Remembering Lenin, again and again

If you've ever visited a post-Soviet country, depending on which one I suppose, you've probably seen a proud statue of Lenin in the center of town.  For many tourists not from this part of the world it is most likely near impossible not to take a photo of a town's Lenin statue in contrast with today's surroundings.  In Bishkek, Lenin was stretching his hand to the American University in Central Asia, which the guidebooks love to point out.  During Ramadan, I saw a photograph of Simferopol's Lenin Square filled with praying Muslims.  And what kitsch-loving tourist can resist taking a photograph with Lenin?

These images seem so ironic at first glance, as you twist your mind back and forth to come up with the perfect explanation of how THIS IMAGE is the perfect image of the post-Soviet space.  Yet with time, even these images become commonplace.  It becomes second nature to "meet near Lenin," or give directions in relation to his memorial statue.

Alright, so that was my attempt to deconstruction my "western obsession" with Lenin photos... Now I can show you mine... Every time I walk past these young skate boarders hanging out at Lenin's feet, I just really wish one of them would pull some great skateboarding stunt so I could get a shot of them flying past this statue...

I mentioned this to a friend of mine here.  He looked at them and then commented, "Yes, unfortunately they aren't very good."

How I learned to stop worrying and love the shashlik

Until recently, I had a good run of vegetarianism that had begun before university, including a bout of veganism that ended in a mad fit in which I consumed an entire roll of frozen chocolate-chip cookie dough in one sitting (no offense to any of my friends who remain or became vegan, but that is the problem I believe with veganism - - it requires such a degree of self-sacrifice it leaves you prone to mad rages!).  The answer to the common question, "Why are you vegetarian" was always a bit difficult for me.  I must say that Propaghandi's graphic website had some part to do with it, but also I never really was a great fan of meat.  Beans!  Tofu!  Cheese!  These were the things I was crazy about.

Fast forward through 7 years of vegetarianism in a paragraph:  Bower co-op, bower pot-lucks, bean burritos, learning to cook, mercimek corbasi, mezeler, and Turkey is a heaven for vegetarians, unless you are at a cafeteria designed for overnight buses.

Summer 2008, I travelled to Ukraine for the first time.  Denwood and I travelled from Odessa to Crimea and back in 9 days.  Let me say, Ukraine has some great food and food traditions, but the good stuff isgn't readily available for the short term tourist.  After endless bus station chow and 3 days of eating nothing but potato puree, I was about to suffer a mad fit.

In Crimea, Crimean Tatar cusine brought chiboreki, which are delicious but also a heart attack in a soaked napkin.  Finally, in Bakchisarayi I broke down and ordered "gelin ash", a delicious ravioli soup that a woman traditionally would make after her wedding.  With the meat hidden in the ravioli, I was actually able to eat it.  Soo much better than potato puree...

So, as vegetarians so love to do, and then broadcast to anyone who would like to hear, I altered my "food identity."  I was a defensive meat eater!  I would eat meat in a pinch, as a guest, on a trip, etc.  I even tried a bite of steak and was quite proud of myself.

My new skill (defensive meat eating!) was quite helpful in Kyrgyzstan, where about the only thing you can find without meat is vodka.  But at the times of greatest need (when I was served besh barmak, a dish of homemade noodles, mutton and lots and lots of grease, for breakfast I almost cried, and instead spooned half of mine on my friends' plates).

Fast forward to Crimea.  All the best Crimean Tatar dishes (that I know of anyway) have meat in them.  At first it was a matter of ordering lagman and picking around the meat, and when I realized how ridiculous that looked I started eating it.  Eating a bit of meat here, and there, eating a hot dog when served it for breakfast.  That is some great defense!

Then, one day, I was walking by one of my favorite restaurants here in Simferopol, Divan.  I could smell the kebabs cooking inside.  It smelled ridiculously good like no meat has ever smelled before.  I had a MEAT CRAVING.  But this didn't sync with my "food identity.  I was a defensive meat eater who doesn't order dishes where meat is the main ingredient.  Tack on:  but apparently suffers from meat cravings!

Next time the craving struck, I broke down, ran down into Divan and ordered myself (a half portion of) some Lulia kebab.  SO GOOD.  Unbelievably good.  And no guilt.

Today walking around in the central market with a friend we ate at a place called МЯСО (meat).  Can you believe it?  I don't actually know if that is the name of it or it just happened to be a sign indicating that meat was available.  (I should also mention that for the both of us, everything (two portions of plov, two salads, two peices of bread, one shashlik and a teapot) was only 30 grivna, which is less than 4 dollars, for all of you who are visiting this summer and want the Crimea on a shoestring tour)

I think I am out of food identities for the moment - perhaps I'll have to become a Christian Scientist to fill the void.

Thinking about Bishkek

Aika and Daniel  hanging out at the Bishkek train station last spring

I wanted to write something about Kyrgyzstan and what has been happening this past week or so but I don't really know what to say.  As far as I know, everyone at the school I studied at is fine, but I haven't heard back from my old roommates yet.  I am sure they are all fine.  I am sure they will write back eventually, laughing like I used to when my mother would worry about me after a bomb went off in some remote neighborhood of Istanbul.

Memories of Stalin

This morning I've read two stories about memories of Stalin in today's Ukraine, and I thought I would share.

The first is about Zaporizhia, Ukraine, where the local communist party is planning to build a statue of Stalin.  According to this article, and the embedded video showing an interview with Ukrainian Vice Prime Minister Semynozhenko, many members of Ukrainian government are not against this statue, and many of the same support a union of Russia, Ukraine and Belarus.

The second is from a beautiful photo essay about the repatriation of the Crimean Tatars called "No Other Home,"with photographs by Alison Cartwright and text by Maria Sonevytsky.  Take a look at the entire essay if you have the time.  Among those interviewed by the pair for the essay was Mustafa Jenilev, Chairman of the Crimean Tatar Parliament.  Here is the translation of the interview that appears on the site, in which he remembers the day Stalin died.

Of course, as children we didn’t see Crimea, but every family conversation always turned to the subject of Crimea. As a child, I remember that we had boundaries. We were not allowed to leave our settlements. So the biggest pleasure for Crimean Tatars was visiting one another in our homes. And when guests came over, no matter what topic you started to discuss, eventually everything turned to the subject of Crimea: how’s it’s going in Crimea, who we used to visit, about the natureland there. And we, as children, obviously heard all of this. 

And with our guests, in our homes, we had very discreet conversations about the Soviet authorities and Stalin. For that reason, the Soviet propaganda did not encompass our thinking. For example, when Stalin died—I was still in school then—everyone was crying, and I noticed that the Crimean Tatars were the only ones who weren’t crying.

When we found out about his death, the first thing my father said was, “The dog has finally died.” And here, everybody’s crying like it’s the end of the world. I even watched our school administrator and thought that he was pretending, because my father said one thing and this guy was crying like it was the end of the world. I thought he was pretending, and I followed him. He made a speech in front of the children, saying the great leader of all the people has perished, and then he stopped talking, started crying, and left. I thought he was pretending, and I followed him into an empty classroom, where he beat his head against the wall and continued to cry. 

But none of us cried. So one guy—Reshat Bekmanbetov—ran up to us and said, “Listen, everybody’s crying. Only our people aren’t crying. We can be imprisoned for this. So I brought an onion to rub under our eyes so we’ll cry a little, too, otherwise we’re not able to cry.” And after this, we had a period of mourning, and the only good thing that Stalin did, was that, thanks to him, we didn’t go to school for three days.  

Because of the layout of the site, there is no way to give a direct link, but when you go to the site and flip through the pages you can see the accompanying photographs and also listen to the original interviews in Russian.

What does a woman want?

A few readers found Crazy Corn for Boys to be both delicious and nutritious, so I thought in the line of "gendered junk food" as one called it, I'd share this box of chocolates, which asks the age old question, "What does a woman want?" (Чего хочет женщина?)

Apparently, the answer is an airbrushed Chippendale with suspenders and a chocolate caramel cream puff.

Spring hikes

Two of the past few weekends I've gone out to visit Barb, a Peace Corps volunteer who lives on the outskirts of Simferopol.  The weather has been getting quite nice, and we've been taking advantage of it by exploring.