Полетаево» and is where the parents of my friend «Ксения» [Xenia] live in a little house. This was not my first visit ‘down south’ in the Urals; I went with Xenia to visit her family there in February 2008 (which I think, and everyone will agree, seems like an eternity ago by now). Since then much has changed, not only in the life of Xenia’s family, but also in Russia in general. As I’m writing this post I keep finding myself troubled with how to start, with where to begin and how to take it from there and get to the point I would like to make today. The thing is that I’ve lived in Russia for five years, and I know that I haven’t lived in ALL of Russia, but I’ve lived in three different cities, and I consider myself pretty familiar with this country in many ways that most people aren’t. Before this weekend I felt like I held Russia in the palm of my hand, like I knew it all. After this weekend I feel like I don’t get Russia at all. Furthermore, it feels like I’m in the palm of her hand – and not the other way around. The experience of seeing the Russian countryside up-close this weekend felt to me like being thrown into cold water suddenly. «Мировой экономический кризис» [the world economic crisis] has indeed hit hard on the Russian countryside – a part of this country that wasn’t doing too well to begin with. Along the roads we kept seeing both old and young people standing selling different things – «ягоды» [berries], «грибы» [mushrooms], «веники» [brooms made of twigs] – and Xenia’s father commented: «Это они не от нечего делать так стоят. Нужно заработать хоть несколько рублей на жизнь» [“They’re not standing like because they have nothing better to do. They have to earn at least a few rubles to live on”].

This is what a usual Russian «огород» [vegetable garden] looks like.

«Полтора года назад» [a year and a half ago] Xenia’s parents lived in an apartment in the city, but last spring they bought a house in the settlement and moved out of town. Their house, or more specifically – their garden – has literally saved the family from hunger since the crisis started last fall and Xenia’s father stopped receiving his paycheck regularly. There’s no grass in the garden around their house. They have no place where one might lay around and soak up some southern Ural sun, no lawn to play games on and no seats on which one could relax with «последний роман Сорокина» [the latest Sorokin novel]. Their garden is one big «огород» [vegetable garden]: everywhere grow things that one can eat.

«Капуста» [cabbage] – I can already know how good these will taste fried up with some onions inside traditional Russian «пирожки» [small pies; patties]!

 During the spring and summer months many Russian who aren’t rich – and most Russians aren’t rich – work in their garden like an extra job. Have you ever wondered how come the Russians have survived time and time again of periods when there’s nothing to buy in the stores? Well, there’s no need for you to wonder anymore! Russians grow everything they can grow in their own «садах» [gardens] or «дачах» [summerhouses] and then build food reserves for the long winter. In the year 2009 Russia spent over a billion rubles on «Евровидение» [Eurovision Song Contest] in Moscow while in the Russian countryside people can’t afford even «хлеб» [bread] and school kids show up to class drunk already at the age of 10. No, I’m not making this up. I have met villagers who can’t buy bread; even though I haven’t seen drunken school kids (though I’ve seen plenty of minors drinking beer on their way to school here in Yekaterinburg). When I said that what Russia really needs is to get an educated population, that it is great that higher education is still partly available in Russia for free, then Xenia’s mother asked me what kind of village parents can support a child studying in the city when the monthly state stipend consists of 1100 rubles? I didn’t have an answer to that. On Saturday evening Xenia’s parents took me «помыться в бане» [to wash in a sauna; steam bath] at their friend’s house – they called this friend «Дядя Толя» [uncle Tolya; «Толя» is short for «Анатолий»: Anatoly] – and afterwards we drank tea together and had a heated discussion on politics. They wanted to know what my mother grows in her garden back home in Sweden – my mother does not grow anything in her garden – and this they couldn’t fathom. Why not? Does she not need her own supply own «картошка» [potatoes] and «капуста» [cabbage] for the winter? I tried my best to explain the ‘Swedish system’, at which «дядя Толя» commented: «Да, вы шведы кое-что позаимствовали у наших русских коммунистов – социализм» [“Yes, you Swedes borrowed a little something from our Russian communists – socialism”]. After this comment I found myself lost for words a little while. And instead of saying anything, I just smiled and he kept talking to me in a steady, soft voice that filled the house as the sun set outside over the hills. When you’re all clean and wet and warm «из бани» and you’re drinking sweet tea in a small house far away in the Russian country side with «дядя Толя» who might be old now, but sure looks like he was a handsome man back in the days, the least important thing is to keep track of who’s right or who’s wrong. On such Saturday nights you simply do your best to soak up the cultural differences that make you a richer individual – on the inside.

In «Челябинская область» [the Chelyabinsk Region] there are a lot of villages called «башкирские деревни» [Bashkir villages]. In them live «башкиры» [Bashkirs], belonging to one of the many peoples of Russia. They’re «мусульмане» [Muslims] and that’s why there’s at least one «мечеть» [fem., mosque] in all of their villages. Not far from such a village we first came across this «пастух» [shepherd] on a horse with his cows, then it started to rain and we picked up «бабушка» [sometimes it means ‘an old woman’] and drove her home. She had an adorable accent! And I was especially proud of myself for spotting a fellow non-native speaker of Russian without being warned first. Small victories, it is all about small victories…

So what else can one do in the Russian countryside, except for drinking endless cups of tea, planting potatoes and discussing the brilliant short stories by «Шукшин» [Shukshin]? Well, for example one can take a bucket and head out in the fields to pick «земляника» [wild strawberries], or…

…why not take the old faithful for a drive downtown to «играть в бильярд» [shoot some pool]? After all, as the old saying goes: ‘Life in Russia is only limited by your own imagination’… or maybe that’s not an old saying at all but something I came up with right now?