Gratitudes 76-100

76. Men in suits
77. A fully functioning mind and body. What a wonderful thing it is.
78. Love. There is so much love in my life and I am so fortunate and thankful.
79. Great hair. (Mom, who has great-even-though-she-doesn't-think-it's-great curly hair is really jealous hehe!) Thanks dad!
80. The UK. The UK has been so good to me over the last 7 years. It has provided me with an education, an incredible career, a vast range of experiences including places, people and events, as well as a tremendous network of friends that have become like family.
81. April 28, 2001
82. Skype!
83. Roark & Galt
84. the iPhone and my gorgeous Macbook computer
85. East of Eden, for teaching me how to read...
86. Nick. For being real.
87. Judy Chu and our decade of letters
88. VADIM!
89. Russia... The Motherland... ohhhh how it transformed me...
90. Leah Edwards. Angel.
91. Lance Horne for changing my life and the coconut!
92. Jordan, Maggie, Hannah and Madison-- my wonderful brother and his family.
93. Snuggly duvet days (especially when it is a bit chilly and perhaps drizzly too. Yum.)
94. Victoria Hinde and Tasha Sheridan for literally saving my life.
95. The Betts Family - They have provided me with my first and last London home, and have been more than just hosts but friends over the last 4 and a half years. Their home in Finsbury Park has become a symbol of new beginnings to me, and their generosity never ceases to amaze.
96. Emma. Look what one friend-date can do!
97. America
98. Music
99. D...
100. The theatre

New York New York...

I would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of New York's skyline. Particularly when one can't see the details. Just the shapes. The shapes and the thought that made them. The sky over New York and the will of man made visible. What other religion do we need? And then people tell me about pilgrimages to some dank pesthole in a jungle where they go to do homage to a crumbling temple, to a leering stone monster with a pot belly, created by some leprous savage. Is it beauty and genius they want to see? Do they seek a sense of the sublime? Let them come to New York, stand on the shore of the Hudson, look and kneel. When I see the city from my window - no, I don't feel how small I am - but I feel that if a war came to threaten this, I would throw myself into space, over the city, and protect these buildings with my body.

-- Ayn Rand

* * *

Dear Readers,

I am about to go on a journey. Not your average holiday, return to Michigan shores, or trip being the Iron Curtain.

No.

This journey is the first step towards a journey of RETURN. A journey home.

For the next four months, I will be based in what many call "the greatest city on earth," The City That Never Sleeps, The Big Apple, The Capital of the World, Gotham, Empire City, The Melting Pot, or sometimes, simply, The City. Yes, dear readers, it is none other than New York.

I am going for a change of scene. I will plant some professional seeds, spread my wings a bit, focus on my super secret writing project (!!!), and return to a few old and very dear friendships that will aid in the nurturing, healing, and flourishing of this slightly depleted soul. Nothing can stop me, I am on my way. Ascension is the only direction in a city like New York, and I intend to ascend in whichever way the universe intends me to.

So. Bring on the Peanut Butter. Bring on the 24 hour diners, the river, the park, a real autumn and winter. Bring on red coats and weekends in Boston. Bring on Thanksgiving. Obama. America. Home.

So much in life doesn't matter. I don't care necessarily what life shall be, nor what it may or may not inflict upon me. I care about what Life IS.

And Life can have it's way with me. It won't break me. Neither you nor me. That determined faith in our own resilience is our only weapon against the cynical, the weak, those who talk of honor but do not practice the word they so loudly and vigorously screech.

Yes. Faith in ourselves; that quiet, steely belief in our capacity to endure and perhaps even thrive in the face of pain. The pain that perfects us, teaches us, heals and sculpts and defines us. Pain is breakthrough, if we have the courage to break through.

In the last 6 months, I have experienced things I have never felt before. Pain I never dreamed I would endure, and yet, I have taken it on with a certain delight. Sometimes one must experience pain past the point of principle on behalf of others. Sometimes our suffering is a matter and ingredient of unassailable personal dignity. the sufferer does not resist/submit/speak/remain silent for others, but for the Self. It is done. Then the Self has earned it's ascension. This power of the Self is the only banner we can hold against all the derailing messages of around us. That's all I need to know about the future.

I am going to New York because I feel a bold step is necessary now. And fortune favors the brave. Here I go. I promise to write.

"I took the tube over to Camden
To wander around
I bought some funky records
With that old Motown sound
And I miss you like my left arm
That's been lost in a war
Today I dream of home and not of London anymore..."

-- The Waifs, from "London Still"

7 Olive Grove

Goodbye: A List

Everyone at Atakan Market
The Tailor and his wife
Late night watermelon
Star Trek til wee hours
Midnight Mitzvah man
The fountain of the naked woman
Flowers in the park
Snow Day!
Christmas 2007-8
The Christmas Tree Debacle
Beep Beep
Baths with candles
Rose's Cafe for Sunday brunch
Pizza on Demand
3 o'clock school run from West Green Primary School
Turkish food from the wonderful people at Istambul
Mario the mechanic: a hello every day
the 341 to Islington
Black Boy Lane
The Imperial House of Prayer
The nice man at the newsagent
Chicken and Chips man
Damian

Living here has changed my beliefs — it changed the way I feel about myself and my community. And it's a glorious feeling. Having lived in Tottenham is not a stain, it's a badge of honor. I believe that living here has helped me to truly see the world.

It is a rough neighborhood, but the thing about Tottenham is this: it is a place where overall, I have found people look out for and after one another. If you can live in Tottenham, you can live anywhere, so they say, and it though at times it has been comically tough, rough, and just plain odd, this has been home, and I have loved it. Tomorrow, when I say I once lived in Tottenham, I shall stand up straight. This was home, and in my memory, it always shall be.

Thank you 7 Olive Grove, for two and a half wonderful years.
I shall never forget you.

Ask Al: Training & Working in the UK

A few years back I received an email from a totally lovely, eloquent and hopeful student named Lauren. Lauren is terribly bright and articulate (she was attending Barnard College at Columbia University when she wrote this) and she was curious and crafty enough to do her research and she randomly found and contacted me through my website to ask me a few questions about the big bad world.

Then that got me thinking: if Lauren is out there, and has questions I can answer, perhaps my answer to her could serve to help others out there with similar concerns and queries.

Thus! I decided to start a new serial entitled Ask Al; in which I post, as you know, a real-life question and answer correspondence (edited for privacy of course), in the hopes of helping, enlightening, or perhaps merely entertaining, other inquiring minds out there.

Since this note, I have had the extreme pleasure of meeting Lauren in person at stage door and want you all to know that Lovely Lauren was the start of it all.

I now offer you the very first Ask Al.


* * *

Hi Alexandra,

I recently read the "Fresh Face" article on Theatre.com about you and "Fiddler on the Roof." First of all, congratulations, and even though I do not live in the UK, I would love to see it!

I guess I'm writing to you because as a young actor I am looking for advice. I just graduated high school in Cleveland, Ohio and am going to Barnard College, Columbia University in the fall to study theatre and pursue some other academic interests. I have done some professional theatre here in Cleveland and some summer programs (British American Drama Academy, American Conservatory Theatre, Stagedoor Manor) and eventually want to break into professional theatre as a career. As much as I love the US, I have to admit, I have always been an Anglophile and even more intrigued and impressed by the British theatre. That said, I have done a lot of research on drama schools and even though graduate school/conservatory training is four years away, I'm still looking for guidance considering attempting to go abroad for more actor training or staying here for school (that is if I get in!). I have always been impressed by the advanced level of training in Britain and the almost different approach and appreciation of theatre. And you having gone to RSAMD obviously had an amazing learning experience and piece of it! In fact, I feel that maybe my "theatre values" are more similar to the majority of British "theatre values" versus some American "values" (although that may be too presumptuous of me).

I guess what I'm getting at is what do you recommend for an American actor who is thinking about going to school in the UK for training and eventually wishing to work in the UK? I have heard so many conflicting views on trying to go to drama school in the UK and even more on getting work in the UK. I have constantly been discouraged in attempting to go the UK because I have been told I would never work as an American even if I had pursued a degree at one of the drama schools. You obviously have defied that assumption and I guess I am wondering what your advice is on that matter. As corny as it sounds, I have always dreamed of studying in the UK (in fact I almost went there for university - I got accepted to a few academic schools for English and English & Drama but decided to stay here) and moreover working as an actor in the UK but have always been told that it is pretty much impossible. You are doing what I long to do so you seem like the right person to ask for advice!

So, once again congratulations on all your theatrical accomplishments and thanks again for reading my lengthy e-mail, I appreciate it! Break a leg!

Lauren

* * *

Dear Lauren,

First of all, you are a very articulate and impressive writer! Your email was very descriptive. But what you are asking me to articulate is complicated. I cannot speak on behalf of any organisation, and I also encourage you to remember that everything that has happened to me in Britain is fairly uncommon, and that working as an actor anywhere (not to mention in a foreign country) is never easy no matter how strong the desire. So, that all being understood, I am about to administer some non-flowery, utterly realistic tough love... get ready...

You clearly have a very set view of what you want to do with your life, and also seem to be ambitious and have a concept of your world outside of "the box." Yes, training abroad is a wonderful, irreplaceable experience, and twice the education you would get at home due to the cultural exposure alone.

It must be understood however (and I can't tell you how many times I've explained this to other American students-- which is why it will be in bold) that if you are not eligible for a British WORK (not student or travel) VISA (be it through European Union ancestry, marriage [though this can be VERY precarious and not at ALL a guarantee], being a celebrity, Commonwealth citizenship), YOU CANNOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES WORK IN THE UK.

There have been many "schemes" that fluctuate regularly, allowing graduates from British Universities and Drama Schools to stay for a period of 24 months after graduating. The rules change almost annually, but as of now this opportunity exists for most foreign students. [*Update 11/2013: This opportunity NO LONGER exists in the UK in any manner.*]

Still. If you decide to train in the UK, there will still be many things you will not be able to do that your British classmates will benefit from: you will not be able to work as an actor during training (this happens quite often-- a student will leave temporarily or before they actually graduate), you will therefore not be able to legitimately audition for anything pre-graduation (a valuable experience), and all of the contacts, agents, casting directors will be of little to no use to you once you quite probably return home.

Example: my friend (let's call him 'J' shall we?) is an American actor who trained at RSAMD, and desperately wished to stay in the UK after graduation. At the time (roughly 2005) there was a new scheme from the Home Office called the Fresh Talent Initiative, that allowed anyone with a degree from a Scottish University to stay in the UK for 2 years without work restrictions. He successfully applied, landed one of the best agents in the country, collected many contacts, and did reasonably well for a young actor starting out. His career and life began to take root and flourish in the UK. He made professional connections, made a little name for himself, worked regularly and made and built upon personal relationships.

Unfortunately, he was not eligible to extend this Fresh Talent opportunity as it was strictly 24 months and nothing more. He was not eligible to attain a different visa (say the Highly Skilled Migrant Visa which is based on exceptional circumstances-- such as making over a certain amount per year, education, age, work experience, etc), and thus, was forced to return back to the US without so much as an agent, contact, or reputable American acting resume to his name. And though J does not regret or dismiss the value of his UK experience, if he could do things again, he would have just come straight back to the States to begin an American life in the first place, for he had to start all over again from the bottom. (*Update 11/2013* Incidentally, J did pretty well for himself across North America! He recently decided to retrain and change careers because he felt being an actor was a great experience but no longer in line with what he wanted or who he became in the present. Life is a marathon--not a sprint.)

Do you see the predicament? It is a question of

LIFE EXPERIENCE versus CAREER GOAL INVESTMENT.

So. If you see yourself living in Britain in 15 years time, and you have no legal way of achieving that, then you need to rethink your goals.

If all you are after is British training, well now that is available to anyone who is qualified. And in my experience, it is worth the schlep across the ocean. (But that is for another time...)

In another contrasting example, my friend "G" was also a forgein student training in the UK and he graduated before the Fresh Talent Initiative was put in to place. He was desperate to stay and create a life for himself in the UK but there was no opportunity for him to do so. G was forced to return home to Canada immediately following graduation and slowly created a life for himself there. He has worked steadily at one of the top theatre festivals in the world, been in several major films, and has quite an impressive role on a cable drama that required some serious English accent action. He is now successful enough to apply as a Highly Skiled Migrant on the back of his North American success if that is what he wanted to do.

SO.

You have to be very very clear about what you want to achieve, and every British student around you will most likely be making the logical choices of moving to London and settling in so the pull to follow suit will be tempting. But consider the "costs" of losing the opportunity to stay once you've begun to establish a life you more than likely will have to give up. I believe if you keep the "training experience" and "24 months experience" as a guide, with the ultimate eye on making your way home eventually, you can't go wrong. (Which means nurturing your home contacts throughout the duration of your UK stay).

To answer your other question directly, do Americans work in the UK? Yes, of course. There are hundreds of working American actors all across Britain, and people that tell you otherwise are either making assumptions or il-informed. My film, 1408, was cast entirely with American actors living and working in England. There were three Americans in Fiddler on the Roof. American plays, musicals and films are done all the time in the UK and the real thing is almost always preferred.

But, unless you have a convincing English accent, you will never be seen as anything more than an American actor, and that really limits you. My English accent is something I have perfected to the point of insanity (hours and hours and hours and hours of practice like Eliza Doolittle...), and it has never been questioned. In fact, the advert I did for Zovirax in 2006 was one where I (shhhh!) pretended to be English and although I absolutely can't believe it, no one ever knew otherwise. But amusement aside, it really does have to be that good.

You may at this point be asking, "well how are you working in the UK? And the answer is complicated. The short version is, that I was (by completely fluke-ridden exception) awarded a temporary WORK PERMIT (only lasts for a specific time period, for a certain role, for a specific company) to play Laura in The Woman in White, and off the back of that success I was awarded a Highly Skilled Migrant Visa which is awarded on a points-based system. I was awarded points based on personal recomendations, earnings, and because the circumstances of my fast and surprising success were extreme. But I'm telling you, I BARELY GOT THAT VISA. BARELY scraped by with enough evidence to stay, and it was touch and go for weeks. I don't say that to be discouraaging I am merely presenting an realty/indication of the difficulty. And if I had to return home to the US, I have no American contacts, no agent, no equity card...

So! Best of luck. I hope that is helpful and not too discouraging. Remember that life is a marathon, not a sprint. The most important things in life have very little to do with career, and it is far more pressing to be proud of the quality of PERSON you are, than of the things you own or have achieved. That's my view anyway.

here are a few additional websites of interest:
The Home Office, UK

Working in the UK
Royal Scottish Academy of Music and Drama

Sincerely Yours,

Al

The Russia Diaries: Moscow Photos

 

"I didn't choose Russia but Russia chose me. I had been fascinated from an early age by the culture, the language, the literature and the history to the place." 

-- Helen Dunmore

O! It was [but is now no longer, thanks to the internet] lost!

Check out the wonderful blog of my long lost friend James Welsch here.

James is a very talented composer that I met at Interlochen in 1999. He was terribly clever with rhythms-- in fact, percussive pieces both instrumental and vocal, stood out as one of his finest achievements. It was his compositions for the voice that brought us together collaboratively, I sang his beautiful and achingly original "Sigh No More" (from Shakespeare's Much Ado About Nothing) for his Senior Recital in May of 2000, at high noon the same day as our Prom (or, MORP as we strange Interlocheners called it).

But, all this being said, it was his string quintet that has stayed with me for nearly a decade, and been a part of my creative life. throughout the entirety of this time. I used it in my teaching from 2002-2005, and his piece featured heavily in several productions I did at RSAMD. When his music was going to be used for The Cherry Orchard, I tried desperately to find him and ask for his permission (and for his blessing), to no avail.

Then, a few months ago I found James again after a nine year hiatus. The glories of the internet bestowed a reunion upon us, and I had the opportunity to contact him (I can still sing the entire haunting melody of that string quintet from memory).

The following is our exchange which I include here because... I just think reconnecting is a magical thing. A magical thing. And those moments are sometimes so marvelous, they simply must be shared.

Look out for him. He was a wildly talented teenager. I can't imagine how incredible he must be now.

* * *

James. Okay.... I am about to describe a piece you wrote that was performed in your Senior Recital: it was a string quartet (possibly quintet?) with an emphasis on the viola. It is, one of my favourite pieces of music in the world. I believe there were four movements, the third very vibrant, the second (?) very melancholic and epically heartbreaking.

So.... I would be lying if I told you that over the years, this piece of music was NOT a part of the stage movement class I taught at Interlochen in 2002, or the mask classes I taught in Glasgow from 2003 to 2005. Or that, the whole piece in its entirety did not underscore/orchestrate a beautiful student production of The Cherry Orchard I did in Scotland in 2003 (you were credited in the program by the way, I just had no idea how to FIND you at the time, despite multiple fruitless attempts...)

I will now utilize bullet points for the next section of thoughts.

1. Um, thank you.
2. I hope you don't mind.
3. What is the NAME of this piece?! An old version of iTunes erased the name of it from the files I had.
4. Do you have any other recordings of this piece?
5. If so, could I have them?? I promise not to use them in any other rogue Scottish Chekhovian productions ... or productions of any other kind for that matter...
6. How are you? How are things?
7. Thank you, again. In an odd way, you have been with me all these years, orchestrating my life though you didn't even realize it. Amazing thing, music, isn't it? Evocative, haunting, and far reaching.

All the best,

Al x

* * *

His response:

Good Morning Alexandra! And how do you do,

Isn't it amazing that piece was from NINE years ago. Gracious heavens. I was thinking writing a faux angry letter with a copyright citation from my lawyer, then saying just kidding, but then I didn't want to hurt you if you didn't get the joke!

No, thank you Al I'm glad you like that piece & you've found use for it. (Did you know: to make a piece not-copyrighted, you have to state that it's in the public domain, otherwise its AUTOMATICALLY considered copyrighted & protected by congress? I publish all my music anonymously these days & I have to specifically state that it's not copyrighted. I've been planning on UN-copyrighting that old stuff, so in such a hypothetical situations like old recordings played in Chekhov plays in Scotland, people don't have to worry about paying men in suits to use my music.) But anyway, that was the nicest letter I've gotten in a while, & a few days later another Interlochen friend Danny sent a random note saying he dug up an old video of another piece, Parallel Obsessions, &, in his words, "What a blast! I love that piece, James!" So, thank you friends, for lifting my spirits when my artistic moral is low.

OKAY! Let's answer all your questions in NUMERICAL ORDER*:

1.
& 2. No worries, as we say in the Sierra Nevadas.
3. It's called "String Quintet of", & there's two violas which is why its so viola-y. I wrote a bunch of pieces that year with similar titles, such as the "String Quartet of". The four movements are unlabeled, like "I", "II", "III", "IV". The musicians were Eska Laskus, Katherine Bormann, Carrick (neé Nathan) Bell, Emily Eng, & Melissa Solomon.
4. I'm assuming you have the second recording from my Senior Recital (which starred you!) No, it's never been played again! Perhaps your repayment could be someday, when you come upon a wandering band of string musicians, ala the Muppet Movie, to get it playd again some day. Those Interlochen friends did a great job, but it would be great to get a recording with tighter rhythms &c.
5. You know I was in England for a year,02-03 at Oxford, I wish we were in touch, I woulda come and seen it! And I was just back last summer, in Derbyshire for my friends' wedding, then singing in Newcastle & Liverpool, but I avoid London like I avoid NY. I hope you like living there tho.
6. Well, thank you for asking. I'm still in my "lost years", working to emerge from them. I didn't write music for many years, frustrated by a lack of performance opportunities & a non-existent audience for new classical music. These days I write FOLK HYMNS, mine are non-traditional tunes sort of in the traditional American "shape-note" genre. Like this one I just put on my blog. I'm working on a west coast folk hymnal called the Western Harmony. Otherwise, I serve champagne to rich people at lavish San Francisco parties & drink beer & hike a lot & play the ukulele & write other things also. Hmm, I guess that's a fair summary. I live in a groovy 1905 flat in Berkeley with my friend Jenny & we throw spectacular parties, like yesterday's FAKE WEDDING, with a randomly chosen bride & groom, a beautiful service in the hills, & speeches & dancing!
7. You've been with me too! I enjoyed looking thru yours photos of you in a variety of plays, & I'm glad you're working in THE THEATER.

Come visit California! Great plays in Berkeley. Happy Easter & Christmas & write from time to time!

Many happy returns of the day,

James

* Addressing points is numerical order is one of my favorite things (as Louise can attest) and it 1. makes me love James even MORE and 2. I believe this addressing things numerically business will most definitely make it on to the next list of favorites... naturally most likely to be titled "Whiskers on Kittens..." Watch this space.

The Russia Diaries: St. Petersburg Photos

"Time will pass, and we shall go away for ever, and we shall be forgotten, our faces will be forgotten, our voices, and how many there were of us; but our sufferings will pass into joy for those who will live after us, happiness and peace will be established upon earth, and they will remember kindly and bless those who have lived before."
-- Anton Chekhov

Gratitudes 51-75

51. Kit
52. Clouds
53. Roses
54. The feeling I get when I teach
55. My beautiful computer
56. My Fiddler family
57. My waist! ;-)
58. Red lipstick
59. Jake the cat
60. Michael
61. BARACK OBAMA
62. The internet (which is amazing, oh my GOD)
63. Coffee
64. Mrs. Devine for teaching me how to read...
65. Nina Machus for teaching me how to sing...
66. Dude & Jimbob Stephenson for giving me a foundation
67. What About Bob?
68. Concealer!
69. Birmingham, Michigan
70. Danny Kaye
71. ...Dad... again...
72. The miracle of technology
73. Gap Curvy jeans
74. La Petite Coquette for the confidence boost of the decade, and for Arielle for showing me the light!
75. The Savoy Theatre

The Russia Diaries: The Tale of Rabbi Lieb

We found the bakery. It was there all along. Like Brigadoon. We sat down and enjoyed some rather splendid baked goods and coffee.
Then I got all philosophical.*


*how fascinating to know now, how prescient this video would truly become...

The Russia Diaries: 12 August - The Moscow Metro

Soviet resolution to build The Metro

We take the glorious Metro! The people's Palace of underground delights. 

The Moscow Metro (Моско́вский метрополите́н) serves the city as well as the neighboring Moscow Oblast towns of Krasnogorsk and Reutov. This first underground railway system in the Soviet Union was opened in 1935 with a single 11-kilometer (6.8 mi) line and 13 stations (it will soon have 188 stations and be over 313km). [Also! The beginning of the Cold War led to the construction of a deep section of the Arbatsko-Pokrovskaya Line. The stations on this line were planned as shelters in the event of nuclear war...holy crow...]   

There was an intense governmental glorification of The Metro, for it was not only one of the Soviet Union’s most extravagant architectural projects (with reflective marble walls, high ceilings and grandiose chandeliers, many Moscow Metro stations have been likened to an "artificial underground sun," in fact, the vertical design emphasis encouraged citizens to look upward as if looking up at the sun, and to boot, the Metro's chandeliers were one of the most technologically advanced aspects of the entire project). Stalin ordered the metro’s artists and architects to design a structure that embodied svet (radiance or brilliance) and svetloe budushchee (a radiant future).  This underground communist paradise reminded its riders that Stalin and his party had not only delivered something substantial to the people in return for their sacrifices, but the monument was in their honor and glorified the people themselves. Most important of all: proletarian labor produced this svetloe budushchee.

 
... I mean... where else in the world is the rumble of trains accompanied by the tinkle of chandeliers? I marvel that taking the Metro is a rather solemn, official experience. Everyone is entirely silent, the announcements deliberate, officious and almost reverent. The hum of the electric lights combined with that of the churning escalators lull the upright people who look straight ahead and stand very still.  "This is as close as the city would get to a church, I suppose," I whisper to Kit as we make our way down the stairs. He just turns around to me and nods, taking the social cue that THEY DON'T REALLY TALK IN THE METRO AT ALL, and perhaps lightly suggesting that I take the hint as well.

All of this as we prepare for the sleeper train to St. Petersburg tonight. 

 

The Russia Diaries: 12 August - The Young

"You're sixty years old. Medicine won't help."
- Anton Chekhov

* * *

Later exhausted and drained from our "very sensible" trip to the post office we drive to  Novodevichy Cemetery only to discover it is closed. Damn.

We sigh, concede to return next week and walk around the beautiful river bank, taking in the setting sun, the extremely, demonstratively affectionate couples snuggling on benches, the dogs, the ducks and babushkas all sitting still as anything, lost in thought.

We buy cold drinks and head back to the car, ready to pack up and head for the train station, The Red Arrow, and for our sojourn to St. Petersburg.

On the way home, Vadim tells us his children and Emanuelle will be in Petersburg at the same time.      "Perhaps you could met?" he suggests, "though it is a very large city and they will all be at the disco..." he grimaces. "I worry for them," he admits, "and... how I envy them."

The lost time. Lost opportunities. That is a theme with Vadim. In Irina one can clearly see the Russian characteristic of acceptance, of spiritual endurance.

But in Vadim it is another matter. Vadim knows of and cares little for the details of economic ideologies, but on a human level, thus far, he appears to be an individualist, and almost, one might say, somewhat ashamed of it.

     "Nastia..." he sighs, "Nastia signed up for fashion school in Milan and got on a plane by herself at 19. She doesn't even know what that kind of freedom really feels like to the likes of me. Communism is a distant shadow of her past, something she barely remembers. And why should she? Why?" And he is quiet for a long time.

We drive along. I wonder if he is thinking about the juicer. I wonder if he is thinking about Nastia's current Italian visa troubles. The day we arrived she had gone to the Italian consulate and been denied her student visa. It was a paperwork issue, and after Kit assisted Vadim draft an English letter clearing the whole mess up, everything was off with her student acceptance letter and all was well. But she returned home understandably distressed. And it was precisely this distress, this notion that world is her oyster for in many ways, it is; that was the thing that both amused and hurt Vadim. That, and of course, Emanuelle. And the juicer. And perhaps the notion that she is leaving not only his house but his world. The only familiar world he knows.

This isn't about the juicer or the boyfriend or the fashion school. It isn't all about her growing up. It is more about an uncertain and unfamiliar world. For her, for him, for everyone. It isn't simple. And yet, in truth, it is.

     "And Arkady?" he continues, laughing loudly, "Arkady is a born businessman! An entrepreneur! He owns a flower shop with his mother on Tverskya! He renovates old cars, races them, and sells them! He is studying for his doctorate in science! Everything he touches turns to solid gold!" He shakes his head, smiling. Confused perhaps, but proud. "And did you know he knows everything? And, by the way, he is always right. He won't stop talking until you agree with him! Where would Arkady's place be in Communism? They are so lucky and so... ignorant..." he sighs. The Young.

They all nod.

And it is in this moment when I truly feel that I am Arkady's age. No. More than that. Not only his children's age, but I feel a part of the generation that shares the auspiciousness of his visions.

I nod too. But my nod is a vow: to not to waste the opportunity that is my life, nor the gift that is my freedom.

The young and The Old.
I wonder.
I wonder if it is always the same.

The Russia Diaries: 12 August - "You feel how others feel..."

12 August 2009

Moscow

Tired. We walked nearly 12 kilometers yesterday and I slept like the dead. Vadim is an angel of hospitality, and we set off for a slightly slower-paced day filled with official business.

On the drive in to town I coerce Vadim to speak of his personal history. He is such a deep and curious man-- thoughts penetrative, mind broad and insatiable. Before we left this morning he gave us both a copy of his published novel! A story of an aging man in the Soviet Moscow who falls in love with a younger woman he cannot have...Hm.

It is evident soon that the story of his father is the starting point--a general in the Red Army who believed fervently in the Socialist ideal, "a great patriot," he added thoughtfully after a moments pause.

His father traveled to the U.S. during the Cold War, an absolutely shocking act of open-mindedness for the time, and found America to be "shockingly normal," returning with stories of human interest from Oregon to St. Louis, to Charlotte. Apparently motivated by the death of his own father (murdered by Germans only 500 meters or so from Vadim's house!), he joined the army young and never looked back.

"He adored his Motherland," says Vadim, interestingly referring to Russia as "his" Motherland and not "the" or "our." When I tentatively bring this up Vadim simply closes his eyes and shrugs, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening for a moment...

"And you?" I ask, changing the tone in typical British style, "How did you become the lifelong medical Muscovite?" He slaps the steering wheel and laughs, small teeth bared, head back in sudden joyous amusement-- so thrilled to be relieved of his dark thoughts for a moment.

"My mother's family has a medical background, and I think it was understood that my brother and I would follow this tradition. My father never pressured us to serve in the Army, and anyway as a medical doctor one is required to serve in the Army reserves as a Captain with training and everything. HA!" he explodes, slapping the wheel again, "Imagine me! Old man running about with teenagers in Georgia!" At this Irina laughs. She shifts cat-like in her seat, smirking at Vadim before glancing out the window again. He asks her is she understands him in English. She nods, and replies in Russian that she understands more than he knows. He looks at her and they both smile.


* * *


After arriving in town we change over some money and retire to Petrovka street at my request (it is going to feature...). Vadim takes u to a Turkmen restaurant and we embark on a glorious meal of "Asiatic" food served in a colourful tents illuminated by the blazing summer sun. There are men with pipes, students lounging on decadent jewel-toned sofas, and women in hats smoking skinny "European" cigarettes.. It was at this stage that I realize I am capable of reading Cyrillic letters and actually getting by in the Russian language! How did that happen?! Suddenly, the "code" cracked, I was at last able to read things and ask Vadim what things were, point, ask, etc. It was a real thrill.

I order a traditional stir-fry, Kit a sturgeon shish kebab and Irina noodles and pavlova. Vadim takes only coffee. I think of the photo albums from last night, of his relatively radical transformation from obese young man to fit and trim older man in what appeared in the photos to be just a few months. He not only lost weight, his hair turned gray, he grew a beard, he got glasses.... what prompted this shift? Dare I even ask? As if reading my mind he comments on it himself.

"When I was fat I would've eaten all day, but now just coffee," he apologizes/
"What brought about the change?" I ask, trying not to sound anything other than matter-of-fact.
"I was sick," he looks down into his coffee, "very sick. Yes." He glances away onto the green of the park where a few moments ago he had told us he has spent his childhood and youth behind the old hospital. "I am a medical doctor, I should have known something was not right," he explains this with a hint of what seems to be shame in his voice. "I was tired all the time, for 15 years. I thought I was just sick from Communism!" he laughs, but his face falls quickly, as does Irina's, the memory of that time devastating. "Anyway..." he continues quietly, "finally my colleague made me take a test, and I was able to identify the problem and move on from there..." he sips his coffee and thinks about this for another moment before speaking again, this time with more solemnity. "But the medication, the treatment, was the hardest thing in my life."

Ah Vadim. Such a complex man. A child of the Soviet Union, but an individual spirit aching to grow.

"The entire process, it takes ten years. I am in the middle of year eight," he says with humility. "Many, many people do not survive the process..." I cannot believe this. I press him gently to explain. "Well..." he searches, "all of the symptoms you had before are the same only in reverse and at 1000 percent. You are so irritable you are like a monster, lashing out at those you love for reasons you do not understand, it is as if the voice was not my own..." and then he grew very quiet in deed, moving the white cup between his surgeon's hands.

"But worst of all what is inside your mind. The opposite of exhaustion is not alertness... it is mania... and it is this that drives men to take their lives. It is the never-ending noise of the brain, releasing one thousand thoughts a second, every one of them menacing. And there is nothing to stop it. Nothing turns it off. No Sleep. No pill. Nothing but death itself..."

He finishes the final sip of his coffee with finality, exhaling as he replaces the cup upon the saucer.

"It took time, and a lot of tolerance from my family, but now I am more even and quite well. I do not know how they all managed. But it has made me a better Doctor," he said brightly, attempting to lighten things. "More sympathetic."

I look at him and try to penetrate him. I feel so limited by our too brief acquaintance, by the language barrier and by Kit and Irina, who are in this, removed and far away. I try.

"I can understand how hard that must have been," I fumble slightly, "I cannot feel the pain myself of course, but I can see it with my mind, I sympathize. And how challenging it must have been for those around you, who loved you and did not wish to see you in pain, not to be punished themselves when they had done nothing wrong. And as far as your practicing of medicine-- yes, I see. You see people at the most desperate moments of their lives. Some of them will never walk again, some of them die and you must tend to loved ones. Now, you have felt the despair, felt the frustration of being 'just another face' to a doctor, watched as your own wife and children suffered as you suffered. Of course you are a better doctor. You have been a patient..."

He looked at me a moment, trying to piece together exactly who I was. I could see I had puzzled him-- a young woman, the same age as his older son, who understood the greatest challenge of his life.

"You are a very sensitive girl, Alexandra. You understand. You feel how others feel."