Japan: Kyot-ian Onsen

Before I begin about the onsen I went to, I'd just like to state that HOLY CRAP KYOTO IS AMAZING! Beautiful 紅葉 (changing of leaves), beautiful temples, nature. Kyoto is like PERFECT for a couple or romantic lovers' night out. *sigh* someday...

Now... for ONSEN.

So I was worried that my mother would be 100% opposed to the idea of going to the onsen (hot springs), but the owner of the hostel really recommended we go to this one which is about a 10 minute walk from where we are. And thank God I forced her to. It. Was. AMAZING.

I've been to many an onsen here before in Japan. And a lot of them have been rather fancy. But this one TAKES THE PROVERBIAL MUTHAFUCKIN' CAKE. Infinite large tubs of heated water, of course that's a prerequisite. A sauna, yeah, whatevs. But does your sauna have A FLAT-SCREEN PLASMA TV IN IT!? Also, WAS IT PLAYING TWILIGHT IN JAPANESE!?!? It was like fate. I've never seen Twilight in my life, but I saw the EXACT scene in which Jacob goes "... are you scared?" and that chick goes "no." and he goes "but I've killed people." Only, picture this all in Japanese and it's just like "Bahaha wtf is this shit?" I.e. "Kowai darou?" "... ie." "koroshita koto aru yo" "ki ni shinai wa". I started laughing in the middle of the sauna, to say the least.

Then, pools with jets of bubbly water coming from all angles, some giving you back massages, foot massages, side love-handle massages. Moreover, places to lay down where a thin film of hot water is constantly streaming down the top, topped by a stone pillow to rest your weary head on, then hot spring, another hot spring, another hot spring, and a cold bath.

My favorite part is laying out in the open air and watching clouds of steam rise up from one's hot, hot skin.

Case in point, in addition to the hot springs looking like a palace, it's also all very meticulously decorated to simulate the wild outdoors. The hot water falls from the wall that's decorated with rocks and trickles down into the pool, surrounded by different sorts of greenery and Japaneezy stuff.

Not to mention, outside of the onsen, everyone's in pajamas watching TV in a huge ass lounge with rows upon rows of LAY-Z chairs, flanked on either side by vending machines of delicious Japanese snacks, and on the other side there's a full-out restaurant. Yes, amazing.

Anyways, my mom said afterwards that she liked it, and thanked me. But she added that that was the first time she ever did anything of that sort in her life and she felt a bit self-conscious given the thinness of absolutely EVERY JAPANESE PERSON THERE. Yeah, well, now you know how we all feel. I manage by hiding my fat with muscle that I scramble to find and mound it up against the fat globules. Sometimes, I even mold the fat to LOOK like muscle. Then, it goes from "Ew, fat American" to "WHOA! HOW'D YOU DO THAT?!?! *poke poke*" (see previous post on gym).

So, if you're looking to get naked with the natives, and are some sort of grungy-looking hippy looking to get clean, the Japanese onsen is for you. But you REALLY have to make sure it's awesome, so ask around. Ask "do you feel like a king?" "does the pool give my butt massages?" or "DO THEY PLAY TWILIGHT ON A FLAT SCREEN TV IN THE SAUNA!?" Cuz if it doesn't do that, then it's not worth going to.

Love, me.

Japan: Ikuko and Dinner with the Alligator-Lover

DOUBLE-POST WHAMMY! YOU NEVER EXPECTED IT! WOW! As if the gym weren't crazy enough...

That's how I met one Ikuko. Ikuko is in her 60's I'd say, who studied in Wisconsin or Minnesota or some other "that region" state, and whose English is perfect. At dinner today, she said "how do you say (atopic dermatitis)?" and then joked about how she'd forget that word tomorrow. Hahaha, yeeeah... and here I am still struggling with how to address people I don't know without having to use "you" (long Japanese grammar point explanation necessary).

So the second time we crossed paths at the gym, she said "Oh, come to my house, I invited some guys over for dinner and it'd be nice to have you over." And so I was like "EEEH!? MK!!!" Subtext: I'm a starving grad student living off of rice balls and bananas. Please feed me.

So today, although it was a holiday (Culture Day) I went nowhere. I just cleaned the house and got ready for this dinner. Ikuko was kind enough to pick me up, but she had to go to the golfing range because she forgot her clubs there (which, when she said it, sounded a lot like "craps." I was thoroughly confused as to just how much "crap" one could have to merit the plural "craps").

Fast forward a little bit - one of the guys was blind, who studied together in elementary school with another guy, both of whom learned English from Ikuko. The blind guy literally spoke as if someone had pressed "fast-forward" on a tape recorder. I couldn't have EVER fathomed that someone could speak that fast. And the other guy works for a trading company. As if "kaisha" weren't generic enough, apparently, everyone's "kaisha" is a "shousha." Japanese language learners, YOU know what I'm talking about...

So for appetizers she served chips and salsa. Which, if you live in Japan, you go "WAIT WHAT!? THERE'S SALSA!?!?!?" I was extremely giddy to see that this salsa was imported from Texas, and had roasted garlic flavor. Delicious. Then for salad it was a seaweed, sea shrimp, sea stuffs salad which was yuuummy! And then between that and the main course, she served champagne (which they called "wine" ... don't really know why) with French cheese.

And by French cheese, I mean it came in a box with French flags on it, but it was actually cream cheese. I chuckled inwardly. When she said "French cheese" I naturally assumed brie (and I was like "whoa, these people are hoity-toity"), but she busted out these small cubes of cheese, and, being a fat kid, I naturally jumped at the opportunity to eat as much cheese as possible. Only, when I put it in my mouth, I was like "huh... cream cheese." Different countries have different perceptions of different foods, and this was just another one. It's like my family who thinks I'm the hoity-toity one just because I like black tea. Fyi, my Colombian family, tea is the poor people's drink in Russia, and coffee the rich. Not the other way around.

And then, the chef d'oeuvre! CHICKEN POT PIE! Oh man, is Ikuko awesome at making food. It was absolutely phenomenal. Although I also chuckled at the way that I had to eat it - with chopsticks. Really interesting "East meets West" moment right there.

Then her husband started talking in half-English half-Japanese. He asked where I'm from (Florida) and he goes "Oh... you know... I live with alligator" and made these cute old man chomping sounds and points at his wife. Then he asked me if I ever met an alien. I said "No, not yet." Then he says "I have." And then he points at me.

Whomp whooomp.

But then he makes this argument about how Earthlings are aliens because aliens are part of the universe and so are Earthlings. I suppose it makes more sense in Japanese because it's 宇宙人 ("universe-people"). And then he asked me "why are countries important?"

This absolutely blew my mind.

As to why it blew my mind, and why a smile spread over my face over the following ten minutes of discussion, well, quite frankly this is the conversation that I needed. The one I needed to have to know that I CAN make Japan my own.

See, thing is up until this trip, my interactions with Japanese people have always been a bit... superficial. Weather, reasons for learning Japanese, school... not much else. In Russia, however, the conversations were always about life, love, democracy, death, literature, etc. etc. Oh, and vodka. And those are the conversations I live for. And to have this ojii-san ask me about something which we all take for granted, as a given, and completely floor me, well, that's how I now love Japan. It's given me renewed strength and confidence in that now I can throw myself at learning this language much like I threw myself at Russian. AND MASTER IT.

JAPAN, ICH LIEBE DICH!!!

And now... it's 3:16AM and I REALLY have to do my homework for tomorrow/in 5 hours. Uuuh... whoops.

Japan: The Gym

At last! At long, long last! At the gym people notice me and think I'm really cool and nice and interesting! And have big arms! My dreams have been realized!

The gym, in America, just another gay church where homosexuals grudgingly go to work out in the faint hope that he should attract a mate while pedaling furiously at his exercise bike or taking a sweat in the sauna. But not in Japan! First, because teh gayz don't exist here, and second, because we do it for health reasons, fo realz.

I, of course, still need to look good for when I step on American soil once again (that can actually be done within a 30 minute train ride from here though. Military base in Yokosuka. Military fetish, anyone?), so I decided to join a gym. As intimidated as I was by not knowing anyone and having to sign contracts in Japanese and fill out a form as to how regular my bowel movements are (try pointing at the Japanese word for "constipation" and asking what it is, have the lady tell you "it's when your intestines goes 'kapoople'" and maintain your dignity), it seemed rather that everyone was intimidated by me.

Luckily for me, only the most attractive/ripped of Japanese men approach me, saying "Ooo, what kind of sports do you do? You so muscly!" Tee hee! And then they touch me. My arms, that is. Still don't know how to feel about that... Regardless, initially I was saddened to see that everyone in the gym knew each other and that I'd never be able to break that barrier and be "in the know." That is, until word got out that THERE'S A FOREIGNER IN THEIR MIDST!

THAT'S RIGHT, ME! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! J/kizzles, though, no one was actually afraid of me. They just thought I was a hapa (half-Asian, half-something else) or Okinawan, but once they found out I spoke English, everyone who ever did study abroad in America came out of the woodworks and began talking to me. Even though their English was flawless, they'd occasionally turn back to Japanese and expected me to answer back in Japanese as well (much to my chagrin).

Anyways, that's for next post. For now I just want to point out that the reason why gay people don't exist in the gym is because of the gym showers. Now, sure, in America we also have saunas and showers in our gyms, but we don't have o-furo. O-furo is a bit like a large jacuzzi, maintained at 40-42 degrees Centigrade, and any number of naked Japanese men can fit into one at one time. Now, for the average American, getting naked in front of everyone and just walking around, rockin' out with your cock out is not exactly... appealing. Buuut I'm Wilson and Colombian and a nudist and a "naturist" so I'm perfectly fine prancing around naked like a dirty hippie. Only I hate dirty hippies cuz I keep clean.

Therefore, when Te-chan sat next to me in this man jacuzzi and began to squeeze my arm, I was like "OMG CAN YOU EVEN DO THAT!? IS THAT EVEN ALLOWED!?" My American cultural radar was off the charts, with that "toot toot" steam sound that accompanies the erratic needle and cracking glass. Buddy, if you were in America, I'm pretty sure everyone would be kicking your ass right about now. But we're not, and he's sincerely befuddled by my large arms, so I was just like "huh, so that's how it is."

Japanese gyms... man what a site of cultural interest. I'll probably be talking much more about it later because man it's weird.

Japan: It's like America!

If America were on crack.

I will bypass the analysis of "Capitalism on Crack" in Japan and just talk about what I did this weekend becaaause...

GUESS WHO WAS HERE THIS WEEKEND!?!?

Kathy Cooper-san, Graham-san, and I at Kaminarimon

It's so nice/absolutely frustrating to see my friends move on, get real jobs, and travel the world on business trips even though they've been working for a company for how long now, Kathy? 3 MONTHS!? Bah, humbug!

Kathy is doing very well, btw. She's by now on a plane to Dublin and then going to Paris to visit a friend. Yeah... dislike.

So yeah, Kathy stayed with me on Friday, which was a bit of a doozy seeing as how Graham was supposed to come the very next day. I wanted Kathy to stay longer, of course, but in case you haven't seen my apartment...

IT'S GONNA BE IN THE NEXT BLOG POST!

(Wow, what a great blog post, Wilson!)

So it's rather small, a great bachelor pad, and heck, you could even possibly fathom having two people in it. But three is just... wrong. It's like a tight-knit orgy or something. So Kathy ended up staying with co-workers on Saturday when Graham came, only Graham and I ended up partying until Sunday morning and... well... yadda yadda yadda now I'm extremely jealous of Graham and his ability to pick up the French. Martial art-studying French. Ugh.

BAM! I know what you're all thinking. "Man, that Wilson is a lucky one." But matter of fact is that I am still missing Stanford. Also, death apparently. My dreams thusfar have been comprised of either death or Stanford (not one and the same, fortunately enough). Stanford dreams usually go like this: Me saying bye to a number of friends with misty eyes, asking for forgiveness but I had to make the plane in 30 minutes and farewell! and bam. Waking up on my futon in the middle of the room feeling a bit lonely.

Or these scary death dreams! I've had about 3 already, one including me getting on a plane back to America but in the corridor to the plane a rogue plane crashed through and I blacked out, waking up on my futon to expect myself waking up in a hospital. Or the dream of someone shooting me.

I attribute this all to that ONE earthquake that happened here. My apartment is really pretty, but the sliding doors rattle like no one's business upon the slightest provocation. So when the earthquake happened (a 4, I believe?) I thought the world was ending. I was like "OMFG THIS IS IT! THIS IS THE END!"

Apparently there's a grand earthquake that's overdue for about 50 years now that's supposed to raze Japan to the ground. Huh. Pleeease let it not be 2011!

Apart from all that though I'm loving Japan. People are great, of course, and Japanese people (most of them) see that if you can do *some* Japanese, then they'll speak to you like you're fluent. Great practice! (read: omg please slow down) And then there are the ones who say "Oooh dank u bery maaach for camiiing!" and you're just like "...really?"

But more about Japan, actually a little bit later!

Brazil: I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Only by “Caged Bird” I mean “Californian Surfer” and by “Sings” I mean “Smokes Pot.”

Also, I’m rather surprised that more gay people are not pot-smoking surfers, seeing as how we tend to be a rather hedonistic people.

So, here I’d like to talk a little about Brazil’s beaches, simply because the beach in Rio merits a blog post all on its own.

My last day in Rio Hannah and I decided to go to the beach. The two days before Sunday the weather was particularly crappy (crappy for Rio, which means cloudy and a little bit chilly, just chilly enough to most definitely guarantee you won’t be tanning that day), so our hopes were a bit dashed on Sunday. We didn’t know what to expect. But we took a leap of faith and went the entire two blocks down to the beach anyways. Oh, and I bought a dulce de leche filled churro (which is pronounced hilariously in Portuguese: shoe-who/shoo-hoo) on the way.

Hannah and I being cute

Not only was the day absolutely fantastic, but the waves were a thing of cinematic picturesque-ty. You just saw them well up and then BAM! Crash! And of the most clear, transparent light-blue color. My gay self just went all giddy with excitement. Which, however, was further exacerbated by the fact that the gay section of the beach also happened to be particularly full that day. And by, full, I mean FULL. FULL OF GORGEOUS, GREEK GOD-LIKE-BODIED BRAZILIAN MEN. I almost lost it. Oh, no, wait, I DID lose it. Only when I screamed, I pretended that it was as a result of the joy that I experienced from playing in the waves, which was not COMPLETELY untrue…

I’m pretty sure I saw several models on the beach that day… *sigh*…

If you look closely, the guy in the middle is smiling. He totally saw through my crazy antics of "taking a photo of Hannah (bottom right corner)."

And this was the SIMPLEST workout he could have done. There were other, more intricate bodybuilding contraptions all along the shore...

Anywho, speaking of body surfing, omgwhydon’tmorepeopledoit. You know, there are times in my life where I really, no, REALLY understand some overused phrase in literature, such as “the sickeningly sweet smell of the blossoming flowers,” which I never really understood until I went to Stanford and the bushes alongside FloMo smelled so sweet, I literally wanted to throw up. Anyways, this time around the phrase that I learned with my own body was “riding the waves.” I’ve seen people attempting to do it, some with success, and I thought to myself “oooh, I want to do that!”

So I did.

It wasn’t until 30 minutes into it with crashing, getting up, and running back into the waves flailing my arms and legs like a mad man that I finally got that ridiculous rush and amazing high of actually riding the crest of a wave. It was time just perfectly, and the water underneath me felt as if I was riding boiling water (or a geyser? Just something really bubbly), and for 5-10 seconds I could see everyone on the beach as I rode this motherfucking wave aaaaand the wave brought me under and pretty sure I now have minor trauma to my right ear.

This went on for 3 hours with varying degrees of success. So long, in fact, that Hannah ditched me and by the time I came back she had left a note saying that she was tired of waiting. I was le sad. And, also, I paid a rather high price for the amount of fun that I had.

The person who’s writing this now as we speak is in Japan sleeping on a blanket with a cold, and ear infection, and a cold sore on the roof of his mouth, the first two being attributed to having played so much in the waves, which were cold, by the way, that I couldn’t hear out my right ear and felt uneasy that night. It was not made better by the fact that I had swallowed a shit ton of salt water AND was invited to a churrasceria that night by Hannah (OF WHICH I HAVE NO REGRETS, SHUT UP).

Me NOT HAVING REGRETS of eating $50 worth of meat for which Hannah payed $42 (shutupshutupshutup!)

Final Beach Photo

And that’s how teh totally awesomezorz day ended. Oh no, wait, I went to a gay club, but it was anticlimactic and unworthy of mention.

Theee End.

Brazil: Like a bigger Miami

And what else was I expecting, exactly?

I always tend to make comparisons of my home town to Russia, saying that Russia is like a Miami but with an actual winter, and the people are lighter. However, Rio de Janeiro is, unfortunately, very, very similar to Miami. Only cheaper. Which, hey, I'm all for. Also, everyone here is Brazilian as opposed to Cuban (read: hotter). So, apart from the frustration of not speaking Portuguese, this place is practically home.

Oh, wait, there are some mountains and stuff, too.

Don't get me wrong, the only reason I say "unfortunately" is because none of it really surprises me. The churros, the cocos sold with a straw in them, the delicious meat/beans/rice combo, the laid back attitude, the beaches. It's all on South Beach. Nevertheless, I'd venture to say that this place is BETTER than Miami. Why? Cuz everything seems like Miami 2.0. People are so laid back, there are always people at the beach, or listening to samba at a random corner in the streets and smoking pot in the open. Things are so cheap, I can stuff myself for 11 reais ($6.20) (and that's at the more expensive juice bar in the middle of Ipanema). And people are so hot, that I'm probably REALLY annoying my friend that I'm visiting by always being like "omg look over there. I'm about to lose it." ALL THE TIME.

Life is hard.

Oh, if only there was a way to convince the government to let me come study here... hmmm... oh yeah... well, we'll put that idea to a side for now. I DO have to start working, after all (and a big fuck you to that NYT article for making me feel bad about not working, and thanks The Atlantic, for appeasing my fears), and if I'm abroad on someone else's money for one more year, then... wait, what's wrong with that again? Oh yeah, Catholic guilt. (insert *fuck you* here for my Hispanic Roman Catholic upbringing)

But to update you on some stuff. I'm been here 3 days, I went to the beach for 2, and we're going again on this 4th day. I'm pretty sure I'll be black by the time I get back to the States (oops, sorry, I was supposed to say "African American," huh?). Also went to a market, Jesus Christ, and Sugar Loaf. The yuzh. Oh, and watched Inception. FOR THE THIRD TIME. That movie has become a useful language tool for me, btw. Watched it first in Russian, then in Miami, now in Rio with Portuguese subtitles. Tonight, we'll be souvenir shopping, going to the Jardim Botanico, and a gay club. Oh, Ipanema is to Rio as Castro is to SF as South Beach is to Miami. And the street one block away is like Market/Lincoln Road, respectively. Maybe I SHOULD move here. It's practically home.

One thing I do find refreshing is the absolute equality amongst races. I mean, again, same as blacks in the Latin Caribbean countries, but here as well it's not different. At all. One thing I hate about America is how everyone talks about equality yet there are clearly some very distinct differences in how we treat blacks vs. whites, and how Hispanics have to be white-washed in order to "make it" in America. But here, the color spectrum is much more a spectrum than polarities, and I don't know what else to say other than it's perfectly normal. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure if a Brazilian read what I wrote he/she'd come up with the question "Why are you talking about this? Does it matter?" Oh buddy, how I wish it didn't back where I come from.

I'll give you guys some pictures once I'm back in the States. For 12 hours.

Also, looking outside my window, DAMN there are a lot of seagulls.

Russia: Encounters

I love Russia for its random encounters. Because here, when people are looking to have a good time (not 867-5309 good time, but just a good ol’ time), they just come up to you and go “Hey, you look like I like you. Want to drink?” My goodness, Wilson, surely you jest.

No, people. I’z fo’ realz.

It was the last day of Andrew’s stay in Russia, so clearly we decided to otmetit’ it with a last round of beers in the café in the back of Torgoviye Ryady. It was somewhat of the usual crowd, Andrew, Katya, Zachary, Tyler, Travis (Kasey was missing) and I around a table of Beliy Medved’. I, of course, bought Andrew a beer because he’s probably the most soul-matest person I have ever met on any abroad program. It’s really rather creepy how much we think alike. The only difference is, well, he’s white and I’m Latino, and I can smell a white person from a mile away.

But I digress. Given my age and my cheapstake-ness, I did not want to pay for a taxi home, so I decided to go home early (10:30) on bus that would cost 10 rubles (30 cents). While waiting for a bus, two rather moderately attractive girls stood next to me. And once again, my instinct (or is it intuition?) kicks in. “These girls are attractive. They’re about to be approached by guys.” Bam. Two minutes later, surely enough, two guys come up to them and are like “Hey grl hey (ok, well, maybe not like that entirely), come hang out with us. Where you got to go? Come take a ride with us. Drink with us.” After repeated male attempts and repetitious girly giggles, the girls refused the two young men and went on their bus and on their merry way.

I was slightly bemused by the interaction, if only because I’ve witnessed so many of said interactions before. What I didn’t expect, however, was for them to turn to me and say, “Hey man, wana drink?” One of the guys proceeded to offer me a beer, explaining/complaining that his buddy wasn’t drinking because he was behind the wheel. I refused, of course, because I didn’t want to get my ass kicked (should this be a set-up). But the dude reassured me that they were not Nazis, and that they were just bored, riding around town, just looking to hang out with people and talk with them. Hrm… I thought to myself. Then they said that they would take me home for free. This is about the time when the last bus passed right in front of my face.

Um, yes sir.

Well, rewind a little bit. I thought to myself “What would my program say if I accepted an offer to ride in a car with two strangers, one of who was drunk, and I who was perfectly alone late at night with computer, iPod, and camera in my bag, and making the decision to drink further?” Uuuh...

So quite naturally I did it.

I mean, I’m no fool, I’m a pretty good judge of character. So we went on our merry way and drove around, stopped close by my house, went into a store for more beers (I treated them that time, they really turned out to be awesome fellows), talked more, smoked cigarettes, ate chips, listened to Ruki Vverkh loudly, and talked about America vs. Russia and any number of topics already discussed in my time here in Russia. One of the guys was 27, married with a daughter, and his buddy was 24 and, well, drunk.

Then they dropped me off, we exchanged formalities and parted ways. Just like that. No “Omgodibbles, I love you let’s hang out forever.” Just manly convo accompanied by manly beer and the intermittent bursts of laughter when I showed my mastery of Russian cursing (why yes, I will brush it off mah shouldaz). And then I entered my house, as content as a little Wilson-y clam could be. What's not to love about the entire ordeal?

Speaking of encounters, when I got in and ate a very late dinner, I decided to approach my host mother with a rather…. random question. “Host mom, if aliens came to this earth right now, how would you feel about them?” The response was really, REALLY unexpected, seeing as how she went on a ten minute rant about how her sister told her she was abducted by aliens and my host mom herself thought that she might have been taken at one point in time as well. “I’m crazy, I know," she said, "and there’s a reason for it.”

Oddly enough though, I bought into her sister’s story, although not her own. A bit off tangent but, apparently, there’s also been a case where a Russian governor of a city, a well-to-do man, moderately wealthy, chess champion of his oblast’ when he was younger, therefore, a rather sharp fellow, stated to the press that he was abducted by aliens. People asked him if it would affect his performance. He said no. They said “Ok, then continue working.” Such is the state of UFO’s and alien conspiracies in Russia, folks. But this discussion is much too long for this blog post, so I will cease and desist riiight… now.

Regardless, it is interesting to note that alien abductions don't just happen in the great plains of the Midwest, but also in the Russian small cities of Podmoskovy'e and Vladimirskaya Oblast'. I, for one, wish I could have that sort of encounter in Russia as well, and not just encounters with the locals. I say that just because, were I to be abducted by aliens, I'd ask them nicely to zap my brain with the ability to use all 100% of it and learn hella languages and be an ultra-cool secret spy with knowledge of all branches of the martial arts.

*sigh* a boy can dream, though... a boy can dream...

Russia: Smoke

First of all:

In nice, big, in yo' face letters: SMOKING KILLS.

Russians love to smoke. I smoke. You smoke. Host papa smokes. Hell, even host baby lights up every once in a while.

OR SO I THOUGHT.

It's odd, but smoking is slowly but surely losing its appeal here in Russia. Or at least that the way it seems to me. Maybe Vladimir is different from its capital cities of Petersburg and Russia, but a lot of the youth nowadays are going straightedge. I.e. no smoking, no drinking.

WHAT!?, you might ask?

Well, it's also no surprise that Russians love to drink. And those who love to drink, especially men, tend to go too far. Actually, they always go too far. Speaking from experience of having drunk with a number of Russians, the majority of the young 'uns who drink like to force themselves onto women and trash shit like it's their prerogative. *sigh*, Russian men. Not to mention, there are a lot of families that have had alcoholic fathers, and it seems that the youth is finally beginning to understand that perhaps drinking is not all it's cracked up to be.

Oh, also, moderation is out of the question. I've told Russians "Well, just do it in moderation." Response? "Our country knows no moderation."

Same for smoking. Russian teeth are kind of like British teeth. REALLY BAD. And now the connection between tea every day and cigarettes and bad teeth is finally starting to sink in as well. We'll see where that goes. Also, let's see where that gets us in the winter. The one thing that kept me warm on the way to school in Moscow in November was cigarettes. Beautiful, caring cigarettes. Really, it was the only thing that really loved me or understood me at all that fall...

Speaking of smoke, holy hell. Russia's going up in smoke, kids. State of emergency has already been declared in Moskovskaya Oblast' (that's where Moscow is) and Vladimirskaya Oblast' (guess where that one is...). But please, don't let me be the one to tell you. See for yourself.

Isn't this gorgeous? It's like a nice, early morning fog in San Francisco, right?

Wrong.

It's Vladimir. At 4PM. And that's not fog. At all. It's all smoke.

Katarzyna too famous to be taken photos of by the paparazzi.

Masks. Delicious.

Don't... really... know what Megan's doing there...

Awww, biffles fo' life! And then smoke.

Anywho, there are rumors being spread that we may be evacuated back to America. I don't really know if it's going to go through, but I kind of hope it doesn't. Granted, it's crappy here right now, but there's only two weeks left! That's like, not even a lot of weeks! But some people have already been dropping like flies, using laaame excuses such as "I can't breathe" or "I can't see where I'm going." Pfft, amateurs.

Man, I miss California.

So yeah, the smoke is being caused by peat. Who knew that that still existed? I thought it had gone extinct. I thought we killed that eons ago. But no. It's back. And with a vengeance. That stuff burns underground, so you can't just pour water on it. And if you dig it up to put water, oxygen gets in there, making the situation worse. So... there's not much you can do right now with it, which sucks. But let it be known that papa Medvedev is doing his best to keep the situation under control.

Man, I miss California.

Russia: The Indiscussible, or, How that Gay Conversation Went Down in Class

As somebody who has been on countless abroad programs in Russia (this is officially my umpteenth time), the one thing that I always have to read in every handbook that they write is “Sexual Orientation: Russia is not as progressive as other Western nations when it comes to issues about sexual orientation.” Then it goes on a long-winded explanation to state the PC equivalent of “Dem bitchez here really be hatin’ on dem homoz.”

In other words: Homosexuality in Russia. Don’t do it.

But if you were to go on an abroad program to Milwaukee, Tennessee, I’m pretty sure that brochure isn’t going to say “Milwaukee: The Gay Haven!” Same with Vladimir. Nevertheless, the internet has once again proven to be useful in meeting men who like men, and not only. And although the gay Russian website I visited is chockfull of exciting, cultural material (and yes, I’m serious. I’m not just talking sex here, c’mon), that is best saved for another entry.

Point being, I’m really frustrated that this should be the un-breech-able topic. For crying out loud, even if your opinion is ignorant, even if it makes me livid, even if it makes me want to give up Russian (which nothing ever will), I AT LEAST WANT TO HEAR YOUR DAMN OPINION! The Russian opinion. And even though Mayor Luzhkov has already made his own opinion clear (another nelepiy politician, if you ask me), he does not speak for the masses. So I decided to do our article on mass media on the gay parade in Moscow.

Hoooo boy! Talk about fear! I’ve never seen desperation in a teacher’s eyes quite like Tatyana Mikhailovna’s. It’s like she dissected her own skull and said, “Please, Wilson, look at these wheels turning. NOW STOP MAKING THEM TURN SO MUCH!” I’m pretty sure she was really afraid that she was going to say something unforgiveable and offend me indefinitely. Which, please, I’m Wilson. I’m a fucking teddy bear. The only thing I get mad at is postponed episodes of Glee because of some crap football game.

In any case, she did a rather graceful dance of a performance around the issue. I think the only other dance I’ve seen worth commending this much was the evil swan dude in a production of Swan Lake in the Marinsky Theater in Petersburg. Hm… I should buy her flowers. Anyway, she first asked us “Well, do you guys have any questions about this article?” And when we all said “Um… not really. It’s all pretty clear. Gay parade is a no go in Russia,” she goes “Well, in a Russian classroom setting, everyone would probably ask ‘So why are we talking about this again?’”

Whomp whoooomp. She then steered us delicately away from the topic and made us talk about “tolerance” and asked us our opinion about the difference between “tolerantnost’” and “terpimost’”. Oh, oh, I know! Russia doesn’t have tolerantnost’, whereas… wait… she doesn’t have terpimost’, either. Oh well, I’m stumped once more!

What was interesting to find out was that even though homosexuality was officially placed in the Ugolonviy Kod (Criminal Code?), homosexuality didn’t exist in the Soviet Union. Shit, sexuality didn’t exist in the Soviet Union! “V Sovetskom Soyuze seksa net,” duh. A phrase that I had forgotten about a while back. So if sex was the un-breech-able topic, imagine homosexuality! Whew! It’s not that they wouldn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole, it’s just that there’s no pole long enough to even reach it!

But students, American students, are ever so relentless! Bam. Back to gay. “ANSWER FOR YOUR COUNTRY, WOMAN! WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU!?” And when we were answered with another overly PC response (c’mon Russia, that’s unlike you), we just started talking about America and how things are going down over there. Prop 8, how we feel about extending rights to anyone wanting to marry, even Mormons + hella wives, what this means for democracy, the struggle of minorities over American history, etc., etc.

Point being, Russia right now is like America in the 60’s. No homo. But there is a movement! Even if it’s barely visible even under a microscope! It’s like Milk all over again! And even though it is unbearably frustrating to know that gays in Russia don’t have rights and won’t anytime soon, it is pretty neat to see it in its inceptionary stages. It’s like living in history! And maybe, just maybe, I will have to be the Russian Milk. I will have to liberate the homos!

Bah, just kidding. I just wanted to say the phrase “Russian Milk” because it sounds freaking delicious. Mmm… Russian milk…

Oh yeah, gay in Russia – don’t do it. Cuz it’s not even there…

*cue Twilight Zone theme*

Pic Attempt

You knooow... Dostoevsky never put pics in HIS novels... Alas... times change, and even the greats must bow down to the will of the masses...

I asked everyone to do their best Russian face. It came out pretty damn good.

Megan i Dzhuliet.

Travis i Kristen. Damn Kristen. Damn.

Katya, Tim, and Zach. Katya doesn't count because she's Polish and she knows how to own the "Do you WANT me to kill you?" look.

This is at bowling. Because DUH, when you bowl they CLEARLY give you a bottle of cheap white wine and sushi rolls!

Katya and I post-blini making

You didn't expect anyone to smile in their pics here, did you? (Yours truly)

Awesome. Now that I know it doesn't necessarily take eons to upload photos, I'll do my best in future renditions to add photos to this bloggizzle.

Russia: In Russians I instill fear

I'm actually rather proud of this one feat. And I'll tell you why:

As a black person, I tend to stand out in the Russian environment. Of course, all that's changing more and more, so now when they see me they're like "eh, just some other dude." Thanks to my glasses though, I don't get beat up because I'm "just some other SMART dude." That is, I am seen as separate from my Central Asian counterparts (native Kazakhs, Tadjiks, and Kyrgyzs have confused me for one of their own).

So, here's the back story. After class I went to the gym, changed into my gym clothes, went out, and had to put money on my phone. I walk into this random store and say

Me: Do you put money on phones?

Girl behind counter: Um, yeah.

Me: Can you put 200 rubles on my phone?

Girl: Whoa! Just not that much!
Me: What?

Guy talking to girl: Oh, it's a joke. Joke? It's a local joke.

Me: Oh, I'm not local so I wouldn't get it.

Guy: Oh really? Where you from?

Me: US

Guy: Oh? Which part?

Me: Miami.

Guy: Oh, you know I have a friend that's doing work and travel there right now.

Girl: Oh that's cool. But what are your roots? You don't look American.

Me: I'm Colombian.

Guy: Oh... um... your Russian's really good, how long have you been studying Russian?

Me: ... a long time.

Guy: Can I shake your hand?

Me: uh... sure?

*shakes hand*

Me: What was that for?

Guy: Well, now that you shook my hand it means you respect me. And you can't kill someone when you respect them.

Apparently, they saw me come into the store swole (?) from the gym in my gym clothes asking gruffly about cellphone service in good Russian and once they found out I was Colombian. Well, you do the math. Built gruffy Colombian + really good Russian = ?

It's so nice to know that this is how people respect me in this country :)

Russia: Just like home

And by home I don't mean America, I mean Miami. As in uber-Latinified USA.

Russia: Just like home

For those of you who’ve heard me talk about my father, you’ll know that he’s not exactly the most understanding of people. Shoot, he still thinks Russia is the Soviet Union (true story). I tried explaining to him once that the Soviet Union fell in 1991 but he didn’t believe it. “IT’S A CONSPIRACY SON, CAN’T YOU SEE THEY’RE TRYING TO MAKE EVERYONE COMMUNIST!?” And so on and so forth.

What’s ironic is that he would fit PERFECTLY here in Russia. Here’s some of the things my host mother and I have talked about so far:

1) American culture. There’s no such thing. The reason our national cuisine is based on fast-food chains and enterprises is because the women who came over here from Plymouth were loose women who came here to “do more business” and, as a result, didn’t really know how to cook food and raise a family, so quite naturally all they cooked for their family was hamburgers cuz that was the easiest thing to make. “What about freedom of religion?” -- I had the idiocy to ask. “All that’s nonsense.” Was her response.

2) Jews. Gays and Lesbians. She attributed the existence of gays and lesbians to “the Jewish phenomenon.” Jews all around the world are making people gay left and right. –was the most kind of absurd thing she said. But then she went on to make other slightly anti-Semitic comments which, scarily enough, made sense to me. I know it’s a touchy subject, but I’ll try to write with delicacy. The Jews as a people like to point out how much they have suffered throughout history, been persecuted left and right, no one loves them, Jewish guilt, etc. etc. And they love to remind people about the Holocaust. Yet host mom says that how come they are the only ones who have the right to claim the Holocaust as their own? Hitler went after everyone. Gypsies, Belorussians, Russians (does anyone even remember massacre of Stalingrad?), gays even. Yet they keep their mouths shut and don’t really demand anymore retribution from those times past. Also, while everyone else is poor still, a lot of Jews have all the money and all the power. So why continue complaining about the past when clearly you’re well-off in the present.

3) Religion. Then it came to religion. A long and lengthy conversation I wish I could have with my parents, but we spoke very openly and frankly about our personal feelings towards religion, God, and church. But that’s another blog of its own.

4) Death. Already she spoke openly about how her nephew’s mother died this December from cancer. She was diagnosed one day and within the month she was dead. Now she has to look after him as an adopted son (granted, it’s not TOO much work, he’s 26, but still, a man needs a mother, you know?) and life’s pretty tough. “Life’s pretty tough” seems to be the overarching theme of Russian conversations.

5) Cats. My host mom (50) has no children (and I don’t think she had a husband, but I’m afraid to even ask should I open up a Russian can of worms and regret that I’ve ever lived ever), she lives with her mother (who’s 80, I believe), and three cats. AND SHE LOVES THOSE CATS. She told me a really long story about how her neighbors stole one of her cats and took it very far far away, and she suffered a lot and eventually pleaded God to return her cat back to her. And surely enough, three weeks later the cat just jumps through the window and starts eating food. Yes, miracles do happen.

So while my father is still convinced that everyone’s a Communist in Russia, he would still fit in perfectly with all the other extremely opinionated and controversial people, barreling through delicate topics with the force of a WWII tank. It’s like two peas in a pod!

Genesis

Ok kids, this is how this is going to work:

I will be traveling the world (ish) this year. As a matter of fact I've already started. But anywho, titles that deal with "cultural observations" will first start out with a country's name, followed by the event or title. That doesn't necessarily mean I'm in that country at that time, because a lot of what I'm going to write is recollections of my time abroad.

E.g. Russia: My first time at a gay club. Ever. Or, how I came to learn about "yorzh"

Haha, oh man that ought to be a good one.../it was.

Anywho, the itinerary goes like this:

Mexico: Feb 24-28 (yes, I know, that already passed)

California/Bay Area: March - June

Russia (city TBA): June - August

Miami: August

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil: Late August

Yokohama, Japan: September - June

Quiiite a trek. I know. And to let you know WHO'S going, well this is me:

Name: Wilson Velasco

Nationality: American/USA-an (of Colombian origin)

Languages spoken: English, Spanish (kitchen), Russian (well), Japanese (probably offend everyone when I speak)

Countries visited: Colombia, Mexico, Japan, Russia. So yeah, I've already been to these places.

I promise that future posts will be funnier. Or deeper. Just, you know, overall better.