Dear friends and family...

A few weeks ago I went to an expensive mexican restaurant. It was a fun night with friends so I thought, "ok I'll order something small." Turns out the place was so great and we were having so much fun trying new things that we just kept ordering more and more things. Our bill came to $160.00. I share this experience not because I'm tacky and I like to throw out price tags, but because of a glass of citrus juice. Although I'm a water drinker, ("water with lemon, please.") I do appreciate and like to support restaurants, cafes, bars, etc who offer great non-alcoholic drinks. If they offer it, I will order it- even when I'm counting my pennies. The best one I've had all year and probably ever was the mint limeade at Agraria in Georgetown. So at this mexican restaurant (called Oyamel in Penn Quarter, DC) I was impressed with their large selection of juices which took up a large section of their menu. The server was very proud of their juices. So I ordered a glass of citrus juice- and spent more than I wanted to. But it was worth it.


Delicious non-alcoholic drinks are like a beautiful, well-done, thought-provoking PG rated film. They are wholesome AND quality. Those two adjectives come together less frequently than I would like, but when they do, like the drinks, I throw in my support.

Guys. BRIGHT STAR. I saw this film last Friday night at the small independent cinema in DC. I don't believe it's out in main-stream theatres yet, but when it comes out YOU MUST SEE IT. I loved it so much! It is the story of 19th-century British Poet John Keats and his relationship with fashionista Fannie Brawn. It was romantic, realistic, artistic, and emotional. You WILL cry. I repeat. You WILL cry. I loved it.

never heard of before famous people

It's always fun to be in the same room as famous people.

This morning we had an unveiling ceremony of a portrait of Tommy Lasorda.

Who?

That's ok. I too had never heard of him until a few days ago. I wasn't even going to go to the event, but we were all encouraged to go, so I went and I'm glad I did. All around me were people in suits and black dresses. Men were signing baseballs, autographs, taking group pictures, etc.

Tommy Lasorda played for the LA Dodgers baseball team. He went on to manage the team and do a lot of other baseball things. He spoke and he is quite the character. The CEO of the LA dodgers spoke, and the Commissioner of baseball spoke too. There were also many highly-decorated military people there too. Very impressive. I don't know who any of these people are, but I felt like it was a good thing to be at.

If you don't know who these people are than don't worry about any of this. If you do, then be impressed. Be very impressed.

Perestroika of the Soul: Moscow, Part II

“Brothers, to love as the Russian soul loves, is to love not with the mind or anything else, but with all that God has given, all that is within you." --Gogol

perestroika: Russian perestroĭka, literally, restructuring

Tsaritsyno, the main palace

Less than a month ago, I was home in Rockville, Maryland, reading a National Geographic article called "The Soul of Russia." In it, the author writes that part of the story of Russia today is the effort to reconnect with the past. For months, I had been yearning to revisit my own experiences in Russia. I put down the magazine and bought my plane ticket.

My objectives in coming to Russia were many:
1) To reconnect with old acquaintances
2) To note social and economic changes
3) To document the growth of the Church
4) To enjoy the sights and culture, to be a tourist
5) To explore career opportunities
6) To peer into the “Russian soul”

I lived here as a missionary for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from September 2000 to August 2002. I followed a rigid itinerary and lived by a strict code of conduct. I knew that this second trip would reveal an entirely new side of Russia. It has.

I met my friend Irina on Day 3 at Tsaritsyno, a palace complex belonging to Catherine the Great, not far from my first Moscow apartment nine years ago. It was in ruins then—the roof was long gone, graffiti marred the fallen walls, and “No Trespassing” signs warded visitors away. Today it is a dazzling jewel, newly finished and open to the public. Muscovites flock to it, and somehow the shininess of it all reminds me of an American golf course. There are sprawling green lawns, shiny benches, even a musical fountain that blasts in sync with Vivaldi’s Four Seasons or the Can-Can galop. I could hardly believe my eyes.

The park gives me hope for the future of Russia. When the Tsarina bought the land in 1775, she changed the name from Chyornaya Gryaz (Black Mud) to Tsaritsyno, or Tsarina’s Village. Only now has that transformation finally taken place. I asked Irina how long it would take to make all of Russia look this beautiful. She replied, the question is not how long, but how much—as in how much money, and that will take an awful lot. In any case, whatever garbage was hauled off from Tsaritsyno was probably dumped in some other broken down palace, she joked.

A few stops up the Green Line, we followed the sounds of hammers and saws to Kolomenskaya, another country estate of the tsars and home to one of Russia’s first stone churches. I remember the park well, but something had changed: A massive, nearly-completed wooden palace now dominates the view. This is what Irina wanted to show me. It is the resurrected palace of the father of Peter the Great, originally described as “the eighth wonder of the world” before it was demolished in the 18th century. Today its wooden towers seem to tickle the clouds. Its cupolas capture the imagination.

Russia is rebuilding, not just in brick and mortar, but in spirit. Since I first prepared to enter the country, tragedy has befallen the Russians time and time again. There was the failed rescue attempt of the sunken Kursk submarine a month before I arrived in Moscow; 118 sailors died. There was the terrorist attack on the Moscow Theater two months after my departure; close to 70 people died . And there was the terrorist siege of a school in Beslan in 2004; some 330 hostages died, half of them children. I talked with Irina about this. She says that Russians know better than anyone how to get through the winter—they watch for signs of spring.

My midday meeting with Jason Bush of Thomson Reuters took place at a downtown restaurant called Yolki Palki, roughly translated as Fiddlesticks! There are fake trees and roosters, traditional textiles and traditional dishes. It’s what the Russian part of Disney’s Epcot Center would look like if Russia hadn't been left out in the Cold War when the World Showcase was built.

Jason Bush is an Englishman, which I was surprised to discover. He is 39. He studied at Oxford, wrote for the Economist in Vienna, and got a master’s in history before settling in Moscow eight years ago. Dressed in a blazer and button-up shirt, he told me there is a shortage of foreign journalists in Moscow but that there is work for those who want to pursue it. When I answered his questions about my itinerary—my planned route from Moscow to Stockholm—he couldn’t help but admit his jealousy. Smiling, he lamented that a cubicle in Russia isn’t all that different from a cubicle in America. For a moment, his eyes looked youthful, wistful.

Would I trade places with him? I think so. My soul is soaring in Moscow.

Hi from Lipetsk!

Just letting you know that i've made it to lipetsk, the city where I spent six months as a junior companion before going to Finland and becoming a senior companion in Moscow. This is also where I saw my first baptism--a church member's daughter who had turned 8--and got much of the training I would need later as a branch president.

To be honest, lipetsk never really appealed to me as a town. There were good people and good missionaries (one companion here later named his son after me), but nothing you couldn't see in any other Russian town: a large square with a statue of lenin, a Soviet-era administration building, an orthodox church and not much else. I almost didn't come.

I could hardly believe my eyes as I strolled thru the town tonight with friends. Everything looks cleaner, newer. Where there were none before, fountains now grace almost every major park and boulevard in the city, including one musical water show, like the bellagio casino in las Vegas. It rests in the shadow of a monument to peter the great that I remember well. A new ten or 15-tier cascade follows the old giant staircase from the main square down to the park below. For a Kansas city boy, it made the trip to lipetsk well worth it.

As it turns out, lipetsk is an economic boom town. There have always been factories, three metal refineries to be exact, but now there are even more. Fridges, washing machines, and glass are now produced here as well as metal that is exported to ford plants across the pond. That has brought a lot of young people looking for work, and they were all out strolling the town tonight. There are plenty of new clubs, parks, and shops to satisfy them--even a new BMW dealership on the outskirts of town. Funny enough, Lipetsk was named City of the Year by the Russian government in 2007, the same year it was voted as having the worst air in the country.

The church has a new building, thank heavens. The old place was a dump, part of a ten-story business complex that had some of the worst public toilets I ever saw in Russia. Now it occupies the first floor of an upscale residential complex with high ceilings and beautiful molding, modern chandeliers, and a spotless restroom with marbe tile. The branch president happens to be a young man who was baptized eight years ago when I was serving here. I am looking forward to that reunion.
Unfortunately, i'm told that attendance is down to about 15 members per week, about half of what it was in the glory days. There are only two missionaries here (we had 8), which explains how my friend Julia was able to get me into a vacant missionary apartment for the few days that I will be staying here. It belongs to a senior couple that splits their time between lipetsk and the nearby, stronger branch in voronezh. We have a branch picnic planned for Saturday.

To say little of the post-mission experience, it has been wonderful to roam the streets alone or with friends. My Russian is slowly coming back. And I can wear T-shirts and Chucks instead of suits. I think I could be a tourist for the rest of my life.

Please pass along the good word to anyone who's interested.

Love,
Bremen

From Russia, with Love Part 2

Just a quick report: I arrived in tula saturday night and have enjoyed my time here. Tonight I visited with the family of the 14 year old boy that I baptized the day before I went home. He now lives in Moscow, dates a model, and drives exotic cars--he is Russia's newest superstar. When I asked the 20 year old girl sitting next to me on the plane if she knew who he was, she blushed and said that all Russians knew who he was. His mom showed me a half dozen of his music videos but made no promises that I would connect with him. His producer handles all his appointments now. I'm told he has worn his ctr ring all these years.

Church was sobering. We have a new building, but it is small and there are fewer people. (They turned the old place into a nightclub.) Because there are fewer missionaries, they don't have the English classes that used to bring in so many of our new people. I had to speak in church, which was embarrassing after seven years, but a sister who served here with me and who speaks Russian ten times worse than I do happened to be in town, spoke also, and made me look good by comparison. Ours is a church of miracles after all.

Later I dropped by unannounced to some nonmembers we missionaries had referred to simply as the "rich people". It was a spur of the moment decision, I recognized their building and stopped by just to say hello. But after a few moments of scrutiny, they were beside themselves for joy. They took me to their three-story vacation home and fed me grilled salmon, marinated potatoes, and homegrown fruits and vegetables on their immaculate lawn and patio. I met their well-traveled friends and played ping pong with their 17 year old son, who was just a kid when I saw them last. Rich as kings or poor as dirt (as is more often the case), you won't find hospitality like this outside of Russia.

My point man here is a former English student named sasha. He is 39 and works in the local microphone factory that outfits Madonna, or so they claim. He came to church with me and took the Sacrament, which for me was a mini miracle. We've kept in touch by email all these years, mostly because his English is so good. When I stumbled over a Russian word today, he showed off by singing supercalifragilisticexpialadoc

ious, or however that ridiculous song goes. He is a great friend and a generous guide and host.

I am staying at sasha's sister's empty apartment. There is no internet, just my phone, and I have to punch each letter in with my thumbs. That said, I'll wrap this up. Feel free to forward this on to those who might be interested. It's too difficult to write to everyone because I don't have addresses stored in my phone.

Wednesday is yasnaya polyana (lev tolstoy's place), and then I am off to lipetsk 6 or 7 hours south of here.

Hope all is well at home.

Love,
Bremen

So this is what turning *cough* 26 *cough* feels like...

 

B & W gift certificate from dear friend Becky! 

  

New sandals (mine are tan, not purple)

  

 Lunch hour makeover at MAC. Notoriety palette is mine all mine.

 

 Ben Folds at the National Symphony Orchestra Pops Concert. Guys, words cannot express...

aaaaaand...

 

Chips and Salsa with BFF Sher

I'm not complainin' :)

I don't think he'll mind...

Blogging has become impossible for me lately so I'm going to just share with you Bremen's stories...he's a fabulous writer.

maggie

 

 

 

 Moscow, Seven Years Later

 

"I follow the Moskva / Down to Gorky Park / Listening to the winds of change." --the Scorpions

Moscow's Red Square

Days One and Two in Moscow were both revelatory and nostalgic. For every new discovery, a sense of recollection set in, inducing at once confusion and delight. I'm having fun.

Moscow is alive with accordions and synthesizers. Audis with black tinted windows race through the streets. Cops drive Mercedes. Mullets are all the rage.

I'm staying in an apartment in central Moscow. A bunk costs about $20 a night, and I'm sharing the place with fellow backpackers from France, Belgium, China, eastern Russia, and England. The name is Yellow Blue Bus, a cutesy but bad transliteration of "I love you" in Russian.

A few things have improved since I was last here. The Church has a brand new building just across the river from the Kremlin. Pornography is no longer sold in the subways. And there is less trash in general--probably due to the fact that middle-aged men rather than elderly women now seem to be doing most of the garbage collection.

A few things haven't changed. The ruble to dollar conversion rate is about the same--though things generally cost more. Foreigners must still carry their passports, visas, and local registration with them wherever they go, or face a $2000 fine if caught.

My sleep is, for lack of a better word, all jacked up. Last night I went to bed at 11, woke up at 3, ate a sandwich and then fell asleep again until 1. I'm repeating the experience tonight, only this time without the sandwich. If I can actually get myself out of bed in the morning, I'll be meeting with the former Moscow correspondent for BusinessWeek, who now works for Thomson Reuters. I'm thinking seriously of dropping by the American Bar and Grill next door, which starts serving bacon and eggs at 4 a.m.

For dinner tonight I raided a nearby grocery store and bought all my Russian favorites--a hearty loaf of bread (28 cents), some spreadable cheese from Finland (a dollar), and vanilla-flavored milk (pasteurized = priceless). I added a raw yellow pepper for good measure--mostly because I don't remember seeing too many of those when I was here last.

Moscow's subway system still enchants me. It is an underground art museum with trains speeding through it--and it only costs 60 cents to spend an entire day there. Tonight on the ring line I noticed a new breed of advertisement, its cheerful images beaming: Happy Birthday, Moscow! Give Women Flowers! and "Love for the Motherland Begins with the Family." For a place as deep in the earth as hell itself, it sure feels happy down there.

Even the airport seemed relatively pleasant, despite long lines in passport control and again in customs. Comparing my experience to that of nine years ago, I didn't see a single machine gun as I stepped off the plane yesterday. As a bonus, nobody lost my luggage this time either.

From the airport I took an electric train 40 minutes into the city. The summer foilage had started to turn. A few villagers gathered mushrooms in the distant forest beyond the tracks. Nonsensical graffiti--in English--whizzed past on fences and buildings: After-party. Not Dead. Toy!

From the station, I took the subway into downtown and met my friend Irina, who works for the Church and served as my fantastic guide for the day. She showed me the Russian Orthodox Temple of Christ the Savior, Red Square, and Bolshoy Theater before finally reaching my apartment and dropping off my oversized pack. I knew Irina from the four short months that I actually lived in Moscow. If I had to compare her to a Broadway musical, she would be Hello, Dolly!, because she can do anything or get anything for anybody anywhere. If she were a TV show, she would be MacGuyver in a turtleneck and skirt.

At the new church building Irina introduced me to the mission president's wife. I already knew her name because, by coincidence or fate, her son had come into my store in Maryland the day before, looking for a job application. Funny, I had just been thinking about contacting the mission office for a possible drop-in when suddenly a complete stranger is telling me that his dad lives in Moscow as an LDS mission president. The family hails from Provo and has a son serving on the eastern fringe of Russia--in Vladivostok, some 9 or 10 time zones farther afield.

According to Irina and the mission president's wife, the old mission I served in is now called Moscow West. It does not include Moscow, but encompasses the outer cities of Tula, Lipetsk, and Kaluga, and the countries of Belarus and Kazakhstan. American missionaries must leave the country every three months to renew their visas (instead of once a year). A new temple will open in Kiev next September.

I have lots more to learn while I am here, and I hope the experience will be largely positive. I look forward to sharing those brief experiences with those people in my life who have made such a difference. Thanks be to God for bringing me back.